The Lemonade War

by Jacqueline Davies

  After two hours they decided to call it quits. Sales had dropped off—fast—and then stopped altogether.

  "Hey, did you notice something?" asked Evan, stacking the chairs.

  "What?" said Scott.

  "When we started the stand, most of our business came from that direction." He pointed down the street toward the curve in the road. "But after an hour, not one person who walked past us from that direction bought a cup. Not one. They all said, 'No, thanks,' and kept on walking. Why do you think?"

  "Dunno," said Scott.

  "Boy, you're a real go-getter," said Evan. "You know that?"

  Scott socked him in the chest, but Evan defended and knocked Scott's cap off. While Scott was scrambling for his hat, Evan said, "Just hang here for a minute, okay?" and set off down the street. As soon as he rounded the curve, he knew why business had fallen off so badly.

  There was Jessie. And Megan Moriarty from his class. They were standing inside a wooden booth, and their sign said it all.

  By the looks of it, their business was booming.

  Evan watched as Jessie accepted a fistful of dollar bills from a mother surrounded by kids. At that moment, Jessie looked up and saw him. Evan had a weird feeling, like he'd been caught cheating on a test. He wanted to run and hide somewhere. Instead, he froze. What would Jessie do?

  Evan couldn't believe it: She sneered at him. She cocked her head to the side and gave him this little I'm-so-much-better-than-you smile. And then—and then—she waved the money in her hand at him. She waved it! As if to say, "Look how much we've made selling lemonade! Bet you can't beat that!"

  Evan turned on his heel and walked away. Behind him, he could hear Megan Moriarty laughing at him, clear as a bell.

  Chapter 4

  Partnership

  partnership () n. Two or more people pooling their money, skills, and resources to run a business, agreeing to share the profits and losses of that business.

  Jessie had been waiting for this moment—the moment when Evan would see their lemonade stand, see the wonderful decorations they had made, see the crowds of people waiting in line, see Megan Moriarty standing by her side. He would see it all and be so impressed. He would think to himself, Wow, Jessie is one cool kid. She sure knows how to run a lemonade stand right! And then he'd jog over and say, "Hey, can I help out?" And Jessie would say, "Sure! We were hoping you'd come over."

  And it would be like old times.

  Why hadn't it worked out like that?

  With one part of her brain, Jessie continued to take money from customers and make change. That was the part of her brain that worked just fine. With the other part of her brain, Jessie went over what had happened with Evan. That was the part of her brain that tended to run in circles.

  She and Megan were selling lemonade. Business had been good. Then Mrs. Pawley, a neighborhood mom, walked up. She had had a bunch of kids in her backyard running through the sprinkler, and now they wanted twelve cups of lemonade. Twelve! It was the biggest sale of the day. Megan got cracking pouring the lemonade and Jessie took the six singles that Mrs. Pawley handed her. All the kids from Mrs. Pawley's backyard were chanting, "Lemon-ADE! Lemon-ADE! Lemon-ADE!"

  A fly buzzed by Jessie's ear—they'd been having a problem with flies because of the sticky lemonade spills on their stand—and she cocked her head to one side to shoo it since her hands were busy with the money. And that's when Jessie looked up and saw Evan standing there, staring.

  So she smiled.

  But he didn't smile back.

  So she waved, even though she had all that money in both hands. She waved so he'd know that she was happy to see him.

  And then he stalked off, all stiff-legged and bristly. And she never got to say, "Sure! We were hoping you'd come over," like she'd rehearsed in her head.

  And just then, Tommy Pawley, who was two years old, pulled down his bathing suit and peed right on the lawn. And Megan laughed so loud, Jessie was sure you could hear it all over the neighborhood.

  That's what had happened. That's exactly what had happened. But Jessie knew that something else entirely had happened. And she didn't get it. The way she didn't get a lot of things about people.

  All she knew was that the sight of Evan walking away—walking away from her for the second time that day—made her feel so sad and alone that she just wanted to run home to her room and curl up on her bed with Charlotte's Web.

