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There were a lot of stories going round that ice cream. People said that it was good for you. Some kids said that it made you better when you were sick. One of the teachers called it “happy Ice Cream”. I didn’t believe it; it never maid me happy.
All the same, there was something strange about it. Take Pimples Peterson for example. That wasn’t his real name – I just called him that because he had a lot of pimples. One day Peppi heard me calling Pimples that name and gave Peterson a purple coloured ice cream. “Here, eat this,” he said. “I am giving it to you for nothing. It will help you to get rid of your pimples.”
I laughed and laughed. Ice cream doesn’t get rid of pimples, it gives you pimples. Anyway, the next day when Peterson came to school he had no pimples. No one. I couldn’t believe it. The ice cream had cured his pimples.
I made up my mind to put a stop to this ice cream business. Jerome Dadian had been eating ice cream the day he got one hundred for Maths. It must have been the ice cream making him smart. I wasn’t going to have anyone doing as well as mw. I was the smartest kid in the school, and that’s way I wanted it to stay. I wanted to get a look inside that ice cream van to find out what was going on.
I knew where Peppi kept his van at night. So at about eleven o’clock I crept out of the house. There was no one around when I reached the van. I opened the door with a crowbar and shone my torch around inside. I had never seen so many tubs of ice cream before. There was every kind of ice cream. You could think of: tasting apple and banana, cherry and mango, blackberry and watermelon, and about fifty other flavours. Right at the end of the van were four bins with locks on them. I went over and had a look. These were his special flavours. Each of them had writing on the top..