by Luke Sharpe
I don’t know if this is going to work, but I’m impressed by Manny’s method. He’s a much more detailed, patient inventor than I am. I don’t even want to think about having to place each one of those rubbery slivers into the tiny holes in the toothbrush.
“I’m not there yet,” Manny says. “And I’m not positive this method will work. I am making progress. Slow progress, but I do feel like I am moving forward.”
“Nice,” I say.
“What happened at Sweet Tooth?” Manny asks.
I decide not to talk to him about my experience with Claudia.
“I ran into Kathy Jenkins,” I say.
“Uh-oh,” says Manny.
“Yeah, I know. I can’t wait to read her article in tomorrow’s Right Next Door,” I say. “Should be a doozy.”
Manny turns to the workbench. I appreciate him not pressing me on what went wrong with getting stores interested in the Candy Toothbrush.
If Manny is so dedicated to making this invention work, I think the least I can do is to change my approach when I try again. Two attempts down. Let’s see if I have better luck next time.
“I think I’m going to head home, Manny,” I say, needing to clear my head. “I’ll try some new stores tomorrow.”
• • •
Dinner that evening is pretty much a repeat performance of the last night. Emily sits, arms-crossed, lips tightly closed. She doesn’t speak and she doesn’t eat.
I don’t know which is more SHOCKING.
After dinner I head up to my room for another round of Sandbox XXL. Not to brag or anything, but I’m on level twenty-two already.
Although I don’t dream about Sandbox XXL when I finally put the game down and go to sleep, I certainly can’t say that I have a peaceful night. I toss and turn in bed, imagining if I had to make sales calls with the monsters in Sandbox XXL. “Your teeth will be even more healthy!” I say. “ALL THE BETTER TO BITE AVATARS WITH!”
As soon as I wake up in the morning, I go to the Right Next Door website. Sure enough, the lead story is an article by Kathy Jenkins. I read the headline:
SURE THINGS, INC.—BILLY SURE KID
ENTREPRENEUR VS. MANNY REYES KID
ENTREPRENEUR!
and I groan.
With a knot tightening in my stomach, I read the article:
Things are sure heating up at Sure Things, Inc., as reporter Kathy Jenkins found an EXCLUSIVE new story about the popular invention company. Sure Things, Inc.’s next invention—the Candy Toothbrush—will be on sale soon, but surprisingly, it is not a Sure Thing!
“For our next invention, I am going to be the company’s CFO, and Manny is going to be our CEO and inventor,” Billy Sure, of Sure Things, Inc. fame, said. “It’s somewhat of a Sure Things, Inc. experiment. It’s also a bit of a competition! But we all know I’m going to win!”
Although Billy Sure met with a few vendors for the Candy Toothbrush, no store buyers seemed interested.
“We love Sure Things, Inc. products,” Claudia of the Sweet Tooth candy store said. “But unfortunately, we couldn’t back this one up. It’s just NOT a Sure Thing.”
Other store owners felt the same way.
“Billy is an inexperienced CFO, and Manny is an inexperienced inventor,” said Bert of All Stuff Pharmacy. “My store can’t sell this.”
Manny and Billy think this experiment is fun, but the big question is: Is Sure Things, Inc. DOOMED?!
Like the rest of the world, this reporter is waiting to find out!
I roll my eyes. Of course. She did it again.
This is just what I need—the whole world to know about my struggle as CFO or believing that Manny and I are competing against each other for real? That would never happen . . . would it? That is just not true.
Soggy Cereal and Party Invites
I’M SO UPSET ABOUT THE article, I almost don’t realize it’s weird that Emily joins me at breakfast. But even silent Emily is hard to ignore. I look at her and wonder what she’s been eating for the past few days. I haven’t seen her open her mouth in a while. (I’m not complaining, but it’s beginning to get weird.)
“Good morning,” I say through a mouthful of cereal, though it comes out sounding more like “Mud Moomin.”
