The Lemonade War Read online

  Evan was scrubbing the casserole pan when Jessie stacked the last dirty dish by his elbow. Then she stuck her hands under the faucet to rinse without even saying excuse me and shook her hands practically right in Evan's face and said, "So how much money did you make?"

  That was it! He couldn't hold it in any longer!

  "Why'd you do it, huh? Why'd you have to ruin the one thing I had going?" For a second, Evan wasn't sure if he meant the lemonade stand or Megan Moriarty. In a mixed-up way, he meant both.

  And there was no way he was going to tell Jessie that after paying back his mother for the four cans of lemonade, one can of grape juice, and one bottle of ginger ale (she'd been pretty irritated when she came down from the office and there wasn't a single cold drink in the house), he had walked away with two dollars and eleven cents. On top of that, he was pretty sure Scott had kept the five-dollar bill they'd earned. Well, what was Evan supposed to do? Ask Scott to turn his pockets inside out? Evan hadn't kept track of the sales, so he couldn't be sure.

  "Why'd I do it? Why'd you do it? Why'd you invite that jerk over for a lemonade stand?" shouted Jessie. "And how come you wouldn't let me play? You're the one who was mean."

  "You're such a showoff," said Evan. "You always have to let everyone know that you're the smart one."

  "I wasn't showing off. I was just trying to have a little fun. Is that against the law? You won't do a lemonade stand with me. Then I won't do a lemonade stand with you. I'll do one with my friend Megan, instead."

  "You can-not be her friend. You can-not be her friend!" shouted Evan.

  "Why not?"

  "Because you're a little kid. You don't even belong in the fourth grade. And because you're just an annoying showoff pest and no one likes you!"

  The words felt like disgusting spiders running out of his mouth. They were horrible. But it felt so good to get rid of them.

  Then Evan saw Jessie's lip tremble. Uh-oh. Jessie was a howler. She didn't cry often and she didn't cry long. But when she did, it was loud. Mom would come down from her office. Evan would catch the blame. Unfair.

  But Jessie didn't let loose. Instead, she stood as tall as her runty height would allow and said, "Megan likes me. She invited me over to her house tomorrow. We're going to make another lemonade stand and earn twice what we did today."

  Oh, that was it! She was going to ruin everything. Show him up right in front of Megan. Even before the school year started! Make Megan think he was just some stupid loser who couldn't even beat out his baby sister at a lemonade stand. Evan boiled over.

  "I wouldn't count on it, Juicy," he said. Jessie hated that nickname, and Evan only used it when he had to. "I'm going to have a lemonade stand every day until school starts. And I'm going to earn a hundred bucks by the end of the summer. Enough for an iPod."

  "Oh, please. Like you could if you even wanted to," said Jessie. "Megan and I already made twelve bucks each today. We could have a hundred dollars like that." Jessie snapped her fingers.

  "And then what?" said Evan. "You'd lock it up in your lock box and save it 'til you were fifty years old. You're the biggest miser on this planet."

  Jessie stiffened up. Her mouth made a funny O. But then she put a hand on her hip and smirked at Evan. "For your information, I'm going to make a one-hundred-dollar donation to a charity."

  Evan snorted. "Yeah, right. What charity?"

  There was a long pause. And then Jessie said, as smooth as whipped cream, "The Animal Rescue League. Megan and I talked about it today."

  "You don't even like animals," said Evan.

  "Everybody likes animals!" shouted Jessie. "And I'm going to give them a hundred dollars. So you can't ever call me a miser again."

  "I hope I never have to talk to you again," shouted Evan.

  "Hey!" a sharp voice called from the stairs. Mrs. Treski had a pencil stuck in her hair and a worried look on her face. "I could hear you two all the way in the attic. With the air conditioner on high. What's up?"

  Evan looked at Jessie. Jessie looked at Evan.

  They had taken a vow. A spit vow.

  Ever since Dad had gone, they had vowed not to fight in front of Mom. It made her sad. Sadder, even, than when Dad left.

  "Nothing," said Evan.

  "Nothing," said Jessie.

  Mrs. Treski looked at the two of them. "Come on. Out with it. What are you two yelling about?"

  "It wasn't a fight, Mom," said Evan. "We were just joking around."

  "Yeah," said Jessie. "We were goofing. Sorry we got you out of your office."