  "Hey, Madam Cash Register," said Megan, nudging her. "You're falling behind. Ring three for this lady and one for this kid here."

  Jessie turned away from the retreating figure of Evan. "That's a dollar fifty," she said to the woman standing in front of her. She took the five-dollar bill the woman was holding out and made change from her lock box, focusing all her energy on the part of her brain that worked just fine.

  It's true that when Evan had first walked out of the garage, Jessie had banged up to her room and tried to think of every way possible that she could make his life a living misery.

  She'd thought of telling Mom that Evan was the one who broke the toaster (by playing hockey in the house, which is not allowed). She'd thought of taking back every one of her CDs from his room (even though she knew that would mean she'd have to give back all of his CDs). She'd even thought of putting peanut butter in his shoes. (This was something she'd read in a book, and she loved to imagine that moment of horror when he'd think he'd somehow gotten dog doo inside his shoes.)

  But when these ideas had finished bouncing around her brain, and when her breathing had returned to normal and her fists weren't clenched at her sides anymore, she knew that what she really wanted was to get the old Evan back. The one who was so much fun to be around. The one who helped her out of every jam.

  Like when she ate all the Lorna Doones that Mom had set aside for the Girl Scout meeting. And Evan had ridden his bike to the 7-Eleven and bought a new package before Mom even noticed. Or when she accidentally—well, not accidentally, but how was she supposed to know?—picked the red flowers in Grandma's garden that were a hybrid experiment. Evan had said they'd both done it so that Grandma's disappointment was spread around. Or the time that Jessie had smashed the ceramic heart that Daddy had given her because she was so mad that he had left them. And then, when she had cried about her broken heart, Evan had glued every single last piece back together again.

  She wanted back the Evan who was her best friend.

  But Evan didn't want her, because he thought she was a baby and she was going to embarrass him in Mrs. Overton's class. So she had to prove to him that she was a big kid. That she could keep up with the crowd. That she could fit in—even with his fourth-grade class.

  I'll show him I can sell lemonade, too. Just as good as him and Scott. I won't embarrass him. So Jessie got down to business.

  She knew she needed a partner. From past experience, she'd learned that having a lemonade stand alone wasn't considered cool—it was considered pathetic. And her partner would have to be a fourth-grade girl, because that's what this was all about—showing she could fit in with the fourth- graders. So the question was who?

  It had to be a girl who lived in the neighborhood, or at least close enough to bike to her house. And it had to be someone that Jessie had talked to at least once. No way could she call up a girl she'd never even talked to. And it had to be someone who seemed nice.

  This last part was a problem, because Jessie knew that she often thought people were nice and then they turned out to be not nice. Case in point: those second-grade girls. So Jessie decided it had to be someone who Evan thought was nice. Evan knew about these things. He was the one who had explained, with his big arm around her shoulder, "Jessie, those girls are making fun of you. They are not nice."

  When Jessie thought about all these different requirements, there was only one obvious answer: Megan Moriarty. She lived less than three blocks down the street. Jessie had said hi to her a few times while biking in the neighborhood. And Evan must have thought she was nice because Jessie had
found a piece of paper in his trash can with Megan's name written all over it. Why would he cover a page with her name if he didn't think she was a nice person?

  Jessie went to the kitchen and climbed onto a stool so that she could reach the cabinet over the stove. She took down the school phone book and looked through the listings for both of last year's third-grade classes. No Megan Moriarty. Duh, Jessie remembered—she'd moved in halfway through the school year. With a sinking heart, Jessie checked the town phone book. No Moriarty family listed on Damon Road.

  "Okay," said Jessie, slapping the phone book shut and putting it back in the cabinet over the stove. "Time for Plan B."

  Jessie went to the hall closet and got out her backpack, which had been hanging there, empty, since the last day of school. Inside she put three cans of frozen lemonade from the freezer and her lock box full of change. (She put the ten-dollar bill, still paper-clipped to last year's birthday card from her grandmother, in her top desk drawer.) Then she went to the garage, strapped on her helmet, and rode off on her bike. As she left the driveway, she could see Evan and Scott's lemonade stand on the corner, but she was careful not to make eye contact. She didn't want to talk to Evan until she was ready to (ta-da!) impress him. Her heart leaped when she imagined him ditching Scott to be with her.

