Hannah Smart, Operation Josh Taylor

by Melody Fitzpatrick

  “Yeah, that’s actually kind of a cool idea,” she answers.

  “So, I thought we might call them Wishbandz … with a z at the end.”

  “Hmmm … Wishbandz,” Rachel says, smiling. “I like it!”

  * * *

  With that, we head to Rachel’s, and get to work right away, researching patterns and figuring out what supplies we’ll need. Within minutes, we meet our first obstacle — money — which, unfortunately, has been our problem from the start. In order to buy supplies, we need cash.

  So, it’s back to Google. We key in “how to find money for your business.” Every site we look at points us in the same direction: a business plan. A business plan is really just a detailed outline of your business that you put together in order to persuade someone else to invest in your idea. In other words, we need to come up with a plan so super-professional that it will totally convince our parents to give us the cash we need to get started.

  Who knew it was going to be this complicated to get tickets to a concert! Oh well, getting to see Josh Taylor will make it all worth it.

  Mission Statement/Goal: To make bracelets that are so awesome every kid in school will be begging for one.

  Target Market: Every kid in our school.

  Supply List: Due to my recent history of going slightly overboard in this department, Rachel is handling supplies.

  Expenses: Due to issues with my recent overspending, Rachel is looking after this part, too.

  Schedule: This is where we create a timeline for buying supplies, and making and selling our Wishbandz.

  So, this is our business plan. Isn’t it awesome? Feel free to use it as a guide if you need to get money from your parents to start your own business. They’ll be super impressed for sure!

  Thankfully, our parents are pretty pumped about us “getting organized,” so they happily agree to meet at Rachel’s house after supper to hear our pitch.

  “Ahem …” I clear my throat and take a sip of water. “First, I would like to thank you all for coming tonight.”

  “Okay,” Mom says, raising an eyebrow as she glances over at Rachel’s mother.

  “So, as you know, Rachel and I have been working really hard to earn money so we can buy tickets for the Josh Taylor concert.”

  Everyone nods.

  “Yes, we’ve put a lot of effort in,” Rachel adds, “but our yard sale wasn’t quite as profitable as we’d hoped.” She glances over at me, furrowing her brow. “So now we’re exploring some new and exciting ways to earn money.”

  Wow, Rachel sounds so professional. Even though she’s a total genius, you’d never know it by the way she usually freezes up when she’s speaking in front of people. But not today, today she seems … comfortable. Maybe it’s because it’s only our parents, or maybe she’s just getting better at the whole public-speaking thing. Either way, she’s doing great!

  “We have developed a business plan.” She picks up a pile of folders off the coffee table. “Hannah, could you please present everyone a copy?” She nods and flashes me a quick smile of what I think is relief.

  I jump in. “As you can see, we’ve worked really hard at making our plan super detailed so you will know that your money won’t be wasted. We even have a gimmick!” I smile proudly.

  Rachel winks at me. “That’s right, we’ve put a considerable amount of thought into our future Wishbandz business. If everyone would please turn to page one in your folders, Hannah will present our mission statement.”

  We keep taking turns presenting the business plan, explaining that Wishbandz will practically sell themselves. We end our presentation asking for our parents’ trust and then their cash.

  It takes a bit of negotiating and begging, but finally our parents agree to give us the money. We get to work right away buying supplies and making our Wishbandz, attaching a little tag on each one, explaining the Legend of the Wish.

  After a couple of days of hard work, we arrive at school extra early with about twenty-five Wishbandz tacked to a corkboard. I have to say, our display rocks! Right away, people start coming over to find out what is going on. By the time the bell rings, everyone is talking about our Wishbandz, but no one is buying. At lunch, we set up our display again. We’re getting lots of compliments, but apparently, no one has money.

  “Oh well,” I say to Rachel. “It’s only day one.”

  Just then, Eden Payton-Patterson appears with an entourage of girls surrounding her.