  Mrs. Treski looked at both of them with her laser eyes. Jessie hung the dishtowel on the oven handle and fiddled with it until it was perfectly straight. Evan bent over the casserole pan and scrubbed as if his life depended on it. He scrubbed so hard, his elbow bumped the fruit bowl. A cloud of fruit flies rose into the air and then settled back down.

  "Oh, God," said Mrs. Treski. "Would you look at those fruit flies!" Her shoulders slumped. "All right. Well, I'm going back up. Can you guys handle showers and reading, and then I'll be down to tuck and turn off lights?"

  "Sure, Mom," said Jessie.

  "No problem," said Evan.

  Mrs. Treski disappeared upstairs. Jessie turned to Evan at the sink.

  "Let's make a bet," she said. "Whoever earns a hundred dollars wins. And the loser has to give all their earnings to the winner."

  Evan shook his head. "Not fair," he said. "You've already got money saved up."

  "That money doesn't count," said Jessie. "We'll start with today's earnings. And it's all got to be from selling lemonade. No mowing lawns or sweeping out the garage or anything else."

  "Aw, what if neither one of us makes a hundred?" said Evan, not liking the sound of this deal.

  "Then whoever makes the closest to a hundred wins. And even if we both make over a hundred, whoever makes the most money wins the bet."

  "When do we count up the money?" asked Evan.

  Jessie thought about that. "Sunday night. Right before the fireworks." She looked straight at Evan. "Huh? Whaddya say?"

  Evan didn't like bets. He really wasn't that into competition. He loved to play basketball and always gave it his all. But winning or losing—it didn't make much difference to him. He just liked to play.

  But this. This was different. This mattered. If he didn't beat Jessie at this bet, if he couldn't win against his little sister in a lemonade war, then—Evan thought of the school year stretching in front of him—it was all over. He might as well just give up on everything right now.

  "It's a bet. A hundred bucks by Sunday night. Winner takes all." He shook his wet hands over the sink, dried them on the dishtowel, and gave Jessie his most menacing look. "You better pray for mercy."

  Chapter 6

  Underselling

  underselling () v. Pricing the same goods for less than the competition.

  Jessie knew that Evan was up to something. First of all, there were all those phone calls last night. At least ten of them.

  Then, he'd come knocking on her door this morning, asking if he could have the pieces of foam core she had leaning against her bedroom wall.

  "No way," she'd answered. "That's for my Labor Day display."

  "Oh, give it up. Today's Thursday. The contest is on Monday, and you don't even have an idea," Evan said.

  "I do too have an idea. I'm just not telling you." Jessie still didn't have a clue about her Labor Day project, but she wasn't going to give Evan the satisfaction of knowing that.

  "Then how come you haven't done anything?" Evan said, pointing at the blank foam core and the bags of untouched art supplies. "You're supposed to have pictures and typed-up information and a big title. It's supposed to be like a school report."

  Jessie scrunched her eyes and pursed her lips in a you're-such-an-idiot look. "Don't worry. It's going to be great, and it's going to win first prize. And anyway, Mom bought all those supplies for me, and I'm not giving anything to you."

  Jessie heard Evan
mutter, "Miser," just as she slammed the door in his face.

  And now three of Evan's friends were over—Paul, Jack, and Ryan. And all three had shown up with paper bags. And they were all in the garage making a lot of noise, with a big keep out sign taped to the door. Not that Jessie would have gone in there anyway. Who cares what a bunch of boys are doing? But she wished Megan had invited her to come over before lunch instead of after.

  Jessie went into the kitchen to make a turkey sandwich. The boys had left a slimy mess of peanut butter, Doritos, and—yes—sticky puddles of lemonade mix. Jessie quickly looked in the trash can under the kitchen sink. There were twelve empty cans of frozen lemonade mix. Twelve! That was ninety-six cups' worth of lemonade. Ninety-six possible sales. Holy cow!

  Where had Evan gotten the lemonade? He hadn't gone to the store, and he didn't have any money anyway. Then Jessie remembered the paper bags that Paul, Ryan, and Jack had carried in. She bet the boys had all raided their freezers and brought over a stash.

  That didn't seem fair! She and Megan had to buy their lemonade today, using the money they'd made yesterday. How were they going to stay ahead of the game if the boys had free lemonade to sell?

