Sierra gave me a funny wide-eyed look that seemed to say, O-kaaaaay, weirdo. But she moved away from the speakers and went to take an order from a mom with two little girls who had thankfully just walked in and proved me right.

I was washing milkshake-mixing cups while Sierra got two hot fudge sundaes and a vanilla milkshake for the family. They were just about to sit down at a table when one of the girls dropped the tray, sending the ice cream everywhere. The little girls immediately burst into tears.

But Sierra handled everything with her usual sunny personality. She had everything cleaned up as quick as a flash, and she promised the children that their new sundaes would be even bigger and better than the ones the girl had dropped. After Sierra made the new order and delivered it to their table, she gave each girl an extra sprinkle of happy. They blinked through their tears and smiled adoringly at Sierra.

“You’re a miracle worker!” the mom exclaimed.

For some reason all this made me even grumpier than usual. Sierra wiped up all the tables and did some sweeping, all while humming happily. I stewed silently for a while as I smashed Oreos on the back counter. By then we were in a lull. The shop was quiet and empty, and the humming was making me insane!

“Must you do that?” I blurted.

“Do what?” Sierra asked, genuinely confused.

“Hum! You’ve been humming for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sierra said. “I honestly didn’t notice. And anyway, I never knew it bothered you. I remember Tamiko commenting a while back, but you’ve never said anything.”

“Well, it does,” I said. I wanted to say so much more, but I bit my lip.

We worked for the next few minutes in stony silence. It was Sierra who spoke up first.

“Allie, what is it?” she asked softly.

“What is it?” I repeated. I hemmed and hawed for a second; then I decided to just go for it. “I’ll tell you what it is. It’s your humming. And your hugs. And your smiles. And your songs. And your band friends in here all the time. It’s the Sierra show all the time. It’s all about you!” Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “It’s everything I’m not! I’m taking a break—right now!”

And I ripped off my apron and rushed to the back.

I pretended to my mom that I’d taken a break to tell her about the new friends I’d made at my food-writing class. I felt glum, though. All of my excitement at my news had evaporated after Sierra had arrived with her posse. My Korean hot chicken plans seemed so pathetic compared to Sierra’s legions of rocker friends who were always following her around and recording new “tracks” and filling up our shop.