  If you’ve ever heard of someone being strikingly beautiful, that would be Eden. She kind of looks like a Barbie that’s come to life. Her hair is blond, almost white, and straight as a whip, and her eyes are like this weird, pale-grey colour with flecks of blue; her skin is perfect, and even in sweatpants, without a speck of makeup, she’s gorgeous.

  “Cool bracelets,” she says, inspecting our display. Her girls eagerly nod in agreement. “I’ll take ten,” she adds curtly, taking out her cellphone to answer a text.

  “Wow,” Rachel exclaims. “You want ten?”

  Eden raises a perfect eyebrow. “That’s what I said.”

  “Um, okay. Do you want us to tie them on?” I ask.

  “Duh …” She rolls her eyes, continuing to text.

  One by one, each of the girls stretches out her arm, anxiously awaiting proof of her membership in the Eden Payton-Patterson Club. Each time a bracelet is tied on, Eden nods, knowing she’s just secured the endless devotion of that girl. Not that she needs our Wishbandz to get their loyalty; they follow her around like adoring little puppies anyway.

  As Rachel secures the last bracelet on puppy number nine, I see Scarlett, Anika, and Missy barrelling toward us.

  “OMG, as if that yard sale of yours wasn’t pathetic enough, now you’re trying to sell your junk at school?” Scarlett laughs as she plucks a bracelet off our corkboard. “Okay, that’s just hideous!” She holds it up, turning it back and forth, and then tosses it. It lands on the ground at my feet.

  “Oops …” she says, chuckling.

  Eden glances down at the bracelet in the dirt and then raises her eyes to Scarlett, who is grinning like a satisfied cat that’s just finished off a helpless mouse. I’m waiting for her to start licking her lips.

  “Can you believe these disgusting bracelets, Eden?” Scarlett smirks, pointing her thumb at our display. “I mean, who in their right mind would spend a dime on these cheap, loser things?”

  If scowls were daggers, then Scarlett would be dead, because she just got nine very sharp daggers from nine very disgusted girls, each one holding out her arm, showing off her “disgusting” gift from Eden Payton-Patterson.

  “I would, Scarlett,” Eden says.

  “Wait …” Scarlett stammers, “I don’t understand. You mean you bought a bracelet?”

  “No, I didn’t buy one,” Eden replies.

  Scarlett looks immediately relieved. “I knew you wouldn’t buy one, of course you wouldn’t. I mean …”

  “Scarlett,” Eden cuts her off, “I didn’t buy just one … I bought ten.” She points to her nine puppies’ outstretched arms, and then holds up her own.

  “But … but they’re ugly,” Scarlett stammers.

  “There is only one thing ugly here, Scarlett,” Eden says calmly, “and it’s not the bracelets.”

  The puppies all giggle. Missy gasps, and Anika bites her lip, staring at her feet, not daring to look at Scarlett.

  Scarlett, suddenly realizing that she’s the butt of the joke, narrows her eyes and turns toward us, glaring. Suddenly, her eyes shift toward our Wishbandz and a smile crosses her face.

  “Have a nice day, girls.” She turns on her designer heel and stalks off into the school with Anika and Missy trailing behind, looking confused.

  “Hmmm … I wonder what she’s up to now,” I say.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” Rachel replies with worried sigh.

  9

  Easy Come, Easy Go

  Awesome… that’s how I’d describe our display o
f Wishbandz this morning. We went crazy last night and braided and beaded around thirty more bracelets. We got a lot of promises yesterday from kids who said they were going to bring cash today, so we’re expecting a few more sales at least. Now that Eden Payton-Patterson (the closest thing to a celebrity in our school) and her fan club are wearing them, it won’t be long before everybody wants one. That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.

  We set up by the front doors of the school, and like yesterday, a group of girls comes up right away. Suddenly, the crowd around us starts growing and growing until we have what seems like half the school surrounding us.

  “I want the blue one,” one kid says.

  “I want three of those army-green beaded ones,” another girl says.

  “Can guys wear them?” a really cute dude from ninth grade yells out.