  "Think, Jessie, think," she whispered to herself. She couldn't let those boys win.

  By the time she finished her lunch and cleaned up her mess (she wasn't going to lift a finger to clean up the boys' mess), she had the beginning of a plan in her head.

  Which is why she found it doubly confusing when she knocked on Megan's screen and Carly Brownell came to the door. Jessie'd been all ready to say, "I've got a great idea." But then there was Carly, looking down at her like she was an earwig.

  "Um, is Megan home?" asked Jessie.

  Carly didn't open the screen door as she looked left and right behind Jessie. "Where's Evan?"

  "Huh?" said Jessie.

  Megan came running down the stairs carrying bottles of nail polish. "Oh, hi, Jessie," she said, opening the door. She poked her head out and looked around. "Where's Evan?"

  "He's at home. Why?" asked Jessie. Carly made a noise like a snorting hippopotamus.

  "I thought you said he was coming," said Megan.

  "No, I didn't," said Jessie. "You said it would be fun to make a lemonade stand with all three of us, and I said, yeah, that would be fun."

  "So, didn't he want to?" asked Megan.

  "I never asked him," said Jessie.

  "Oh. I thought you were going to," said Megan.

  "Then you should have said, 'Hey, Jessie. Ask Evan if he wants to make a lemonade stand tomorrow.' And then I would have asked him." This was exactly what drove Jessie crazy about girls. They always said things halfway and then expected you to get the other half. And Jessie never got the other half.

  Carly gave Megan a look. Jessie wasn't positive what the look meant, but she was pretty sure it wasn't a nice one.

  That was the other thing that Jessie hated about girls. They were always giving looks. Looks that contained all kinds of strange and complicated messages.

  Last year, in second grade, there had been four girls who were always exchanging looks with one another—Becky Baker, Lorelei Sun, Andrea Hennessey, and Eileen Garrett. Jessie watched them and knew that Evan was right: They talked without words. They used their eyes to pass secret messages. She also knew they didn't like her, but only because Evan had finally explained it to her over Christmas vacation. Jessie was surprised when he told her this. They laughed so much—how could they be mean?

  They were the four who started the club: the Wild Hot Jellybeans Club. Or, as they called it, the WHJ Club. Becky was president, and she was always telling the others what to do. They made signs and paper buttons and membership cards. The teacher, Mrs. Soren, didn't usually allow clubs in the classroom, but she made an exception, telling the girls, "I'll let you wear your buttons in class, but only if you let all the other kids join—if they want to." By the end of the day, every kid in class was wearing a WHJ button—even Jessie, who'd never belonged to a club before.

  It had seemed like Becky was being so nice to her. "That should have been your first clue," Evan told Jessie later. Becky made extra buttons for Jessie and even helped tape them all over her shirt. And she made a special membership card for her and even a WHJ sign that she helped Jessie glue onto her Writers' Workshop folder.

  Jessie remembered all the girls laughing and Jessie laughing, too. And all those strange looks that Becky and Lorelei and Andrea and Eileen kept flashing back and forth, like secret notes passed in class that Jessie could never read.

  The very next day, Mrs. Soren collected all the buttons, gathered up all the membership cards, and even replaced Jessie's Writers' Workshop folder. "No clubs in the classroom," she said. "I made a bad choice by allowing it, even for one day."

  On the playground, Jessie went up to Becky. "Why is she breaking up the club?" she asked.

  Becky gave her a sour look. She'd been grumpy all morning. "Don't you get it, you dummy? WHJ doesn't stand for Wild Hot Jellybeans. We just said that to Mrs. Soren. It stands for We Hate Jessie. It's the We Hate Jessie Club, and everyone in the class is a member."

  Jessie stared at Becky. Why did they hate her? What had she ever done to them? It didn't make sense. And then Lorelei, Andrea, and Eileen had laughed, and even Becky had managed a smirky grin.

  "Jerks," Evan said later, when Jessie told him the whole story. "They've got rocks for brains. But Jess, you gotta be on the lookout for girls like that."

  Standing in Megan's front hall, Jessie stared at Carly. Something inside told her Carly was a "girl like that."

  "Look," said Jessie. "It doesn't matter. Evan can't come over. He's busy. And we've got to get going on our lemonade stand. I've got a great idea."

