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cream to flop onto the table。
Before my dad could stop him； David picked up the ice cream and tried to cram it back onto
the cone。 But the cone was shattered and the ice
cream fell over again； only this time it landed on the floor。
My dad said； “Leave it； David。 I'll get you a new one；” but David didn't listen。 His chair shot
back and he dove after it。
“No； David！ Let me get you a new one。” My dad pulled him by the arm； but David wouldn't
budge。 He grabbed the ice cream and crammed it
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back onto what was left of his cone； and when the bottom part of his cone crumbled
pletely away； he started screaming。
It was awful。 He was like a two…hundred…pound infant； throwing a tantrum on the floor。 He
was yelling words I couldn't understand； and after a
minute of trying to calm him down； my father said； “Julianna； can you get him another cone？”
The man behind the counter scooped as fast as he could； but in that short time David
knocked over a table and two chairs with his flailing and
managed to smear chocolate everywhere。 The checkers and customers at the registers
seemed frozen with terror—like David was some sort of
monster out to destroy the world。
I gave the new cone to my father； who handed it to David； right there on the floor。 And while
David sat there eating it； my father and I worked
around him； putting everything back in order and wiping up the mess。
On the walk back to Greenhaven； David acted like nothing had happened。 He spurted into
his pinwheel and cried； “Oange！” from time to
time； but when my dad held open the front door； I could tell that David was tired。
Down in his room D
