The Great Peach Experiment 1

by Erin Soderberg Downing

  But now, for the first time all summer, the Peaches had a big, shiny kitchen to spread out in, and this allowed them to make more pies than Herb had ever seen in his life. In the two days leading up to the festival, they baked up a storm. Herb was finally allowed to help, and Freddy even let him use crust scraps make a few dozen orders of Herb’s Cinnaballs to sell during the festival! By the time the competition started, the Peaches had dozens of gorgeous pies ready to sell.

  In addition, Freddy had made a few adjustments to their business plan, hoping to help boost profits. That, Herb knew, meant they would make a lot more money without spending very much more money. They would still charge five dollars for a slice of pie, but customers could now add a scoop of ice cream for an additional two bucks. A big tub of ice cream cost only five dollars, and they could get at least twenty scoops out of each tub. Herb had done the math and realized this meant they would make thirty-five bucks per tub, give or take.

  They didn’t have a ton of freezer space in the food truck, so they could only keep three tubs of ice cream on hand. But Lucy had located the nearest grocery store, just two blocks from where their truck was stationed, and Herb had happily volunteered to be the designated ice cream runner whenever they needed to buy more. He was excited about his important new job.

  After a long brainstorming session, they had also come up with a fun idea for how to offload any leftover pie in the afternoon. Dad had been the one to suggest that, starting at 3:14 every afternoon, they could offer a special deal: Pie for Pi. Before closing up shop, they would sell any remaining slices of pie for $3.14.

  But with hours to go before closing time, Herb wanted to sell as much pie for full price as they possibly could. So while his family hung out in the hot and stuffy food truck, Herb trotted up and down the sidewalks, waving at possible customers and sneakily peeking into shops. He was very tempted to poke his head into the little antique shop to have a look around at all the treasures hidden inside, and there was a diner that looked super yummy. But he had a job to do, and Herb was committed. Finally, his family trusted him with something big, and he wasn’t going to let them down.

  He chatted with anyone who stopped to say hello, and carefully scoped out the competition. There were more than forty food trucks participating in the festival. Every truck had paid five hundred dollars to participate, and they were all gunning for the same ten-thousand-dollar prize. The food trucks were lined up from one end of the town all the way down to the Ohio Wesleyan University campus on the other end. Herb tried hard to remember everything he saw so he could report to his family. He wondered if anyone else wanted to earn that prize money as much as they did. Probably.

  A few colorful trucks were selling tacos; one had a line, and Herb noticed that the people in that truck were all dancing and wearing fun hats. Another had fancy burgers, and the smells coming out of the truck were wonderful. Another truck had a sign advertising “Not Your Mama’s Mac & Cheese,” which Herb didn’t understand, since his Mama had never made macaroni and cheese (his mom had made solar clings!). Several pastel-colored trucks had cakes and baked goods. One tall truck was painted to look like a giant ear of corn. There were Hawaiian meat-and-fruit skewers, massive turkey legs, smoothies, Italian street food, and even a cotton candy truck.

  Lucy had packed a lunch for the family, so they wouldn’t have to spend money at any of the competing trucks—but Herb was so very tempted. The corn truck had a dancing ear of corn that spun around on top of their truck that made him instantly hungry. But he resisted! Instead, he wandered up to some of the people in the corn truck line, and said, “Hello, I’m Herb Peach and my family makes the yummiest pies! Right this way.” He hopped from foot to foot, trying to get people’s attention.

  Sometimes, it worked. Other times, it did not.

  But Herb liked to think the Peach Pie Truck had a long line of customers waiting for pie almost all day because of his efforts. Freddy seemed happy, which meant business was going well. And Herb had been asked to hustle off to the store several times to refill the food truck freezer with ice cream.

  By the time three o’clock rolled around, they only had a few pies left to sell. As planned, they discounted their remaining treats to $3.14 per slice, and sold out of the remaining inventory just before four o’clock. As soon as they closed up shop, the Peaches celebrated. It had been a great day.

  “I don’t even need Herb to do his calculations to know we made a lot of money today,” Freddy said. “We were busy! I’m pretty sure we made back all the money we spent on ingredients and our entry fee already.”

