The Doughnut King

by Jessie Janowitz

  She didn’t answer. Her elbow was leaning on the armrest and her chin was in her hand, a finger over her nose, bouncing like it was tapping out a secret code.

  “Mom?”

  Her finger froze mid-tap. “I told you.”

  “You told me it was too much work, but the work would have been worth it if people had been coming, right? I mean, wasn’t part of the problem that there was no lunch business?”

  Tap-tap. Tap. “The Station House is fine.”

  “The Station House is great,” Dad said as if Mom had just said something he needed to set straight.

  “Mmm-hmm. Great,” Mom said, hitting the t all weird.

  “You didn’t really answer my question,” I said.

  “Sure we did,” Dad said. And there was something about the way he said it that sounded like, “The end.” “Hey, you know what I was thinking Petersville needs?”

  “People?” I said.

  “A newspaper. What does everyone think about The Petersville Gazette?” Dad’s sycamore-syrup smile was taking up the whole rearview mirror.

  “How is a newspaper going to help bring people to Petersville?” I asked.

  “It won’t, but it will improve the Petersville experience. You know, like, it will list events, provide a store guide, a map—”

  “A map? Petersville has one street.” My dad had worked in a bank before we moved to Petersville; couldn’t he come up with an idea that might make the town some money?

  “It wouldn’t be to keep people from getting lost. It would be kind of like an activity guide. You know, like a ‘Time Out Petersville.’”

  “Ooh, maybe I could write for it,” Jeanine said, all excited again. “Or even have a column. Could I, Dad?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s perfect for my Young Leaders Scholarship application. ‘Writes weekly newspaper column keeping town residents informed.’ Talk about making an impact in your community, right?”

  “Hey, Tris, you want to write an article for the newspaper?” Dad eyed me in the rearview mirror.

  “No, thanks.”

  A writing assignment was the last thing I needed.

  • • •

  When we got home, everyone went upstairs except for me.

  I went to the kitchen, took one of the big index cards Mom keeps for recipes, and wrote across the top, “Ideas for Making Doughnuts Faster.”

  Then I underlined it.

  And boxed it.

  And waited for the ideas to come.

  They didn’t.

  I couldn’t focus on doughnuts. All I could think about was what Jim had said, about Petersville melting away like those icebergs in the Arctic. And not just Petersville. He’d said the same thing was happening all over upstate. How had I missed that? I mean, I didn’t live in the Arctic. I couldn’t see the icebergs getting smaller every day, but how had I missed what was happening right in front of me?

  We’d only been in Petersville since November, not even a year, but Jim said post offices and schools were closing all over upstate. What about libraries? What would Josh and his mom do if the library closed?

  Were other people talking about this stuff? In other small towns like ours, at other meetings, were they doing just what we were, working out plans for survival?

  And that’s when it came to me, what we should be looking for: fixes that had worked. Towns that had already put survival plans into action.

  Ice cream. I needed ice cream. I think better with ice cream. I’m pretty sure everyone does. I don’t know the science behind it, but computers have those little fans to keep them from overheating, so maybe ice cream cools the brain the same way. Then again, it could just be the sugar.

  I scooped myself an enormous bowl of homemade chocolate peanut butter brittle—Mom lets us make up our own flavors—and went upstairs to my parents’ office.

  The room was dark except for the glow from the computer screen. I closed the door but didn’t turn on the light, then sat in the roll-y chair, and swiveled to face the computer.

  HOW DO YOU STOP UPSTATE NEW YORK TOWNS FROM DISAPPEARING I typed into the Google search box.

  Just so you know, I’m not a complete nuddy. It’s not as if I expected Google to spit out exactly what I needed like a genie. But I’d found the more specific I could make my searches to start, the less time it took to find something useful. Part of the problem with getting results that are totally random is that sometimes before I know it, I’ve spent thirty minutes watching YouTube videos of people exploding doughnuts with firecrackers (there are way more of these than you would guess).

