Thousand: Four Hundred Seventy-One

any ice cream?” she’s asking her sister. Eula shrugs and spoons up a curl of vanilla, a stripe of chocolate syrup stretching thin and breaking as she raises it to her mouth. “You never leave me any ice cream!” says Emily. “You never do. If you’ve had a bowl then there isn’t any left for me. There! See! You put it in. You. OK, there’s a little. Not very much. Where’s the chocolate syrup?” “On the door,” says Eula as she scrapes the bottom of the blue bowl. Emily opens the refrigerator and looks at the sticky-mouthed bottle of chocolate