Face the Music

by Brian Weisfeld

  “Right,” said Resa, turning the page to continue her notes.

  “I don’t know how I feel about you two getting along,” said Harriet suspiciously. “It was bad when you both hated each other, but now that you’re mind-melding, me and Di—”

  “Get even less of a say,” Didi finished her friend’s sentence.

  Resa slid the book and pen over to Didi. “Okay,” Resa said. “Your turn. What’d we do wrong?”

  “Well,” said Didi, drawing a decorative heading with perfect pen strokes in Resa’s book, “one big problem was that we didn’t have a system for preorders. Someone should be helping Harriet, taking down names and sizes and stuff so that we keep all that information straight.”

  “Yeah, and someone has to tell Joe and the other Radical Skinks they can’t take preorders,” Amelia added. “They can build buzz and rock out, but they need to stay away from the money.”

  “And, as much as I hate to admit it, Val was right about our merch table being a mess,” said Didi. “It was the Wild West out there. People were just grabbing their own shirts … and then there was the Great Lemonade Spill.”

  “The second Great Lemonade Spill of the year,” Resa pointed out with a smile, remembering what had happened at their lemonade stand a few weeks earlier.

  “I think one person should’ve been in charge of handing out T-shirts,” said Didi. “And that person should’ve been me.”

  The girls were surprised by Didi’s confidence but glad to hear it.

  “Good idea,” said Amelia. “The next time we sell merch for the Radical Skinks—”

  “If the Radical Skinks even exist anymore,” added Harriet.

  “If the Radical Skinks even exist anymore,” repeated Amelia, “you should be the head honcho of the merch counter, Didi.”

  “The boss lady!” Harriet chirped.

  “The boss lady of the counter,” corrected Resa. “And Amelia should be the boss lady of the money.”

  “Can I get business cards that say that?” asked Amelia.

  “Sure, you can get imaginary business cards,” said Harriet, “for our imaginary next time selling merch for the imaginary band that doesn’t exist anymore.”

  16

  “Sorry for eavesdropping,” said Eleanor. She’d been taking waffle cones out of the oven and was now filling one up for herself with butter pecan ice cream. “But I have a thought.” Eleanor dropped the scooper in its cold-water bath. “I was at the concert, you know.”

  “Really?” asked Harriet. Her eyes fell on the math textbook on the counter, and she remembered where she knew Eleanor from. “Oh, that’s right. You know Larry. You’re his calculus lifeline.”

  “That’s me.” Cone in hand, Eleanor pushed through the swinging half door, which blocked off the counter, and pulled a chair over to the girls’ table. “There’s one problem you forgot to write down in that little book of yours,” she said.

  “What?” asked Didi, uncapping the pen.

  “Customer service,” said Eleanor.

  “Oh,” said Harriet knowingly. “You must be confused. We are amazing with customers. It’s kind of our thing.”

  “Okay,” said Eleanor. She took a lick of her ice cream. “If you say so.”

  “Harriet’s right,” Amelia said. “We gave out refunds. We let people switch sizes. And we didn’t have to do any of that. People appreciated that.”

  Eleanor pulled out her phone, swiped, typed, and scrolled. Then she handed the phone to Amelia.

  “‘Beware the Rad Skinks tee table!’” Amelia read aloud. “‘Shirts are ugly and overpriced and they insult you. Skip it!’”

  Resa leaned in to look at the screen. “Who posted that?”

  “‘Skinks 4Eva,’” read Amelia. “But he’s not the only one. There’s lot of people complaining that we were rude.”

  Resa’s mouth hung open. “Us? We were rude? Did you hear the customers? They were nightmares!”

  “I’m not saying they weren’t,” said Eleanor. “They were probably obnoxious and impatient and demanding. I deal with customers every day—when we have any.” She was trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but the girls didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Customers can be terrible. I could tell you stories…” Eleanor took another lick of her cone. “But you have to be polite and professional even when they’re not. You know what they say about customers…”

  “They don’t grow on trees,” said Harriet.

  “That is true, I guess,” replied Eleanor. “But not what I was thinking.”

  “The customer’s always right,” said Amelia with a heavy sigh.

