The Ice Cream Fairy

The air conditioner droned incessantly in the window, filling the apartment with a constant, grating hum. Although it gave a medal-worthy effort, the cool air it produced was immediately swallowed by the sticky, hot, stagnant atmosphere. Natasha debated whether or not to just turn it off entirely; the temperature seemed no different either way, and at the very least it would give her peace at last.

With a groan of annoyance, she wiped the sweat off her brow and picked up her hand-held, battery powered fan off the coffee table. A quiet, relieved sigh crossed her lips as the little plastic blades within it whirred to life, casting a stream of cool air across her sweaty, ruddy pink face. That little fan had been a godsend this summer, well worth the buck fifty she'd paid for it at the corner bodega. The problem was that it made more noise than the air conditioner - if that was even possible for something a tenth of its size - and using it left her a hand short. After absorbing every ounce of cold air from it she could, she set it down again and turned her attention back to the laptop on the couch beside her.

It should be illegal to have to work in the summer. For one thing, the punishing heat was just as brutal on her computer as it was her, causing it to crash at the worst times. Summertime also brought countless creepy-crawlies, all of which retreated indoors to keep cool. Natasha wouldn't have minded that so much if every bug in creation hadn't chosen her place to crash. They were worse than that one couch-surfing friend everyone has: coming in at all hours unannounced, especially late at night; getting into the pantry; scaring her half to death every time they wandered too close and waggled their spindly little legs, seemingly just to say, "hey, Bro, whatcha doin'?" It was the worst.

Well, make that the second worst.

At the top of the list of sucky things related to summer was that all the neighborhood kids were out of school. Natasha didn't have anything against kids, of course. They were just doing their thing, enjoying their fleeting youths while they still could. She just wished they had somewhere else to scream and play besides the street six feet away from her front door. It made her regret quitting her office job and working from home. A nice, quiet office with central A/C sounded downright pleasant at this point.

Natasha's daydreams of proper air conditioning were suddenly shattered by a playful, jaunty melody from the street outside. The moment she heard the sweet, synthesized chimes of "Turkey in the Straw" wafting up the street, her laptop went flying off her lap. Stuffy old offices and their A/C be damned: this was the ultimate benefit of working from home in summer. In the time it took her to slip on her flipflops and grab her wallet, she could hear the neighborhood kids outside already whipping into a frenzy.

"ICE CREAM!!"

Natasha bolted outside with one flipflop barely hanging on, hoping to get ahead of the feral, froth-mouthed horde before all the good treats were gone. She had the advantage, having longer legs and access to her own money, while the little ankle-biters had to go beg their parents and guardians for petty cash. Still, she knew from experience how fast they were despite their much shorter legs. Arms and legs pumping like the wind, she finally made it to that cheerful, neon-colored truck up the block, slapping her palm against the sizzling hot, painted metal in victory while the fastest kids were still halfway across their lawns.

The decal-covered service window slid open with a hydraulic hiss, startling Natasha. A plume of refreshingly cold air spilled out of the tuck, forming a cloud around her head. It was so thick, she had to wave it away to see despite how good it felt, coughing a little as her lungs spasmed at the shocking change of temperature. When the fog finally cleared a little, she realized a person was leaning out of the window.

The first word that sprang to Natasha's mind was "cute", and it fit the ice cream man to a T. Well, maybe "man" was not the right word. He was way younger than her, barely sixteen if he was a day. His hair was the brightest teal blue she'd ever seen, and even seemed to sparkle when the light caught it. He had it styled in a very neat pompadour under his paper envelope hat, which was decorated with little star, heart, and ice cream cone shaped stickers. Some of the stickers had wandered down from his hat onto his impossibly pale, round cheeks, pairing very nicely with his expertly applied lipstick, blush, and eyeshadow. Natasha resisted the urge to ask him how he'd gotten his eyeliner so perfect, as she could only dream of doing such a pretty job on her own face.

"Well, hello there, Little Missy," the teen greeted, flashing a set of perfectly straight, dazzling white teeth down at Natasha. "What does your heart desire today?"

Natasha was a bit taken aback, being called "Little Missy" by a boy half her age. This kid definitely was not a typical ice cream vendor, for sure. There was a frankly weird vibe about him. Not a bad weird, just... weird. She realized she was taking too long to order when the restless kids lined up behind her starting shoving, forcing her to take her eyes off the strange teen and examine the menu board printed on the truck beside him. There was every kind of ice cream she could think of listed: popsicles, fudge pops, Oreo cookie sandwiches, even those weird Spongebob shaped ice cream bars nobody over the age of six seemed to like. Toward the bottom of the menu, however, there were other things listed that definitely were not the norm. Things like "a date to take to the movies," "a way to break through my writer's block," and "a plausible excuse to free me from that pressing social obligation".

Natasha was sure those things were just added as jokes or gimmicks, running her finger down the incredibly lengthy list with a grin. "Cute," she murmured, "did your boss think this up? It's a very interesting marketing strategy."

For the first time since they met, the ice cream vendor's smile fell into a puzzled frown. "Marketing strategy?" he asked, "I'm not sure what you mean. Everything you see on the menu is, indeed, for sale. I don't just sell delicious, frosty treats, Missy: I sell dreams."

Natasha looked up at the vendor again. His schtick was cute at first, but now alarm bells were starting to ring. Just who was this guy anyway?