  “Can I get a whoop whoop?” Dad cheered.

  Freddy made a funny face. “Um, no.”

  “One whoop?” Dad said.

  “Whoop!” Herb hollered, running into Dad’s arms. Dad wrapped him in a hug, and Herb immediately heard a loud pop! Then something began to hiss. Herb glanced down and noticed that his inflatable peach costume suddenly looked less like a piece of ripe fruit and more like a piece of wilted, dried fruit.

  “That was a whoop oops,” Dad said, sheepishly holding up a pointy pie server. “It seems I accidentally popped our mascot.”

  26

  THE FINAL SLICE

  “Pie!” Freddy shouted from his perch at the food truck’s service window the next morning. “Tasty pie! Who wants fresh-baked Peach family pie?”

  The second day of the Food Truck Festival started out slow. Freddy could tell that some of the energy and excitement of the first day had dwindled, and there were much smaller crowds roaming up and down Delaware’s main street. Still, he knew it was important that they keep up their energy and enthusiasm, since today, the judges would be going from truck to truck to do their scoring. They would be interviewing customers about each food truck’s customer service, and secretly posing as customers to taste everyone’s offerings. They would then combine that score with each truck’s total profit for the festival in order to determine a winner.

  So today, it was more important than ever to be at their very best and try to bring in even more sales. A few people wandered by, smiling politely, but very few people stopped to buy anything. “Maybe we could offer samples?” Lucy suggested.

  “Can’t hurt,” Freddy agreed. “Remember Sample Stan, in Chicago?” he said, giggling. “Everyone loves samples.”

  So Freddy and Herb filled trays with small slivers of pie and headed out to chat with and tempt the passersby. Lucy and Dad stayed inside the truck to handle any customers who stopped to purchase.

  Late that morning, Freddy also came up with another idea for bringing in business. “If not a lot of people feel like eating pie today,” he told his family, “I’d be willing to sell a few slices that people could throw in my face if they want.” He grinned. “Sales are sales, right?”

  But fortunately, by midday, the Peach Pie Truck finally had a small line. Soon business was brisk, and they were selling slice after slice to eager customers. Freddy studied each person who came to the window, trying to figure out who the mystery judges were. It could be anyone: the lady with a stroller, the grumpy old man who had taken almost five minutes to pick his flavor of pie, the couple who asked if they ever sold pie by the half slice, the bearded twentysomething guy who refused to smile (but bought a slice of turtle pie and hurriedly gobbled it down).

  “We’re almost out of peach pie,” Lucy announced shortly after lunch. “I sure hope the judges come by soon.”

  “Maybe they’ve already been here.” Freddy shrugged. “Maybe it’s this guy.” A man in a checkered shirt and khaki slacks whisked his slice of peach pie off the counter and stepped away from the truck. Moments later, he fumbled for the beeping phone in his pocket. As he pulled it out, he lost his grip on the plate, and the entire slab of peach pie landed on the sidewalk with a messy plop!

  The man fumed. “This pie—” he began, turning and shrieking at the Peaches. “This pie has dirt in it!”


  “Uh, sir?” Freddy began politely. “I’m—”

  Lucy blurted out, “You dropped your pie. That’s why it has dirt in it.”

  “This pie is covered in dirt!” the man repeated. “I demand a refund.”

  The customers in line all stared at the unfolding action. Eager to diffuse the situation, Freddy thrust a five across the counter at him. Then he slid their very last slice of peach pie onto a fresh plate, along with a big scoop of ice cream. With a smile, he passed it to the man, and said, “Enjoy, okay? And I hope the rest of your day is just peachy.”

  All the other customers in line applauded. Dad and Lucy joined in. Freddy waved and grinned. Through his smile and gritted teeth, Freddy said to his family, “Let’s hope that guy isn’t a judge.”

  “But if he is,” Dad said with a huge laugh, wrapping his arm around Freddy’s shoulders, “thanks to your quick-thinking and good attitude, I think we may have just won.”