“Mmph,” Emily grunts, which is the most she’s said to me in days.
She goes to the counter, grabs a bowl, and pours about three flakes of KRISPO-KRUNCHO FROSTED BITES, then fills the rest of the bowl with a ton of milk and joins me at the table.
Back at the table, Emily stares at the bowl, her chin resting in her hands. Her eyes dart back and forth between me and the cereal bowl. Again and again and again.
I’m not sure what she’s expecting the flakes to do—put on a little show for her or turn all kinds of pretty colors—but she keeps on staring and not eating, and giving me a glare like she wants me to leave.
After a few minutes, when she realizes I’m not going anywhere, Emily pokes at the cereal, lifting a spoonful up close to her face and examining it. Then, without eating, she drops the cereal back into her bowl.
It’s like she’s waiting for her cereal to get really soggy before she eats it. But that is super weird. If there is one thing I know about Emily, it’s that, like me, Emily hates soggy cereal. She always starts eating the second the milk hits the bowl. And she eats really fast so that even the last flake is still crunchy.
But for some reason, today she’s waiting and waiting.
Again, she picks up a spoonful. This time she pokes at it with her finger, then returns it to the bowl and resumes her staring. I’m starting to think this is Emily’s most absurd thing yet.
Normally I wouldn’t resist giving Emily a hard time about this. But this morning I’ve got my own problems to deal with. Figuring out this whole switcheroo thing is hard enough, and now we have Kathy Jenkins to deal with again.
“Well, nice chatting with you, Em,” I say, getting up and bringing my empty bowl to the sink. “Enjoy your GLOPPY MUSH.”
“Mmm,” Emily grunts again.
“Come on, Philo,” I call out, heading for the front door. I glance back over my shoulder and see the back of Emily’s head. She lifts the spoon up toward her face.
Well, at least she’s eating, I think.
With Philo trotting happily along beside me, I bike over to the office, wondering as I ride what Manny thinks about Kathy’s article. I’m trying my best to not let it upset me, but it’s hard. It’s tough enough doing this new CFO job without having to worry about people thinking bad things about us and the company.
Arriving at the office, I skid to a stop and scoot inside, followed by Philo, who takes his usual place in his doggy bed. Before I even get to say good morning, Manny turns to me from the workbench.
“Do you think REGULAR GREEN APPLE or SOUR GREEN APPLE would be more popular as our first Candy Toothbrush flavor?” he asks. Then, before I get a chance to respond: “I guess maybe it doesn’t really matter since we can always expand the line by adding additional flavors later.”
Manny is about to continue, but he catches himself, pauses, and looks right at me.
“Um, I’m sorry, Billy, I guess I slipped into my marketing hat for a second there. I know that’s your job now. Just habit, I guess. What do you think?”
“Um, I guess either flavor would be fine to start with,” I reply, not sure how I’m supposed to make a decision between green apple and sour green apple. “I mean, everyone likes apples, right? You kinda can’t go wrong.”
I try my best not to feel a little jealous of Manny. I know that he always has the best interest of the company in mind, but I wish that I could be as good a CFO as Manny appears to have become as an inventor.
Manny places a small sliver of green gummy onto his tongue. I stare as his face twists into various strange expressions. It’s almost like he is trying to taste the flavor with his eyes, nose, and forehead, as well as his tongue.
A couple of minutes later he puts another small gummy sliver onto his to
ngue. This one is a lighter shade of green. And his face goes through the same scrunching movements.
“Definitely the sour green apple,” he says, his face returning to normal.
I decide to change the subject.
“So, I guess you saw Kathy Jenkins’s article in Right Next Door, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah, I saw it,” Manny replies. “I laughed, shrugged it off, and put my mind back on the much more important topic at hand—regular apple versus sour apple.”
“So, you’re not worried?” I ask. “Kathy’s articles always make me worry. The last time she wrote about us, kids avoided me in the hall at school. Not fun.”
