Sunday morning before going to Speed’s track meet, they decided to go to their favorite ice cream parlor. They liked the 1950s retro look of the place, with the vintage jukebox, and shiny stools, and the framed black and white photos of old Hollywood movie stars. They also liked the fact that the old man who owned it would often give them an extra scoop. He had a thick German accent and he said, “I know you like coffee. Just like a grown up!” He pinched Elle’s cheek. “How about an extra scoop of that Rum Raisin?”

After he scooped out the extra scoop with his ham-like forearm, he pointed to his cheek and said, “I’m waiting….” Because she stood there and didn’t give him a kiss, he shook his finger at her and said, “You are a smart girl. You Asians, you’re clever.”

His smudged white apron squeezed out from behind the counter to hand them each a cone. He had small thick hands and sausage fingers that he grazed her side with. He pretended it was an accident and Elle let him but she didn’t smile. She knew nothing was free even if they told you it was free. Eventually, they’d always want something from you.

Sophia flashed a smile and said, “Yum, thanks! You’re the best.”

He caught Elle looking at the photos of the movie stars hanging behind the counter. “Someone once told me that a man is considered sexy when he is cool and distant like James Dean or Marlon Brando, you see.” He turned his mouth upside down and rubbed his chin as if looking back on his own life and reflecting on everything he wasn’t. “But for a woman it is different. She is considered sexy by men when she is nice and friendly.” He smiled directly at Sophia as if to praise her friendliness, and to remind Elle that there was more she could do. Elle frowned but he continued on.

“She is considered sexy when she seems to be available to the entire public like Marilyn Monroe for instance,” he pointed to a photo of Marilyn holding down her white dress. “Even when in fact she isn’t!” He declared it like a victory and an accusation all at once. He turned to Elle and scowled at her, as if she was guilty of a crime she had not known she’d committed.

Outside, Elle asked Sophia, “Would you rather be smart or pretty?”

“Both.”

“But someone’s holding a gun to your head and you can only pick one.”

Sophia didn’t hesitate. “Pretty,” she said. “Life is easier. Pretty is power.” Sophia’s tongue lapped up the Rum Raisin perched on her sugar cone. “C’mon give me a break. You think Speed’s going to go for you because you’re smart.”