  Megan's house was so close that Jessie got there in less than thirty seconds. And less than thirty seconds wasn't nearly long enough for her to plan what she was going to say. So she rode back and forth in front of the house about fifteen times, trying to pick the right words.

  "What're you doing?" a voice shouted from the upstairs window.

  Jessie slammed on her foot brakes and looked up. Megan was staring down at her. She looked huge. Her voice did not sound nice.

  "Riding my bike," said Jessie.

  "But why are you riding back and forth?" asked Megan impatiently. "In front of my house?"

  "I dunno," said Jessie. "Ya wanna play?"

  "Who are you?" asked Megan.

  "Jessie," said Jessie, pointing down the street toward her house.

  "Evan's little sister?" asked Megan.

  Jessie felt like a deflating balloon. "Yeah."

  "Oh," said Megan. "I couldn't tell 'cause of the helmet."

  Jessie took her helmet off. "So ya wanna?" she asked.

  There was a long pause.

  "Where's Evan?" asked Megan.

  "He's out, somewhere, with a friend," said Jessie.

  "Oh," said Megan. Jessie looked down at the ground.

  People tell you things, Evan had told her once, with their hands and their faces and the way they stand. It's not just what they say. You gotta pay attention, Jess. You gotta watch for the things they're saying, not with their words.

  Jessie looked back up. It was hard to see Megan at all, she was so far up and behind the window screen. Jessie sucked in her breath. "Do you want to do something?"

  Another long pause. Jessie started counting in her head. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand, six one thousand...

  "Sure," said Megan. Then her head disappeared from the window.

  A minute later Megan was at the front door. "Hey," she said, opening the screen.

  Jessie raised her hand in something that was halfway between a wave and a salute as she walked in. Her sweaty bangs stuck to her forehead where the helmet had mashed them down. She was so nervous about saying something stupid, she didn't say anything at all. Megan leaned against the banister of the stairs and crossed her arms.

  "So," said Jessie. She stared at Megan, who was fiddling with the seven or eight band bracelets on her arm. Jessie counted two LiveStrongs, one Red Sox World Champs, one March of Dimes, and one Race for the Cure. "What's that one?" she asked, pointing to a band bracelet with tiger stripes.

  Megan stretched it off her wrist and gave it to Jessie. "It's for the Animal Rescue League. My mom gave them some money, so they gave us this and a bumper sticker. I've got twenty-two band bracelets."

  "Cool," said Jessie, handing the bracelet back. Megan flipped it back on. She continued to play with the bracelets on her arm, running them up and down, up and down.

  "So, whaddya wanna do?" asked Megan.

  "I don't know," said Jessie. "We could—I don't know. Let me think. We could—have a lemonade stand!"

  "Enhh," said Megan, sounding bored.

  "Aw, it'll be fun. Come on!"

  "We don't have any lemonade," said Megan.

  "I've got three cans," said Jessie. She slipped the backpack off her back and dumped out the three cans of frozen lemonade. Her lock box came rattling out, too.

  "What's that?" asked Megan.

  "My lock box," said Jessie. "We can use it to make change." She felt her face getting red. Maybe fourth-graders weren't supposed to have lock boxes?

  "How much money have you got?" asked Megan.

  "You mean in change, or all together?"

  Megan pointed at the lock box. "How much is in there?"

  "Four dollars and forty-two cents. Fourteen quarters, five dimes, three nickels, and twenty-seven pennies." Jessie didn't say anything about the ten dollars she'd left at home.

  Both of Megan's eyebrows shot up. "Exactly?" she asked.

  What do those eyebrows mean? Jessie wondered in a panic. Why was Megan smiling at her? Jessie, those girls are making fun of you. They are not nice.

