Hannah Smart, Operation Josh Taylor

by Melody Fitzpatrick

  “Well, why don’t I just read it,” I say, clicking the message.

  Hi there, Hannah and Rachel. Please stop into the office tomorrow morning before the bell so that I can return your bracelet, which I found hanging from a very large, neon green poster on our school’s front lobby bulletin board today. As we discussed, it is not permissible for students to sell goods for personal profit on school property during school hours. That being said, I am very pleased with your efforts. Your bracelets are very lovely and quite unique. In all honesty, if it were up to me, I would have no issue with you selling your Wishbandz on school property. Regrettably, it’s not my decision, and as another student pointed out, rules are rules. It is my sincere wish that this setback does not discourage you completely. I’m sure both of you, being as smart and innovative as you are, will figure something out. Good luck and all the best!

  Mrs. Harris

  P.S. I’d like to pre-order 17 Wishbandz, any design is fine as long as they are suitable for a male or a female. Please let me know when and where I can pick them up, off of school property of course.

  “Hannah,” Mom pops her head in the door, “Can you pass me that travel brochure off of the pile of mail on the desk?”

  As I pick it up, I notice something underneath — something very interesting. It’s a flyer. Suddenly, the solution is staring right at me.

  “Rachel, did you ever hear about Christmas in October?”

  “Yeah, sure! It’s that craft show they have in our gym every fall.”

  “Rachel!” I say laughing. “This is the answer to our prayers! This is where we’re gonna sell our bracelets.”

  * * *

  Over the next week, we somehow manage to make over three hundred Wishbandz, not just for kids, but for whole hockey teams, for a church choir, for all the cashiers at the grocery store … the list goes on and on. We send messages to everyone telling them we will be selling our Wishbandz for one night only at the Christmas in October Craft Fair.

  The week flies by and before we know it, it’s the big night. We haven’t even finished setting up, when people start throwing money at us, trying to get first dibs on our bracelets. By the end of the evening, we manage to sell every one of our Wishbandz and we could’ve sold a lot more. The best and most exciting thing that happens, though, is not selling our very last bracelet, or counting up all of our profits, or finding out that we have more than enough money to buy our Josh Taylor tickets; it’s meeting a Channel 7 news reporter who tells us that she is doing a TV news story on young entrepreneurs, and that she wants us to be a part of it! Of course, I agree for both of us right away (I mean, who wouldn’t) and within minutes the camera is rolling and Rachel and I are being interviewed. Eeeeeek!

  * * *

  “We’re here this evening with two local, young entrepreneurs, Rachel Carter and Hannah Smart,” the smiling reporter, Maria, says to the camera.

  The camera turns toward us. I’m grinning so much, my cheeks hurt. I must look like that stupid, smiling cat from Alice in Wonderland. I glance over at Rachel. Her eyes are like saucers.

  “There has been a lot of buzz at the craft fair this evening and most of it has been around these two girls, Hannah Smart and Rachel Carter, and their very popular Wishbandz. So, tell me, Rachel, how did you girls come up with the idea?”

  Rachel stares blankly at the camera. There is a long, awkward silence.

  Maria turns to me. “Hannah, how did you girls come up with the idea?”

  “Well,” I say glancing over at Rachel, who looks like she’s about to be sick, “we brainstormed a lot, and then we did some research online.”

  “So why bracelets? Whose decision was that?” Maria turns back to Rachel, whose face has lost all of its colour. She awkwardly giggles and points at me.

  “So, it was your decision to make bracelets?” Maria asks me.

  “No, it was both of our decision. This has been fifty-fifty all the way,” I answer.

  “So, tell me a bit more about how you came up with the idea?” Maria prods.

  The camera pans back to Rachel, who’s now turning green. She points at me again.

  I thought that maybe after the whole business plan presentation thing with our parents, Rachel had finally kicked her fear of public speaking. I guess I was wrong because right now Rachel is officially suffering from the worst bout of stage fright you could ever imagine. I’m pretty sure there’s no way she’s going to be able to answer any of Maria’s questions. I’m going to have to handle this entire interview by myself, which totally doesn’t bother me. Actually, I kind of feel like a movie star on the red carpet being interviewed at the Oscars.

