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.”
* * *
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