  Jessie didn't say anything. She had a sick feeling in her stomach that this was going to turn out badly.

  Megan straightened up. "Wow, you're rich," she said. "Wanna go to the 7-Eleven? We could get Slurpees."

  "But—" Jessie pointed to the cans of lemonade on the carpeted hallway floor. The frost on them was already starting to sweat off.

  "We could do the lemonade stand later," said Megan. "Maybe."

  Jessie thought of Scott and Evan, racking up sales two blocks down. How was she going to prove herself to Evan if she couldn't even get Megan to have a stand?

  "How about the lemonade stand first?" Jessie said. "And then Slurpees with our earnings. I bet we'd even have enough for chips. And gum!"

  "You think?" said Megan.

  "I know," said Jessie. "Look." She held up a can of lemonade. "It says right on the can: 'Yields sixty-four ounces.' So we get eight cups from each can and sell each cup for half a buck, so that's four bucks, and then there're three cans, so that's twelve bucks altogether. Right?" The numbers flashed in Jessie's brain so fast, she didn't even need to think about what she was multiplying and dividing and adding. It just made sense to her.

  "Hey, how old are you?" Megan asked, looking at her sideways.

  "Eight," said Jessie. "But I'll be nine next month."

  Megan shook her head. "That math doesn't sound right. No way we can make twelve dollars from just three little cans."

  "Yuh-hunh," said Jessie. "I'll show you. Do you have a piece of paper?"

  Jessie started to draw pictures. She knew that other kids couldn't see the numbers the way she did. They needed the pictures to make sense of math.

  "Look," she said. "Here are three pitchers of lemonade, 'cause we've got three cans of lemonade. And each pitcher's got sixty-four ounces in it.

  "Now, when we pour a cup of lemonade, we'll pour eight ounces, 'cause that's how much a cup holds. You don't want to pour less than that, or people will say you're being a cheapskate. So each pitcher is going to give us eight cups. 'Cause eight times eight equals sixty-four, right?

  "Now, we'll sell each cup for fifty cents. That's a fair price. That means that every time we sell two cups, we make a buck. Right? Because fifty cents plus fifty cents equals a dollar. So look. I'll circle the cups by twos, and that's how many dollars we make. Count 'em."

  Megan counted the circled pairs of cups. "...ten, eleven, twelve."

  "That's how much money we'll make," said Jessie. "If we sell all the lemonade. And if we do the lemonade stand."

  "Wow," said Megan. "You're really good at math." She puffed her ch
eeks out like a bullfrog and thought for a minute. Then she popped both cheeks with her hands and said, "Whatever. Let's do the lemonade thing."

  Jessie felt soaked in relief. Maybe this was going to work after all.

  An hour later, Jessie and Megan had transformed the little wooden puppet theater in Megan's basement into the hottest new lemonade stand on the block. The stand was decorated with tissue-paper flowers, cut-out butterflies, and glittery hearts. It was a showstopper.

  And, boy, did people notice it. Kids in the neighborhood, strangers walking their dogs, moms strolling with carriages—even the two guys fixing the telephone wires. They all came to buy lemonade. And just when Jessie and Megan were on the verge of running out, Mrs. Moriarty went to the store and bought three more cans—free of charge!

  So when Mrs. Pawley asked for twelve cups at exactly the moment that Evan rounded the curve and saw her lemonade stand, Jessie felt like she'd just scored a hundred on a test and gotten five points for extra credit.

  So why did Evan stomp off?

  And how come she didn't feel like she'd won anything at all?

  Chapter 5

  Competition

  competition () n. Rivalry in the marketplace.

  Dinner that night at the Treskis' was quiet. So the explosion that followed seemed especially loud.

  It was Jessie's turn to clear and scrape the dishes, Evan's turn to wash and stack. Evan looked at the pile of dirty plates on his left. Jessie was ahead. She was always ahead when it was her turn to clear, but tonight it felt like she was taunting him. To Evan, every plate-scraping sounded like "Can't keep up. Can't keep up."