  Rachel looks at me in amazement. “Yeah, totally!” She shouts. “Hey guys, we need everyone to line up.”

  Suddenly, the whole group starts shuffling themselves into a lineup.

  “Wow, they listened,” she whispers, flashing me a smile.

  “We’re in the money, Rachel,” I whisper back.

  “Still trying to sell your crap, I see,” Scarlett says, snickering, as she, Anika, and Missy strut past the kids in line.

  “Hmmm … I don’t think we’re trying to sell anything, Scarlett,” Rachel replies. “Our Wishbandz are selling themselves.”

  “Not for long,” Scarlett whispers to us with a satisfied smirk. “The principal wants to see you in her office, A-Sap.”

  “Now?” I cry.

  “That’s what A-Sap means, loser,” Anika sneers.

  Rachel sighs. “She wants both of us?”

  “Yes, both of you!” Missy snaps. “Wait … does she?” She looks at Scarlett for an answer.

  “She wants to see both of you … now!” Scarlett looks positively blissful.

  Rachel shakes her head. “What did you do, Scarlett?”

  “Let’s go, girls.” Scarlett points to the door.

  “We don’t need an escort, Scarlett!” Rachel huffs.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Scarlett laughs as she pushes the door open.

  Anika snorts. “Me neither.”

  Missy nods. “Yeah … um … hold it … what don’t we want to miss?”

  “Stay!” Scarlett holds up her hand, stopping Anika and Missy in their tracks. “Wait here until I’m done.”

  Scarlett rushes ahead and is gleefully holding the door for us when we arrive at the office.

  “Good morning girls,” Mrs. Harris says with a friendly smile. “Please come in. Have a seat.”

  Scarlett invites herself along.

  “So, I hear you have recently become entrepreneurs,” Mrs. Harris remarks.

  “Entrepren-what?” I say, confused.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Rachel answers. “I mean, we have a product we’re selling, and we have investors.”

  “And a business plan,” I add.

  “Hmm, well, taking all of that into account, I’d definitely say you’re entrepreneurs,” Mrs. Harris says with a little chuckle.

  “Yes,” I say, “entre-pren-eurs … um … I thought you said something else. Yeah, we’re definitely entrepreneurs.” I like the way that sounds … so professional. “Would you like to see our stuff?” I add, pushing up my sleeve.

  “Oh,” she says, gripping my wrist. “Yes, they are quite lovely.”

  Rachel’s face breaks into a smile; Scarlett looks beyond ticked off, and suddenly, I get it! We’ve been worrying for nothing. I know why Mrs. Harris invited us into her office. She’s the principal and the boss, and what do bosses want from their staff? Loyalty. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Mrs. Harris plans to buy Wishbandz for all the teachers — if she gives

  them bracelets, they’ll feel like a special part of her team, and they’ll give her their everlasting loyalty and devotion. Smart lady! She obviously heard how long the lineup was and didn’t want to miss out. Wow, she’s totally cool for a principal. This morning just keeps getting better!

  “Ahem …” Scarlett coughs, tapping a large book that’s found its way onto her lap.

  “Oh, yes, Scarlett,” Mrs. Harris stammers, “I almost forgot.”

  The smile on Scarlett’s face has returned.

  What’s going on?

  “So you girls call your bracelets Wishbandz?” Mrs. Harris asks.

  I beam. “Yes, with a z at the end.”

  “How clever.”

  “Ahem …” Scarlett coughs again as she shoves the open book toward Mrs. Harris, who suddenly looks annoyed.

  “Well, girls …” Mrs. Harris’s face softens. “I am very pleased with the amount of effort you have put into your project. You should be very proud of yourselves.”

  “We are,” I answer.

  “Being an entrepreneur is seldom easy. There are many obstacles that can pop up unexpectedly on your way to success.”

  I notice that Rachel is starting to shift around in her chair, and Scarlett has suddenly transformed into an evil feline again.