  “Yep,” said Eleanor. “And here’s why: The only thing better than a customer is a repeat customer. If you’re super friendly”—she plastered a big, fake smile on her face—“even when they’re being unreasonable”—she made her smile bigger and tighter—“they will come back.”

  Eleanor relaxed her face and licked her cone.

  “Like, last week, this guy comes in and orders a black cherry cone,” she said. “So I scooped it fresh from the tub, right? And he takes, like, two licks and comes back. To return it. Says it’s not cold enough.”

  “What?” Didi laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I know!” said Eleanor. “He’s flat-out wrong. But I just smile and say, ‘Oh, I’m really sorry about that, sir. Would you like to try another flavor?’ He orders the Meyer Lemon, which is in the tub right next to the black cherry, okay? It was absolutely, positively the same temperature. But for whatever reason, he loves this one. Perfect, great, that’s the end of that, right?”

  “Right,” said Harriet. She hardly knew Eleanor, but she liked her. She could see right away why Larry relied on her for calculus. She was sharp.

  “Wrong!” exclaimed Eleanor. “Because, get this—the next day, he comes back with his wife and three kids. Then—no joke—his wife tells her sister about the shop, and now her sister comes in every Friday with her daughter’s hockey team.”

  “Ahhh, I see where you’re going with this,” said Resa, nodding.

  “Of course you do, Pistachio,” said Eleanor. “I could’ve told the guy to take a hike because he was dead wrong. I would’ve sold one ice cream, and that’s it. Instead, I bit my tongue and tossed his black cherry cone into the trash, which led to selling dozens more cones later.”

  “You are a biz whiz,” said Resa admiringly.

  “Nah,” said Eleanor. “I’ve just had lots of practice. You win some, you learn some. Trust me, I ran off plenty of customers when I started here.”

  “Did you ever tell anyone to take it up with customer service?” asked Resa.

  “Way worse than that,” said Eleanor. “I told some girl once, ‘Buzz off, Bigmouth.’”

  Resa winced.

  “Yeah, and then, to make things even worse, she did buzz off, without paying.” Eleanor laughed. “And I had to cover the cost of her cone out of my own paycheck.

  “Not my finest moment.” Eleanor shook her head. “It’s a steep learning curve. You’ll get the hang of it. You just have to take a lot of deep breaths and learn the magic words.”

  “Which are…?” Amelia asked.

  “‘So sorry about that!’ and ‘It’s my pleasure!’” said Eleanor. “Served up with a big smile.”

  The bell on the door of the shop jangled, and all five girls looked in its direction.

  Joe and Sam walked in, with Larry behind them.

  “Oh no,” moaned Harriet. She slid down in her seat and tried to cover her face with her ponytail. She’d managed to avoid her brothers in their little house, only to run smack into them in town.

  But Joe smiled brightly at the girls. “Harry! Ladies! You all got a sweet tooth, too, huh?”

  Eleanor, seeing the boys, got to her feet quickly, hitting the table with her knees as she stood. The light plastic table tilted and would have fallen over if Amelia hadn’t caught it. In the process, all the cups and spoons and napkins flew up in the air.

&nbs
p; She rushed to pick up the cups and spoons. So did Larry.

  “Hi,” Larry said, handing her a dripping cup and dirty napkin as his cheeks turned a deep rose.

  “Hi,” replied Eleanor, her cheeks matching his.

  Resa raised her eyebrows at Harriet, as if to say, “Really? Those two?” and Harriet gave a little shrug as if to say, “Don’t look at me. I know nothing.”

  Eleanor tossed the garbage into the trash can and stepped behind the counter.

  “What can I get for you?” she asked.

  She served up a cup of s’mores for Sam, a cone of mango sorbet for Joe, and then got into a long conversation with Larry when he asked her what flavor she would recommend.

  “Well, I mean, that totally depends,” she said, “on a variety of factors.”

  While Larry and Eleanor debated flavors, Joe and Sam sat at the table next to the girls.

  “Ladies, we owe you an apology,” said Sam. “We blamed you for the concert, but it wasn’t your fault. That amp’s been glitching up for weeks.”