“I think this time even Kathy is stretching a bit too far,” says Manny. “I think the best thing we can do is just ignore it. Pretend it’s not there and it will go away, right?”
Following Manny’s example, I push Kathy’s article out of my mind and settle in at his desk to come up with an attack plan for today’s sales pitches. After all, I need to learn from my mistakes and improve with each try.
I scan through a list of new stores that might be interested in the Candy Toothbrush. As I search, I practice my speech in my head:
Hello, wonderful store owner. I’m Billy Sure from Sure Things, Inc., and I’m here to give you a sneak peek at our brand-new invention. It’s called the Candy Toothbrush and it’s going to change the world. Okay, maybe not the world, but definitely the world inside your mouth!
Wait a minute. I don’t even know what that means. Let me try again.
Hello, kind friend. I’m Billy Sure from Sure Things, Inc. and . . .
Well. The store owner isn’t really my friend. I should stick with “store owner.”
Hello, store owner. I’m Billy Sure from Sure Things, Inc., and I wanted you to be the first to know about our brand-new product.
But what if the owner of the next store I go to is friends with the owner of Sweet Tooth or the manager at All Stuff Pharmacy? What if they’ve already talked about my failed sales runs at those stores? Then they’d know that they are not the “first to know” and they’d catch me in a lie.
See?
This sales stuff is not easy, no matter how much wrapping paper I sold door to door in elementary school.
Manny must be able to tell I’m worried, because he looks over at me and smiles reassuringly. It’s reason #360 that I’m glad he’s my best friend and business partner. He just knows when I’m feeling down.
“Don’t worry too much, Billy,” he says. “It’ll all work out. And at least we won’t have to work on Saturday afternoon.”
“Yeah,” I say, and then it hits me. What’s happening on Saturday afternoon? “Um, why aren’t we working on Saturday?”
“It’s Petula Brown’s end-of-summer pool party,” Manny says.
“That’s weird,” I say. “I never got an invitation.” Petula Brown is a girl in our class. I’m a little surprised that I wasn’t invited to her pool party. After all, Petula came to my birthday party this year and we’ve always been friends.
“Oh,” Manny begins. “Well, Petula only invited girls and said that the only way a boy can go is if a girl invites him. I assumed someone had already asked you.”
What am I, Philo’s dog food? Why didn’t anyone ask me? I wonder. But I don’t want to make Manny feel bad, so I try to be supportive.
“So who invited you?” I ask.
“Well, um, Petula kind of . . . she invited me,” Manny says. “But don’t worry, Billy,” he adds quickly. “I’m sure someone will invite you, too. It’s only Wednesday.”
I mean, I’m happy that Manny will get to go to the party, but I also feel kinda bad. It’s unfair! Why can’t I just go to the party as Manny’s friend? Or even as Petula’s friend, since it’s her party?
Why did Petula have to make this so complicated by doing the whole “girl has to ask boy” thing? We’re all friends. We all like to go to parties. Why mess it all up like this? Is this what life is going to be like now that we are eighth-graders?
I turn back to my lists and spreadsheets. I can’t let this stupid party thing distract me. I don’t have time to worry about that now—I have to stay focused and be the best salesperson I can be. I’m going to sell the Candy Toothbrush, I tell myself. I’m going to get it into every store and—
Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t even know what my next move should be! I don’t even know how to get invited to a pool party! Only Manny knows that.
Wait.
Manny?
What if I ask Manny to train me on how to be a good CFO? He has trained other people before, after all, like JADA PARIKH, the CFO of Definite Devices. And he must have taught her what to say, since the Funny Gummy was on sale at Sweet Tooth! So Jada must be great at selling, too.
And that’s when it hits me. Manny is already busy working on inventing the Candy Toothbrush, but there’s someone else I could ask for help.
Jada! Why don’t I ask Jada to train me?!