  The camera pans back to me.

  “Well, I was looking for ideas in the computer lab one day when I found out about these bracelets that they used to make, like, centuries ago. People would weave them for their friends — like old-fashioned friendship bracelets.”

  Maria smiles. “Neat!”

  “Yeah, but they weren’t just plain old bracelets; they were special.”

  “How so?” Maria asks

  “If someone made you one, and you accepted it, in exchange you would have to make a solemn promise.”

  “Really? What promise?” Maria turns to Rachel, giving her another chance to join the conversation.

  Rachel stares ahead blankly and hunches her shoulders. The camera pans back to me.

  “Well,” I say, widening my eyes for effect, “you had to promise to keep it on forever … you know, as a sign of total loyalty to your friend.”

  “Forever?” Maria’s eyes go wide as well.

  “Well, eventually they’d get worn out and just fall off on their own.”

  “So why do you call them Wishbandz?” Maria asks.

  “Well that’s the most exciting part! When you get your bracelet, you make a wish, and just like back in the olden days, when it falls off, your wish will come true.” I hold up my arm, showing Maria my bracelet. “Rachel made this for me. If I keep it on until it falls off, I’ll get my wish!” I smile. “It’s a powerful spell that’s woven into each and every bracelet.”

  “Wow, that’s really neat,” Maria says, smiling. “So Hannah, you’re quite the clever entrepreneur. It seems to me that a lot of this was your idea, right?”

  I shake my head. “No … like I said, it was fifty-fifty all the way!”

  “And tell me more about the name; did you come up with it?”

  “Yeah, but …”

  “So, how did you come up with it?” she asks.

  “I guess it just came to me when I was in the computer lab.”

  “The computer lab where you came up with the idea in the first place, right?”

  “Yeah, but …”

  “I’m sure your partner, Rachel, did her fair share, but it seems like you’re the brains of this operation,” she remarks, tapping my head, “Miss Smart.”

  “No, no …” I stammer.

  “So, what made you girls start your business in the first place? Was there a special reason?”

  Now here’s a question I like! I look over at Rachel to see if there’s any chance she’s ready to speak, but she’s still in a bug-eyed trance.

  “Maria, I can answer that question in two words,” I say, beaming, “Josh … Taylor.”

  Maria tilts her head. “Josh Taylor?”

  “Well, you see, Maria, Rachel and I are Josh Taylor’s biggest fans, and when we found out that he’s coming to Glen Haven to do a concert, we of course told our parents right away. Well, Maria, I can tell you it was quite a shock when they said there was no way they would be paying for our tickets.”

  “It must have been.” Maria nods supportively.

  “It’s a responsibility thing.” I nod back.

  “So you started the business to earn money for your tickets?”

  “That’s exactly what we did!” I answer proudly. “We started our business to earn money for our …”

  Suddenly, I notice Scarlett Hastings, her eyes
like slits, standing directly behind the cameraman. My hand flies up to my mouth, clamping it shut as I realize what I’ve done. My head is spinning … Scarlett … Rachel’s lie … her aunt … the fake tickets …

  Scarlett silently mouths to Rachel, “I-knew-you-were-lying.”

  Rachel’s eyes are filling with tears. I can’t believe this is happening, that I made this happen; I took over the entire interview and even worse than that … I’ve ratted us out. I’ve ratted Rachel out.

  “Well, thanks, girls. I think we have enough mater­ial to work with here,” Maria says.

  “That’s a wrap!” the cameraman adds.

  “Hannah, you did super! You’re not only a great little businesswoman, but you’re a natural on camera,” Maria exclaims, giving my shoulders a little squeeze.

  Suddenly, a crowd of kids swarms around us, and before I can get free to talk to Rachel, she’s gone.