  “Crumbling Ruins and Ghost Towns of Upstate New York, A Story in Pictures,” was the first hit.

  Clearly, not an answer, but something made me click on the slideshow anyway.

  A stone bridge missing its middle flashed onto the screen, then melted into a crumpled barn with vines crawling through its windows, then melted into an indoor swimming pool overflowing with school desks—

  Click.

  There were more ruins to see, but I was done. Looking at places that weren’t places anymore felt like sightseeing in a graveyard.

  I scanned the rest of the search results:

  “Where Have All the Small Towns Gone?” Rural Intelligencer. Click.

  “The Decline of Upstate New York,” The New York Times. Click.

  “Bad News for Rural America,” Forbes. Click.

  If I wanted to understand the problem, I had everything I needed right here. Page after page, article after article, all said the same thing about the towns of upstate New York: no jobs, no people, no future.

  Many scary D-words were used. Down-in-the-dumps. Dwindling. Declining. Depressed. And my favorite: Dying. Exactly what you want to hear about your hometown.

  What were my parents thinking when they decided to move to upstate New York? Had they done any research at all? They’d gotten us here just in time to see it disappear forever.

  Then, on the third page, there was a hit with no D-words.

  “How Tea Saved Krakow, NY,” The New York Times.

  I clicked on the link, then took a big scoop of ice cream and let it melt on the spoon in my mouth as I read.

  You can’t get more small-town than Krakow, New York. With just one traffic light, a gas station, and a general store, it’s easy to miss as you drive through.

  I bit down on the spoon. Krakow was Petersville.

  The only big employer in the area for decades was the Willow Paper Co. It was Willow that kept Krakow afloat while so many other upstate New York towns were drowning.

  D. Drowning.

  While small compared to most, the Willow mill had plenty of jobs to keep the tiny population of Krakow employed.

  Then in 2005, Willow went bankrupt. The mill closed its doors, putting 225 people out of work. Krakow was in serious trouble.

  Enter our hero: Alhaadi Okello, known around Krakow as “the Tea King.” Okello arrived in the United States from Kenya fifteen years ago on a lottery visa with two hundred dollars in his pocket and dreams of starting a tea business. He even knew what he’d call it: Majani (the word for “leaves” in Swahili). His suitcases were packed with tea leaves from his family’s farm in the Embu district of Kenya.

  Today, Majani is on shelves in stores across the United States, and the company employs 203 people. Care to guess where Majani set up shop? That’s right: the old Willow Paper mill.

  Krakow is now thriving. For the first time in years, the town is growing. Stop anybody on Main Street and ask what saved Krakow, you’ll get the same answer: the Tea King.

  I must have forgotten about the spoon in my mouth because the next thing I knew, it clattered to the floor. I froze, listening for sounds in the hall, but all I heard was the wind chasing itself around the house. I let out the breath I’d been holding and w
ent back to the article.

  I had to start from the beginning again, mostly because I couldn’t believe it. This man came to upstate New York from Africa and started a big-time tea company in a dying town in the middle of nowhere?

  Yes, somehow, he had.

  “I didn’t know about this area,” Okello confesses as he pumps gas into his car on Krakow’s Main Street. “A friend saw this advertisement for the mill building and we drove up here from New Jersey to see. Nobody else wanted this place. It was a very good deal. I think the bank thought so too, and that’s why they helped me buy it.” He smiles and waves to a family in a truck that has just pulled up.

  Tea experts say that while there are plenty of tea companies that use leaves from Kenya, Majani is one of the finest. “It’s made a big name for itself selling purple tea,” says Abby Kyle, author of It’s All in the Leaves: A Tea Atlas. “You can only get it from Kenya, and until recently, nobody was selling it in the U.S. It’s got a wonderful flavor and amazing health benefits.”