He leaned so far out the window, Natasha was worried he'd fall right through it. She opened her mouth to shout at him to be careful, but the words stuck tight in her throat when a flicker of movement drew her eye suddenly to his back. He was wearing a pair of glittery blue butterfly wings that matched his hair. The heat had to be melting her brain, because she was sure she saw them flapping gently.

"If you can't make up your mind right now, Missy, then please step aside," he said, lowering his voice to a stage whisper with a cheeky wink. "I've got a lot of customers waiting here, and I'm not supposed to stay in one place for very long."

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at the long, antsy line of kids fidgeting behind her, ranging in age from toddlers to young teens. If she got out of line now, the vendor would be sold out by the time she got back to the window. She studied the menu again frantically, groaning as she wiped the sweat out of her eyes. It was so hot, it was hard to think. Why did it have to be so damn hot?

The vendor sucked air through his perfectly painted lips, making a loud kissing noise. "Okay, something tells me we're a little overwhelmed by the pressure of choice," he mused, "that's fine; nothing wrong with that. If you don't know what you want-"

"You know what I want?" Natasha snapped. "How about a cold front right now?! That would be great! In fact, why not a little snow?! A freaking blizzard even! That would be incredible!!"

The vendor's impish smile returned suddenly, and a strange light glimmered in his impossibly blue eyes. "Done," he said, "enjoy, Little Missy: just remember, we don't do refunds. Have a nice day!"

Before Natasha could get another word out, the ice cream vendor zipped back into his truck and the window snapped shut right in front of her nose. "Hey!" she spat, slapping the side of the truck angrily. "Get back here, Kid! I haven't even ordered anything yet!"

A shockingly cool breeze ruffled her short dark hair a second later, causing her to chafe her bare arms and look toward the sky. The blazingly hot sun was suddenly covered with thick grey clouds, which didn't make any sense considering the sky was clear and perfectly blue a moment ago. The kids lined up behind her all started to shiver, turning tail and running off back to their houses one by one. Natasha figured she should get a move on, too, thinking it was about to start pouring rain. Getting caught in a light summer shower wouldn't be too bad, though, considering. If anything, it would help her cool off.

She took barely three steps away from the ice cream truck, deciding to walk down the street to her favorite bodega to buy ice cream instead, when a shockingly frigid raindrop hit her nose. Natasha wiped it off instinctively, glancing at her fingers afterward. To her surprise and confusion, there was a tiny piece of crystalized ice melting on the tip of her index finger.

A snowflake? In the middle of June? That shouldn't be possible. Unless...

Natasha whipped her head around, looking back at the ice cream truck behind her. To her shock and bewilderment, it was already gone, even though she hadn't heard it pull away from the curb. Another bitterly cold wind whipped through her, making her shiver in her tank top and shorts. When more flakes swirled gracefully down from the heavens, Natasha thought she had completely gone off the deep end. Snow flurries in June... this couldn't be real. Those stinging little flakes felt real enough, however, as they landed on her cheeks, arms, and eyelashes. Within a few minutes, the parched summer lawns all around her were blanketed with a fine dusting of white, and more was coming down every second.

With a dazed and slightly delirious little giggle, Natasha reached up to catch the falling snow on her palm. Once she had caught a nice, slushy little pile, she couldn't resist licking it up like a snow cone. The snow not only looked and felt real, it tasted real, too. She threw her head back and her arms out, spinning in a slow, deliberate circle as she let the snow collect on her grinning face and tongue. Faster and faster she spun, until she got so dizzy she fell over. Once she was on her back, she waved her arms up and down, making a snow angel. It had only been snowing for a few minutes, but there was already several inches of the stuff accumulated on the ground around her. Natasha closed her eyes, content to be buried in the wintry precipitation.

"Tasha? Tash...? Are you okay? What are you doing?"

Natasha opened her eyes again, blinking up at the face leaning over her. It was her roommate, Viv, and she looked very worried. Then again, anyone who didn't know why it was snowing had good reason to be concerned.

"What's it look like?" Natasha mumbled, giggling like an idiot, "I'm making snow angels. Join me; it's fun."

Viv's green eyes widened with worry as she dropped to her knees. "Snow angels?" she parroted, "Girl, it's like 110 degrees out!"

Without warning, she pressed her palm to Natasha's brow. Natasha groaned and tossed her head, trying to get it off. Viv's skin was blistering hot against hers, ruining the snow's cooling effect.

"Holy shit, you're skin feels like its on fire," Viv cried. "Tasha, we need to get you some help, now! I think you're suffering from heat stroke!"

As she spoke, Viv pulled Natasha to a seated position and dragged her under a wide, shady tree. In the split second it took her to move, all the snow was gone. It was once again hotter than Hades, and Natasha was painfully aware of how sweaty, weak, and shaky she was.

Ever the caring, concerned friend, Viv called an ambulance for Natasha. The EMTs operating it confirmed Viv's suspicion of heat stroke, insisting Natasha ride along with them to the hospital for treatment. Natasha knew better than to argue, as Viv would never let her hear the end of it if she refused. As they were loading her up on the stretcher, Natasha heard the ice cream truck's music again, coming from the next street over. She raised her head and looked in the direction of it automatically, but she never got a good look at it. Just a glimpse, between two houses that shared a side yard. She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a familiar-looking face, grinning down at a little girl studying the menu. A teenaged boy, with blue hair.