  11

  Attention-Grabbing, Backstabbing Jerk of a Friend

  It’s official. I am the worst friend on the face of the earth. I’m so ashamed of what I’ve done, I couldn’t even bring myself to call Rachel last night, not that she would have talked to me. Who would, unless it was to say, Hi, Hannah, you attention-grabbing, backstabbing jerk of a friend.

  I march into school, fully prepared for the attack. I’m hoping no one saw me on TV last night. It was horrible. They barely showed Rachel at all, and worse than that, they cut out so much stuff they made it look like I was totally taking credit for everything! I’ll be surprised if Rachel ever wants to speak to me again.

  I rush through the lobby, trying to shield my face so that no one notices me. It’s no use though;

  they were all waiting. Kids start storming at me from all angles, and in like three seconds I’m surrounded. I stop in my tracks, squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for what’s coming. Everyone is yelling at me. I just want the ground to open up and swallow me so I can get out of this place.

  Wouldn’t it be great if that could actually happen, and a supernatural force could just suck you up and then magically drop you on some tropical island, where you’d be lying on a beautiful beach, and sipping a delicious, frozen strawberry smoothie? I don’t know what I would do without these little daydreams. I think they keep me from going crazy when everything around me is falling apart. But they’re only daydreams; they’re not real, and no magic vacuum is going to swallow me up and spit me out in Aruba.

  I open my eyes, squinting from the light. As I try to focus on the swarm of kids around me, I suddenly realize something strange is happening. It’s almost like I really have been transported into an alternate universe, and that’s when it hits me: these kids aren’t angry, they’re excited. No one is blaming me for stealing Rachel’s spotlight. No one mentions the lie, either.

  “How did you get to be on TV?” one kid yells out.

  “They just asked me,” I answer, smiling with relief.

  “So, how was it? Was it fun?” another kid asks.

  “Well, it was actually, really fun.”

  “What was Maria like?” one of the girls asks.

  “She was really pretty, much prettier in real life, and really cool. She actually told me I was a natural.” I do a little curtsy, kind of feeling like I’m back on the red carpet again. That’s when I see Rachel from the corner of my eye, standing against the wall, watching me. Instantly, I feel the shame rising up in my chest, knowing I don’t deserve all this attention. Rachel really figured out our business plan, and without that, we wouldn’t even have a business. Why didn’t I remember to say that last night? It all happened so fast. It was over so quickly. Why didn’t I remember?

  By lunch, the shame has risen from my chest to my throat, where it forms a huge lump that makes it hard to breathe. It won’t go away, even with all the attention that has been non-stop ever since I walked into the school this morning. I know the only way I will feel better is to somehow get Rachel to forgive me. But what am I going to say to her now? She hasn’t spoken to me since the interview. I don’t even know if I deserve her forgiveness. What I do know is I feel like crap.

  * * *

  It’s been three days and Rachel and I still haven’t spoken. With every minute that goes by, I get more and more miserable. Now that my fifteen minutes of fame are over and my superstar status has died down, all I’m left with is the misery of knowing that I may have lost my very best friend in the world. We should both be so excited and planning for the concert right now. The tickets go on sale in two days and we haven’t even sorted out the money from our Wishbandz. I wonder if Rachel is even still wearing hers.

  “Hannah,” Mrs. Harris calls out and motions to me to come into her office.

  “Hi,” I say solemnly, following her inside.

  “I saw you on the news,” she says, smiling. “You did very well.”

  “Oh yeah, thanks,” I say, trying to manage a smile in return.

  “You know, sometimes people are looking for the most interesting story, and sometimes, the real story is not the most interesting one. It’s called editing.”

  I nod. “Editing …”

  “Well, Hannah, you really are a natural in front of the camera, and it’s not your fault that the story was edited to include only the most interesting parts.”

  “Yeah,” I say hoping she’s right, that it’s not completely my fault.

  “I’m sure Rachel realizes this too.” Mrs. Harris smiles.

