CTS Writes

Delighted to have placed 4th out of 43 in my group for the first round of the NYC Midnight 500 short story competition. The criteria were to write a romance (my bête noir!) that had to include day-dreaming and frozen yoghurt. Keeping everything crossed for kinder prompts for round two this weekend!

YOU ONLY LOVE ONCE

“Welcome to YOLO Fro-Yo! I’m June!” cheeps the pretty girl behind the counter. So this is what the Harajuku Girls do between tours muses Maeve, dropping her bag to stare blankly at the arcane tutti-frutti coloured menu.

“Try the passion fruit!” hoots an aggressively handsome guy sporting a box-fresh polo, air-punching an imaginary opponent. “You’ll fall hopelessly in love, and I won’t be able to keep you away!”

Maeve nods. With a bow his sweet Japanese co-worker scoops perfect spheres like frozen suns into a cardboard pot, moving as if in a yoga flow. For a moment, Maeve loses herself.

 “Chase by the way, welcome to my fro-yo Dojo!”

The self-proclaimed hero of “fro-yo” boasting his chilled dominion with muscular arms snaps Maeve out of her daydream. He could only be a Chase. Guys like him have their destinies written on their birth certificates. Maeve sits in the corner behind her copy of Persuasion to sample her first frozen yoghurt. The neon signs give her raven hair powder pink and baby blue highlights. The cookie-cutter Prom King punctuates smooth-talking gaggles of giggling girls with tickling June into tortured squeals.

He’s right about one thing. Maeve is drawn back, returning the same time every week, each time a new flavour. Hearty guffaws and oestrogen swoons soundtrack flawless frozen globes sprinkled with candies and teenage dreams. Summer weeks melt away as melon-scented minutes mingle into salted caramel hours

From her usual spot on the last day of the holidays, Maeve watches Chase whip June with a tea towel in the window’s reflection as she tries to chirrup “Hello YOLO Fro-Yo!” into the retro burger phone. After he takes their ten dollars, girls like Maeve don’t exist to men like Chase: the high before the sugar crash. The desserts, however, always immaculate.

“Seeya tomorrow, Chinatown,” he barks, varsity jacket slung over one shoulder like he’s in some jeans commercial. Maeve slips her book into her bag. Suddenly June is at her table.

“That Chase guy is a douche isn’t he?” blurts Maeve before she can bite her tongue.

“Right?!?” June replies. “Guy calls himself “chick-nip”!”

“I thought you both…nevermind.”

Maeve grabs her bag to leave.

“Can I tell you something?” June whispers conspiratorially to the table. “I made a wager with myself that if you chose my favourite flavour I’d come and talk to you.” Her nervous laugh tinkles like wind chimes. “Only took you all damn summer!”

“Me?”

“Uh huh”

Maeve’s cheeks ignite and she’s overcome with the urge to fling herself headfirst into the chiller.  

“Oh!”  

Maeve looks into her empty cup for the right words.

“Forget I said anything” June mutters sheepishly and, on realising the same cup doesn’t contain bravado either, she turns on her heel.

“I’m Maeve.”

“I’m June”

“I know.”

Maeve catches June’s hand. Time freezes.

“Since we’re in the business of sharing secrets,” murmurs Maeve polishing June’s cherry-red fingernails with her thumb.  “I’ve always hated frozen yoghurt.”

The letters YOLO glitter neon pink in their eyes.