  Harriet looked down and shook her head slowly. “You’re just trying to be nice. I jinxed you, Joe. You were in the zone, and I jinxed you, plain and simple.”

  “Harry, we were all nervous wrecks last night,” Joe confessed. “That’s why Sam broke the drum. That’s why my voice was off. I mean, why do you think I was in the zone for so long? I was stalling. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Harriet wanted to believe Joe, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all her fault. Being the youngest, she often felt as if she was the one who messed up. Her brothers seemed so capable—they had jobs and took final exams and were about to leave home for college, and she was still just a kid.

  “So, do you accept our apology?” asked Sam.

  Amelia, Resa, and Didi issued a chorus of “Sure!” and “Of course!” but Harriet remained silent.

  “Harry looks sad,” Sam said to Joe.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Joe.

  The boys stood, grabbing Larry by the elbow as they walked around the table to Harriet.

  “Sibling sandwich!” Sam yelled.

  The boys surrounded their sister and gave her a big bear hug. Harriet’s face lit up, and she belly-laughed as they chanted, “Har-ri-et! Har-ri-et!”

  Finally, she called out, through her peals of laughter, “Okay, okay, I forgive you,” and the boys quieted down.

  “The Battle of the Bands would’ve been fun, but seriously, I need to work to save up for next year,” said Sam.

  “Yeah, and calculus is like a full-time job,” said Larry.

  “We’ll try next year, when things are less busy,” agreed Joe.

  But Harriet knew that Sam would be away next year. They couldn’t try again. It was now or never. “No!” she shouted, more loudly than she’d meant to. “You will not give up on your dream!”

  “Harry, seriously, it’s not a big deal,” said Joe.

  “It is a big deal!” she said, getting to her feet. “It’s the biggest of deals. It’s gigantic! It’s gargantuan!”

  “I like your enthusiasm,” said Sam. “But we can’t play in the Battle of the Bands without a guitar or drums. Joe can’t sing a cappella.”

  Harriet was pacing now, back and forth in front of the ice-cream counter. “Larry, did you return the guitar to Music Mania yet?” she asked.

  Larry, who’d been sneaking glances at Eleanor, who was busy pretending not to glance at him, stammered a bit, then said, “Uhhh, no. I was going to bring it by later today.”

  “Don’t you dare!” exclaimed Harriet. “We’re going to keep the guitar a little longer. In fact, we’re going to borrow a drum.”

  The boys exchanged puzzled looks.

  Joe raised his eyebrows. “Harriet, don’t go overboard—”

  “Oh, I’m going overboard all right.” Harriet paused and laughed in a way that was almost sinister. “I’m going ker-splash into the waters. I will not stop until you are world famous rock stars.”

  Resa gasped and stood suddenly: “I know! We could—”

  “Yes!” said Harriet. “At the Battle—”

  “And also!” said Amelia, standing, too. “Credit cards! Because—”

  “Yes! And maybe…” Didi piped up. “Baseball caps?”

  Resa was nodding fast. “Genius. Yes. Why didn’t we—”

  Amelia interrupted, “But first we need to go to—”

  “You’re right,” agreed Harriet. “I’ll go with you.”

  “But,” asked Amelia, “how will we pay for the stuff?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Resa. “Now, we’ve got to hustle.”

  The girls had nearly reached the front door by the time Joe called out, “Wait!”

  The girls stopped and turned to face him.

  “What’s going on?” asked Sam.

  “Didi and I are going to Music Mania,” said Resa as she zipped up her hoodie. “We’re going to talk to what’s-her-name—”

  “Mo,” said Harriet.

  “Yeah, Mo, and see if she’ll let you borrow the guitar for another week, and also we’ll see if she’ll lend Sam a what’s-it-called, the drum that broke?”

  Sam looked bewildered but answered, “A snare.”

  “Good, yes, a snare,” said Resa.

  “And Amelia and I are going to Lucy’s shop,” said Harriet, “to see about placing another order—but this time, we’re getting a better deal on the T-shirts.”

  “What shirts?” asked Larry.

  “To sell at the Battle of the Bands!” replied Harriet. “Along with the baseball caps! Don’t worry. We’ll have a credit card reader this time.”