  “Yeah, but …”

  “Just talk to her, Hannah,” she says as her eyes soften. “It will all work out. Trust me.”

  Trust her. Well, what have I got to lose? I’m miserable worrying over this. I need to fix things.

  I run my fingers over the beads in the bracelet that Rachel made me. “She’s my best friend,” I whisper to myself, walking out of the office.

  “Who, Rachel?” I hear from behind me.

  I spin around to see Scarlett admiring herself in her little compact mirror. Of course, Anika and Missy have positioned themselves on either side of her, as usual.

  “She’s not your best friend anymore.” She smiles smugly, snapping her compact shut.

  “How would you know?” I bark.

  “Oh, she’s not stupid, Hannah. Look at what you did,” she says sneering. “Number one, you took over that whole interview. You didn’t even give her a chance to speak! And then you totally bladed your little fibbing friend, exposing her lie. You know, that little story about ‘her aunt’ who works at the ‘radio station.’” Scarlett makes finger quotes in the air and adds, “And her ‘V.I.P tickets.’”

  “Scarlett!” I suddenly hear Rachel yell from behind me. “Hannah did not ‘blade’ me!” She uses finger quotes, mimicking Scarlett. “You knew I was lying the whole time! Let’s face it, I know it and you know it.”

  “Whatever,” Scarlett says, waving her hand dismissively.

  “And for your information Scarlett, Hannah did not take over that interview! She answered the questions Maria asked her and that’s all!”

  “If that’s how you remember it,” Scarlett snaps, rolling her eyes.

  “It’s not how I remember it — it’s how it happened!” Rachel shouts.

  “I was just looking out for you Rachel, I mean Hannah’s obviously not that loyal of a friend.”

  “Obviously!” Anika squawks, clearly happy to be getting a word in.

  “Yeah,” Missy adds, sneering.

  “She is loyal, Scarlett!” Rachel grabs my wrist just below my bracelet and pulls it up in front of Scarlett’s face. “And so am I!” she barks, holding up her own.

  So, right now I’m standing here, speechless, with my wrist in the air, trying to figure out what just happened. Did we just make up? Scarlett, for once, is speechless, too.

  With our Wishbandz in her face, Scarlett slowly raises her narrowed eyes and locks them on mine. Her hands plant themselves firmly on her hips as she continues her stare-down. After a few moments of silent glaring, she does her signature
hair flick, turns, and storms off down the hall, motioning for the bookends to follow.

  12

  When in Doubt, Trust Your Gut

  I’m so relieved! Rachel and I are back to normal and we have a new mission: get tickets for the Josh Taylor concert, but not just any tickets. We want front-row tickets … not an easy task, but I’m sure we can do it. After all, we are successful businesswomen. We can handle anything!

  This plan is our most exciting yet! We’re going to camp overnight outside the box office. This way we will be first in line when it opens in the morning — I know that buying tickets online would technically be easier, but Rachel and I just can’t chance it. For one, thousands of people will be trying to buy their tickets online AT THE EXACT SAME TIME! — what if the website freezes up? It’s totally possible … right? Plus, sometimes our Internet goes

  down for no reason. If that happened when we were trying to buy tickets, I would die! I mean, can you just imagine? Plus, buying tickets from the stadium just makes sense. I mean, wouldn’t the place that’s actually having the concert have the very best tickets? I’m thinking yes! Last but not least, campouts are fun, even in the winter. Anyway, I think it’s a brilliant plan! In your face, Scarlett Hastings! V.I.P tickets here we come!

  It took a little convincing, but after explaining all of the above reasons why it is absolutely necessary for Rachel and I to camp out for tickets, our moms finally agreed to let us. Rachel and I have loaded up the van with sleeping bags, extra blankets, pillows, a tarp, board games, a small folding table, flashlights, hand warmers, feet warmers, a cooler, tons of food, and folding chairs for the three of us (Mom insists on coming, too). We’re wearing leggings under our jeans and have our heavy winter jackets, snow pants, mittens, scarves and hats all ready to go.