  * * *

  The third and final day of the festival passed quickly. Sales were brisk at the Peach Pie Truck, but business was hopping at all the food trucks. It was impossible to predict who might win.

  At five minutes to four, the Peaches were nearly sold out. They had just one pie remaining: a lone, ooey-gooey turtle pie. They had sold out of peach pie early in the day, because Herb had done an excellent job advertising that one, and Key lime pie had proven much more popular than any of them would have predicted.

  “Well,” Dad said, scanning the mess inside the food truck, “we done good.”

  “Yeah, we did,” Freddy agreed. Everyone in the family had worked their butts off the past three days, and Freddy felt certain there was nothing more they could possibly have done to improve their outcome. “Even if we don’t win, we certainly tried our hardest. I think Mom would be proud of us.”

  Dad nodded and pulled him in for a hug. “Son, I think you’re right. I’d say we can officially call this experiment a success.” He pulled back and studied Freddy’s face carefully. “You know, you remind me more and more of your mother every day.”

  Freddy grinned. “Thanks.”

  Dad’s face grew wistful, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Your mom used to say, ’When inspiration strikes, you have to let it hit you—full force—and see where that jolt will take you.’ ” He chuckled. “I certainly think we lived up to that advice this summer.”

  “Speaking of stuff hitting you full force,” Lucy said, kindly cutting into Freddy and Dad’s awkward father-son moment. “It seems a shame to see this last pie go to waste. Remember Freddy’s idea from yesterday morning?”

  Freddy grinned. “You want to throw the last pie in my face!” he said, obviously delighted. “Don’t you?”

  But Lucy shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “I want you to throw it in my face. I’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like to get pied.” She grinned. “I have thirty dollars left from the fifty that Dad gave each of us to buy souvenirs this summer.” She dug into her jean shorts pocket and pulled out a crumpled ten and four five-dollar bills. “I’m pretty sure this is the perfect way to spend the rest of my summer fun money.”

  Lucy hopped out the back door of the Peach Pie Truck and walked around to the service window, slapping her cash down on the counter. “Excuse me. I’d like to buy six full-price slices of turtle pie, please. No need to serve them up on plates; I’ll take it in the pan, thanks.”

  Dad and Freddy exchanged a nervous look. This wasn’t like Lucy. She wasn’t usually a pie-in-the-face kind of girl. “Lucy,” Dad began. “I’m not so—”

  But before Dad could say no, Herb stepped up to the window and slid the gooey, whipped-cream-topped turtle pie across the counter to his sister. “If Lucy’s willing to pay for this pie,” Herb said, sounding like a little businessman, “we can’t really tell her she can’t have it. Money is money, and if Lucy buys the final pie, we’ll be totally sold out. That’s pretty cool.”

  Freddy shrugged. Herb had a point. Lucy could use her souvenir money however she wanted, and they could count this money toward their total earnings. If his crazy sister wanted to spend her own money to get pie-faced, he wasn’t really in a position to tell her no.

  So Freddy hopped out of the truck, grabbed the pie off the counter, and stood boldly in front of Lucy in the center of the sidewalk. He had always wanted to throw a pie in someone’s face. “I have fifteen bucks left of my souvenir money,” Freddy said, holding the pie high in the air. “Let’s split the cost of this last pie, fifty-fifty, since this is going to be just as fun for me.”

  “Deal,” Lucy said, laughing. Then she squeezed her eyes tight and said, “Hit me with your best shot.”

  Freddy pulled his arm back, then paused. “This was your idea, remember,” he said. “I seriously hope there’s not going to be payback for this.” Then, before Lucy could change her mind, he yelled, “PEACH POWER!” and chucked the pie into his sister’s face.

  Ribbons of chocolate and caramel oozed down Lucy’s shirt and pooled on her shoulders. She wiped whipped cream away from her eyes and squinted up at her brother. “Best use of souvenir money ever!” she declared.

  “Agreed!” Freddy laughed and swiped a fingerful of whipped cream off his sister’s cheek. “That image is going to stick with me forever.”

  * * *

  While Lucy got cleaned up, Freddy wiped down all the counters, Dad scrubbed dirty dishes in the sink, and Herb counted their money.

