One Bite

The ice cream truck comes down our street in Brooklyn after school. It plays the same song every day.

Today I have coins in my pocket. I count them on the front step. One dollar. Two. Two and a half.

I can buy one ice cream. I can't buy two.

My little brother stands next to me. He looks at the truck. Then he looks at me. He doesn't say anything.

I buy one ice cream. Strawberry, because it's his favorite.

“For me?” he says.

I put it in his hand.

He eats most of it. Then he holds it up to my mouth, and I take one bite. It's cold and very sweet and it's gone in a second.

One bite is small. But after a hot day, one bite is better than no ice cream at all.