  "We don't want to do a lemonade stand," said Carly.

  Jessie looked at Megan.

  "It's just that..." Megan fiddled with the bottles of nail polish in her hand the same way she'd fiddled with her band bracelets the day before. "It's kind of hot. And we did the lemonade thing already. And now Carly is over. So. Ya know?"

  "You said you wanted to," said Jessie. And I thought you liked me, she added in her head. She felt her lower lip tremble. Not now, she shouted inside. Don't you be a big baby!

  Megan stood there, saying nothing, fiddling with the bottles. Then she turned to Carly. "Aw, c'mon, Carly. It'll be fun. We made a ton of money yesterday. And it was really ... fun."

  Carly crossed her arms, tightened her lips, and raised one eyebrow. It was amazing how high she could raise that eyebrow. Jessie had never seen an eyebrow go that high.

  "Aw, c'mon, Carly," Megan said again. Carly didn't move a muscle.

  "Well, then I guess..." Megan's voice trailed off. She clicked one bottle of nail polish against another so that it made a tapping sound that filled the long silence. "I guess me and Jessie will do the lemonade stand alone then."

  Carly dropped her eyebrow and her arms. "What-ever;" she said as she walked out the door. "Spend the day baby-sitting if you want." The screen door slammed, followed by a huge bucketful of silence.

  "What-ever;" said Megan, imitating Carly's voice.

  Jessie laughed, even though she was still stinging from the baby-sitting remark. "Thanks for doing the lemonade stand with me," she said.

  "Are you kidding?" said Megan. "She's such a stuck-up jerk. I didn't even invite her over. She just rode by, and when I said that you and Evan might be coming over, she just walked into the house."

  "Are all the girls in fourth grade like her?" asked Jessie. She tried to sound casual.

  "Some are, some aren't," said Megan. She sat down on the stairs and opened a bottle of sky blue nail polish. With quick expert strokes, she started painting her toenails. "Hey, that's right. You're going to be in our class this year. That's so weird. Jumping a grade."

  "A lot of people skip a grade," said Jessie.

  "Really? I never met one before. Here. Do your toes green and then we'll be coordinated."

 
Jessie ended up getting more polish on her toes than on her toenails. But by the time they were done, Jessie had explained her plan for the day: Value-added.

  "See," she said, pulling Ten Bright Ideas to Light Up Your Sales from the back pocket of her shorts. She turned to Bright Idea #2 and pointed with her finger.

  "That means we give customers something extra they didn't expect," explained Jessie. "I mean, anyone can go home and mix up their own batch of lemonade. Right? So if we want them to buy from us, we've got to give them something extra. We add value."

  "Great," said Megan. "What are we going to add?"

  "Well, how about chips? And maybe pretzels. Everyone likes chips and pretzels. We'll just have a bowl on the table, and anyone who buys lemonade can have some free snacks."

  "So we're adding value—snacks."

  "Yeah, except—" Jessie had stayed up late last night reading her mom's booklet. "You know what we're really adding? Fun. That's the one thing people can't get all by themselves. It looks like we're selling lemonade and snacks. But we're really selling fun. And everyone wants fun."

  "Wow," said Megan. "That's really smart. It'll be like a party. Who doesn't like a party?"

  Jessie nodded her head. She carefully tore out the definition of value-added from the booklet and put it in her lock box. Her mother always said: Some ideas are like money in the bank.

  An hour later, they were all set up. The lemonade stand was newly decorated with streamers and balloons. Three bowls of snacks—Cheetos, potato chips, and pretzels—were set on top. Jessie had lugged Megan's boom box all the way downstairs, and Megan was doing the DJ thing with her CD collection. It looked like a party had somehow sprung up right in the middle of the hot concrete sidewalk. To anyone passing by, the lemonade stand shouted out, "Come over here! This is where the fun is!"

  As soon as the music had come on, customers had started drifting over. One of the moms across the street set up a sprinkler in her front yard, and soon all the kids in the neighborhood were running through the sprinkler and grabbing handfuls of Cheetos. Two women walking their dogs stopped for a nibble and ended up staying an hour. And three or four of the neighborhood mothers set up lawn chairs nearby and talked and ate pretzels while their kids ran through the water.