  “So, I’m sorry to be the one to put up your first obstacle.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Harris,” I interrupt, “you’re not our first obstacle.”

  “Shhhhh, Hannah,” Scarlett snaps, “the principal has something very important to tell you.”

  “Yes, unfortunately I do.” Mrs. Harris looks down at the book. “I’m afraid that it is against school board policy for students to sell goods for personal profit while on school property and during school hours. I’m sorry, girls, but you’re going to have to pack up your display immediately.”

  And just like that, it’s over.

  10

  The Show Must Go On

  “Hannah!” I hear Mom calling from her office.

  “Coming.” I let out a sigh, heaving myself off my bed.

  I’ve been avoiding her ever since I got home from school today. I don’t want deal with any questions about the business … not today.

  She smiles. “How’s the business going?”

  “Um … great!” I lie. “Just super! Couldn’t be better!” I try to force a smile, crossing my fingers behind my back.

  “Really?” She tilts her head to the side suspiciously.

  “Yeah … um … we have tons of bracelets made and you should see our display!”

  “How are your sales?”

  “Sales? What do you mean exactly?” I pick up a travel brochure with a lighthouse and a lobster on the cover.

  “How many Wishbandz have you sold?”

  “Well, yesterday was a pretty good day. We sold around ten.”

  “Yeah, you told me that. How about today?”

  “Um … today was fine,” I say, squeezing my crossed fingers a little tighter. “Are we planning a trip this summer?” I smile, holding up the travel guide.

  “Hannah, are you avoiding my question? As an investor, I think I have a right to know how the business is going.”

  I fib again. “It’s going fine.”

  “So, how many Wishbandz have you sold so far?”

  “Um … well … if I add them all together, um … it would be about ten so far.” I bite my lip.

  “So there were no sales today?” She frowns. “I thought you said you’d have twenty or thirty more sold by now.”

  “Well we ran into a tiny obstacle,” I finally admit.

  “What kind of obstacle?”

  “They shut us down at school.” I look down at my feet.

  “Well, why do you need to sell your Wishbandz at school?”

  “Where else would we sell them? School is our target market, remember?”

  “Well, looks like your target market doesn’t care where you sell your Wishbandz as long as you are selling them.” She points to her iPad and taps on the screen. “Look! You must have forty messages here, and for once they’re not all from Rachel.”

  I plunk myself down in the chair and grab the iPad. She’s
right. It’s not over yet!

  Just then, the phone rings.

  “Have you checked your messages?” Rachel squeals.

  “Yeah, just checking them now,” I say.

  “They want our Wishbandz, Hannah!”

  “Yeah, I know!”

  “I don’t understand it, though. I mean, how did all of these people get our contact info?”

  “Well, I … um …” I stammer.

  “What did you do?”

  “I probably shouldn’t have, but I was so ticked off with Scarlett, on the way out of the school, I tacked one of our Wishbandz on the bulletin board.”

  “And?” Rachel says.

  “And a little poster with our email addresses on it.”

  “How little?” Rachel asks.

  I laugh nervously. “It was just a piece of bristol board.”

  “Bristol board?”

  “Well, I wanted it to be noticeable.”

  “I hope Scarlett didn’t see it,” Rachel says.

  “Who cares about Scarlett? What do you think of all these orders?”

  “Awesome,” she answers, “but we still need a place to sell the Wishbandz. Let’s be realistic; I just can’t see all of these kids getting rides to our homes just to buy bracelets.”

  Looking through my messages, I realize she’s prob­ably right; most of these kids are bus students, and some of them don’t even go to our school.

  “Hey, did you get anything from Mrs. Harris?” I ask.

  “I’ll check,” she says, pausing for a second. “Yeah, I got a message. You got one too?”

  “Yeah, I did,” I say, suddenly feeling weak. “Maybe she saw the poster.”

  “Or maybe Scarlett saw it and found some stupid rule to get us suspended.”

  “Suspended!” I cry.

  “Hannah, you put up a poster at the school after we were told explicitly not to sell at school. Right?”