  Ask Okello his secret to success, he’ll tell you this: “Every day in business, we hit new problems. But if we keep our minds open, we always find a solution. Maybe it isn’t pretty or fancy. Maybe it’s not perfect, but it works. That’s what matters. Just find a way to make it work.”

  Majani’s biggest problem now? Getting tea to everyone who wants it. “We’ve had a hard time keeping up with demand. But it’s a good problem to have, no? We must be doing something right.”

  My knees were bouncing up and down.

  Alhaadi Okello had saved a town with tea. Tea! Which is fine, but it’s basically just leaf-flavored water. There’s only so good tea can get, even if it is purple. If he could save Krakow with tea, why couldn’t I save Petersville with doughnuts?

  And not only was Krakow like Petersville—Majani and The Doughnut Stop were both struggling with demand.

  I scrolled down.

  There was a photograph of Okello: a tall man with dark brown skin and a big smile wearing an apron and a shower cap and lifting the crank on a gleaming steel tank. The caption read, Okello demonstrates his new tea blending machine.

  That’s when something clicked, and where there had been a big black hole, there was finally an idea.

  I moved the cursor back up to the search box, typed in the words DOUGHNUT MACHINE, and held my breath.

  And then it was right there in front of me, almost as if I had wished it to life: a doughnut robot.

  The Belshaw Adamatic Donut Robot was the very first result.

  Click.

  I had never seen anything so beautiful. It was all stainless steel and shiny. It mixed. It fried. It glazed and injected. The Donut Robot did it all.

  It made ninety-six dozen doughnuts an hour.

  It was perfect. It was what I needed. It was what the town needed.

  I took my phone out of my pocket, snapped a photo of the computer screen, and texted it to Josh.

  Me: Say hello to the answer to our problems

  Josh: What is it

  Me: A Donut Robot

  Josh: haha

  Me: No joke 96 dozen donuts per hr

  Josh: We could build a donut empire

  Me: That’s what I was thinking

  Josh: $?

  I had no idea. I’d been so excited I hadn’t even looked for a price.

  Me: Checking

  I clicked on “more information.”

  Me: Small problem…

  Chapter 8

  The Petersville Gazette

  Vol. 1, Issue 1

  Town Happenings

  “Main Street Makeover” needs volunteers! Petersville wants you! Come to the library to sign up. No skills necessary.

  Congratulations to the winners of the “Put a Shop on Main Street” competition! Everyone is looking forward to the opening of Petersville’s newest businesses:

  Calvin’s Pop Shop! Four flavors of popcorn, air-popped fresh daily, made from Petersville’s own Crooked Tree Farm corn kernels.

  Stinky Cheese Farm Store! Get Riley Carter’s deliciously stinky cheese right on Main Street.

  The Board Room! How long has it been since you played Battleship, Candy Land, or Risk? Come to The Board Room when it opens to play these games and many others, thanks to Hazel Abernathy, who has been collecting board games since she was seven years old. Games also available for purchase.

  The Watch, Cut, and Quilt! Watch your favorite movies on a big screen while you quilt or have your hair cut or both! (Haircuts by Deena Manes. Quilting by Peggi Jennings.)

  An egg with four yolks—that’s right, four!—was produced by one of Ron Jennings’ chickens! Ron knew that egg had at least a double yolk from its size, so he asked his wife Peggi to video when he cracked it open. When four yolks spilled out, instead of scrambling them up, he decided to offer others a chance to see the wonder for themselves. The egg and all its yolks are available for viewing at the library this week and this week only. Just ask Mary at the circulation desk, as it must be stored in the refrigerator. The video will be posted on the town website (coming soon).

  Featured Series

  Things Most People Get Wrong and How YOU Can Get Them Right

  By Jeanine Levin

  Anybody ever heard you can’t have dessert when it’s late because it will make you hyper? Guess what? Scientists have studied the effects of sugar on kids and have found it does not impact behavior.

  Parents, sugar does NOT make kids hyper, so stop saying that it does.