  “If we subtract the five hundred dollars we spent to enter the competition, and our ingredient costs for the festival, we come out with three thousand three hundred and four dollars in total profits,” Herb announced. “That’s a lot of pie.”

  “Holy moly,” Dad said. “I’d consider that a whopping success.”

  “Impressive,” Lucy said, still swabbing sticky bits out of her hair.

  “I knew we could do it,” Freddy chimed in. Then he set off to turn in their final tally sheet at the judging booth.

  Just as Freddy returned, a woman approached the Peach Pie Truck’s service window. “Helloooo!” she called out, tapping on the counter.

  “Sorry,” Freddy called out cheerfully. “We’re totally sold out of pie.”

  The lady came around to the back of the truck and poked her head through the big back door. “No worries, hon. I got a slice of that sweet peach pie earlier.” She rubbed her belly. “Now I’m here on other business.”

  “How can we help you?” Freddy asked.

  “My name’s Lois Sibberson,” the woman said. “I’m getting everything set up to start a food truck of my own, and I’d be grateful if you’d let me take a quick peek inside your space.”

  “Absolutely,” Freddy said. “What kind of truck are you opening?”

  Ms. Sibberson smiled, and said, “I make pies, homemade bread, and scones that I’ve sold here at the Delaware farmer’s market for years. I’m recently retired from my job as a fourth-grade teacher, and I’ve decided it’s high time for me to set off on my next adventure. I’ve done a lot of research, and I’m ready to take my business on the road.”

  “It’s hard work,” Herb blurted out, his eyes wide. “Really hard work.”

  Ms. Sibberson laughed. “I know that. But I’m excited for the challenge. The only thing I have left to do is, I’ve got to find myself the right truck. I snuck a peek inside your vehicle when I ordered my pie earlier today and it seems to have a lot of the features I’m looking for in a truck of my own. If it’s okay with you, I’d love to get a closer look inside to see if I can’t get a few ideas.”

  Freddy glanced at Dad, who was staring at their guest with a strange look on his face. “So, Lois…,” Dad said slowly, “you haven’t bought a truck yet?”

  “Hoo, no!” Ms. Sibberson said, yelping with laughter. “I was hoping to find a used truck, so I don’t have to build the whole thing from scratch.
But used food trucks aren’t an easy thing to come by here in the middle of Ohio.”

  Lucy and Herb hopped out of the truck to give Ms. Sibberson some space. Using Freddy’s arm for support, Ms. Sibberson stepped up into the Peach Pie Truck. She looked around, nodding appreciatively. “Yep, this is just the sort of food truck I’ve been searching for. Would be fun to have some extra seats up front for my grandkids to join me on my travels sometimes.” She laughed, then added, “Don’t suppose you want to sell, do ya?”

  Freddy looked at Dad, who stared back at him, his eyebrows raised in a question. “Fred?” Dad asked. Freddy felt himself flush with pride—his dad had turned to him for advice. He took a deep breath. He didn’t even need to ask his siblings their opinion; he was pretty sure they would all agree with his assessment: this experiment had officially run its course.

  Freddy was one-hundred-percent certain they were not cut out to be a food truck family. It had been a fun experiment, but it was time for them to move on to their next adventure. Freddy gave his dad a brief nod, and Dad responded with a slight nod of his own. Lucy and Herb nodded their agreement, too.

  “Lois,” Freddy said seriously, “let’s make a deal.”

  * * *

  Just as they finalized their deal with Ms. Sibberson—who was willing and able to pay the Peaches the exact amount Dad had spent on the truck in the first place—the festival organizers announced that they were ready to reveal the results.

  “In fourth place”—the Peaches all linked arms, bracing themselves for the announcement—“with solid marks for flavor and service, and a total three-day profit of one thousand nine hundred thirty-six dollars: Corn Cabin!” There was a smattering of applause from the big corn-shaped truck.

  “In third place, also with a near-perfect score for service and flavor”—Freddy squeezed his eyes closed—“and a total three-day profit of two thousand two hundred ninety-two dollars: Taco Cat!”