Hannah Smart, Operation Josh Taylor (7 page)

“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.

Easy Come, Easy Go

A
wesome
… that's how I'd describe our display of 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.

The Show Must Go On

“H
annah
!” 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?”

“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.”

O
ver 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.