  Kids, don’t let your parents skimp on dessert after dinner. Knowledge is power.

  You’re welcome!

  The Donut Robot was the perfect fix. It did everything we could possibly need it to do and more. We’d be able to make enough doughnuts to sell them all over upstate New York if we wanted to. There was just one problem. It cost $50,000.

  How were two twelve-year-olds going to get that kind of money?

  We found the answer in Starting Your Own Business for Dummies, page 124: “Need money to expand your business? Time to pitch to investors.”

  We’d pitched to investors before, to get money to start The Doughnut Stop, but that had been way simpler. For one thing, we didn’t need anything close to $50,000. For another, we were pitching to my parents. I couldn’t ask my parents for that kind of money even if I thought they had it, which I was pretty sure they didn’t.

  Josh and I wrote pitch emails to every big company on the planet we thought might be interested in a doughnut business. I even wrote one to that guy who started Amazon. I knew it was a long shot, but I’d heard he was getting into food, and he seemed like someone who’d appreciate a good product even if it was made by a seventh grader. Josh had the idea to write to a couple of movie stars who’d grown up in upstate New York.

  A month later, we were nowhere. With the exception of an actor I’d never heard of who was interested only if we put a picture of his face on our package—as if we even had a doughnut package—nobody even replied.

  We had no idea what to try next, and we were fried. We were back at school, writing all these emails, making doughnuts, and running the shop. And since the Destination Eating article had come out, we were selling out faster than ever. I’d stopped looking at the comments on our website.

  The only good news: Jim’s “Main Street Makeover” was really moving along. It wasn’t as if I thought people were going to vacation in Petersville just so they could get a haircut, watch a movie, and make a quilt all at once. But the Watch, Cut, and Quilt was way better than an empty shop, and definitely more unusual than a place where you could do just one of those things. Besides, people took road trips to see weird things all the time, right? Like to visit the world’s largest fish statue or that Eiffel Tower made of spaghetti. Maybe Petersville could become like one of those places.

  The stores weren’t up an
d running yet. Volunteers were still cleaning out the buildings. It wasn’t just a question of sweeping and mopping. They were packed full of seriously old stuff, like many, many unopened boxes of something called “The Baby Alice Thumb Guard,” a device to keep kids from sucking their thumbs. From the picture, I’m pretty sure you’d be arrested today for putting one of those on your kids, so it’s not as if we could sell them on eBay or anything. Some stuff could be used, but most of it had to be hauled to the dump.

  On a crazy hot Friday in May, after we’d sold out of doughnuts, Dr. C roped me and Josh into painting. Every building on Main Street was getting a new coat of paint, and judging from the colors Dr. C had chosen, he was definitely working the don’t-miss-a-visit-to-the-wackiest-small-town-on-earth angle. Each side of every building on Main Street would be painted a different color.

  “But they’ll all have the same yellow trim,” Dr. C said, as we carried cans of paint from the trunk of his car to the porch of the building we were supposed to be painting.

  Josh put the cans down and wiped his forehead with his T-shirt. “How come? I mean, why not just have them be totally different?”

  “I like the symbolism,” Dr. C said.

  Josh looked at me.

  I shrugged. “What does the yellow symbolize?”

  “It’s not about the color,” Dr C said like this was completely obvious. “It’s about the connection.”

  “Oh,” Josh said. “I get it.”

  “You do?” I said.

  “Not really,” he whispered.

  “Come on, guys. Think! It’s not that deep. You, me.” He thumped his paint-splattered, Hawaiian-shirted chest. “We’re different, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “But we’re still connected, right?”

  “Yeah?” I still didn’t get it.

  He threw his hands in the air. “Community! It symbolizes community!” Then he walked off to get more paint.

  “Oh, I guess I see now,” Josh said.

  I did too, but I was pretty sure nobody else would unless Dr. C explained it to them as well. Maybe he could write an article about it for the paper.