Everyone in Huckabee knows that you can’t go to a bingo fundraiser in the summer without going to get ice cream after. It’d be like going to the movies and not getting popcorn. Or going to the pool and forgetting your swimsuit.

There would be no point in going.

Sam’s Scoops is a block away from Huckabee Elementary, and the large crowd of people leaving the cafetorium and heading toward it trails the entire distance between the two.

Luckily, we’re one of the first few groups out the door.

I power walk across the gravel parking lot, my dad and Johnny a few steps ahead of me, Blake crunching noisily just behind them. I have to jog every couple of seconds just to keep up with this above-average-height crew.

“You’re bringing your prize basket to get ice cream?” Blake asks me, cutting through my staring contest with a Carson Wentz bobblehead wedged between a rolled-up T-shirt and an Eagles hat. She slows down ever so slightly, until our feet fall into a steady rhythm on the gravel. “You doing a victory lap or something?”

I try not to snort at the idea of me parading proudly around with my dad’s “Football Fan Fiesta” basket like I’d just won a Golden Globe. Although, to be fair, that’s not out of character for some people in this town. I’ve heard of someone keeping the highly coveted, still shrink-wrapped “Wine ’n’ Cheese” basket on their mantel for ten years, just to spite their in-laws. The cheese definitely got moldy, but it was never about that anyway.

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