  “Baseball caps?” repeated Joe.

  “Look,” said Amelia, “we’d love to catch you up on everything, but it’s got to be later. No time right now.”

  “We should meet up tonight,” said Resa. “How about…” She looked at Amelia, Didi, and Harriet. “Want to say six? At your place, Harriet?”

  “Perfect!” Harriet replied. She clapped her hands excitedly. “See you then. Bye, guys! Bye, Eleanor!”

  And with that, the girls were gone.

  Eleanor cracked open her calculus textbook and smiled at the brothers—at one brother in particular.

  “Well,” she said. “Looks like the Startup Squad has left the building.”

  17

  “Hello, sweet peas!” sang Lucy as Amelia and Harriet walked through the door of Small Joys. She was standing behind the counter with a box of scarves in front of her, folding and rolling them into swirly shapes for display. “Rambo! We’ve got company!”

  The store had one customer—an older teenage girl sitting cross-legged in the corner reading a coffee-table book about narwhals. She looked nice and comfortable, as if she’d been there awhile. She also looked unlikely to buy anything.

  Rambo glanced up from his cat bed in the corner and, seeing Harriet, lazily stretched, then walked over on velvet paws to weave in between her legs.

  “Ooooh, you little furball,” Harriet cooed. “You want treats, don’t you? Can I, Lucy?”

  Lucy nodded, and Harriet leaned over the counter to fish a cat treat out of the container. Rambo licked it from her palm and then busied himself scratching his back against the corner of a bookcase.

  “So how’d the shirts work out?” Lucy fiddled with a scarf knot, then looked up. “Make a lot of money?”

  “Not exactly,” said Harriet. She was starting to feel nervous about negotiating with Lucy. Lucy had become a friend. Could you haggle about money with a friend?

  “We ran into a bunch of problems,” explained Amelia, tucking her hair behind her ears. “The shirts ran really small, so all the customers wanted one size bigger, which left us with a ton of smalls and not enough larges.”

  “Huh,” said Lucy. “I haven’t heard that before. Good feedback.” Unsatisfied with her scarf knot, she unrolled it and started from scratch.

  Amelia elbowed Ha
rriet and whispered, “Go ahead. Ask her.”

  “Actually, we wanted to see if we could place another order,” said Harriet. “There’s a big Battle of the Bands coming up. We want to try a do-over at that show.”

  “Oh yes,” said Lucy. “I heard about that. People are excited. Winner’s going on that singing and dancing show with that heartless judge.”

  “Connor Mackelvoe,” said Harriet. “We love him!”

  “Different strokes for different folks,” said Lucy, shrugging. “So you want to place another order?”

  “Yes,” said Harriet at the exact same time that Amelia said, “Maybe.”

  “We’d like to place an order,” Amelia explained. “But we need a lower price on the T-shirts. Twenty dollars each is just too high for us to make enough of a profit.”

  Lucy put down the scarf she was rolling and looked up at Amelia with surprise.

  “Huh,” she said, nodding slowly. “I’m not sure I can do any better, sweet pea. Like I told Harriet, if it’s a rush order, my vendor charges an extra fee. And I’ve been open only a few weeks; I haven’t worked with many vendors. I’m just getting started.”

  Harriet leaned over to scratch behind Rambo’s ears. “We know, Lucy,” she said. “And we’re sorry to bother you.”

  “But maybe there’s another vendor you could try,” pressed Amelia. “And since you’re a new customer, maybe they’ll give you a promotional price for your first order and waive the rush fee.”

  Lucy smiled. Her eyes were twinkling. “Harriet,” she said. “You’ve got yourself a clever business partner over here.”

  Harriet lifted Rambo in her arms. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I pay her the big bucks.”

  Lucy laughed and set her reading glasses on her nose. She pulled out the mammoth black binder, which she’d stowed under the register, and placed it on the counter with a thud. She thumbed through it, making a sucking sound with her teeth as she considered. “Ohhhhkay,” she murmured as she read. “Okay, this could work.”

  She peered over the tops of her glasses at Amelia. “How much do you want to pay per T-shirt?”

  Amelia was ready. “Twelve dollars per shirt. At the most.”