Jada to the Rescue
I STARE AT MANNY’S COMPUTER screen and picture myself being trained by Jada. That’s when I realize: Of course I’ve met Jada, but I’ve never really talked to her. I usually just talk to Nat, the CEO of Definite Devices. She’s always trying to sabotage me and Manny’s partnership. She has a big crush on Manny and would love to have him work for her company. She was the one who pretended to be an Italian art collector to get the Sure family to move to Italy so Manny and I couldn’t work together anymore! Jada seems nice, but what if she’s just like Nat?
I guess I have nothing to lose by just asking her if she can help me. Still, I think I should tell Manny what my plan is. I don’t want him to feel bad if I ask Jada to train me instead of him.
“So, I have an idea I want to run by you,” I say to Manny.
“For a new invention?” Manny asks. “I thought that was my job now!”
We both laugh.
“No, actually I thought I could get some help about how to be a good CFO from Jada,” I say. “I figure since you trained her, I’d be learning from the best—indirectly, anyway.”
“Have you asked her?” Manny says.
“Not yet. I wanted to see what you thought.”
“Sounds great to me,” Manny says. Then he cracks a smile. “But I am definitely not asking NAT for inventor training.”
Then Manny returns to fitting tiny gummy slivers into his prototype toothbrush.
I guess it’s go time!
I scroll through my phone and click on Jada Parikh. It rings . . . and rings . . . and rings . . .
“Hello?” says the voice on the other end.
“Hey, Jada, it’s Billy—Billy Sure,” I say. Oh man. That was dumb. She probably knew that already from caller ID. “Um, so I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Nat didn’t do something to hurt Sure Things, Inc. again?” Jada asks.
“No, no, not at all!” I answer quickly. I guess that makes sense—the last time Jada heard from me, it was when I busted Nat for almost making my whole family move across an entire ocean.
“Why I called is, Manny and I are trying a little experiment,” I explain. “We’re calling it a friendly switcheroo. For our next product, Manny is doing the inventing and I’m handling the marketing and sales.”
“Interesting,” she says flatly. “How’s that going?”
“Well, Manny’s working really hard on the invention, but I’m having a little trouble getting started on selling it. Which is actually why I’m calling. I was wondering . . . would you maybe be interested in helping me learn about being a good CFO? I think I need a teacher, and Manny is busy inventing, so I thought of you.”
Jada is silent for a few seconds.
Uh-oh, she doesn’t want to do it, and she’s trying to figure out a nice way of telling me.
“I’d be happy to train you, Billy,” she finally says. “It’s the least I can do after all the trouble Nat has caused you in the past.”
“Really?”
“S
ure. Can you meet me later today?” Jada asks.
“Yeah! Um, where should we meet?”
“I’ll meet you at the public library in an hour. How’s that?”
“Great! I’ll see you there!”
We say bye and hang up. It’ll take me just under an hour to bike over to the library (it’s a little far), so I start gathering my things.
“I’m heading over to the library to meet Jada,” I tell Manny, who nods.
“Mmm . . . ,” he replies, still completely focused on his green gummy slivers.
As I head to the door, Philo stands up and stretches. He thinks it’s time to go home.
“You stay here with Manny, boy,” I say, pointing to Philo’s bed. “I’ll be back soon.”
Poor Philo. That’s the second time this week that I told him to stay here when I left. But what can I do? I know that I can’t bring a dog into the library.
As I bike over to the library, my mind races. I dart between wondering why no one invited me to Petula’s party, worrying about how awkward it might be training with Jada, and questioning if I can even sell the Candy Toothbrush at all.
Just as I’m thinking all of this, the library comes into view. I have to FOCUS! I need to learn as much as I can from Jada, so I push all these other thoughts away and chain my bike up to the rack outside.
Inside the library, I spot Jada sitting at a long table. I catch her eye and wave, then join her.
“Thanks so much for helping me,” I say as I sit down.
“No problem,” Jada says. “It’ll be fun. And after all Manny taught me, I’m happy to share it with you. Let’s get started.”
Jada opens up her laptop. A blank spreadsheet appears on the screen.
“Spreadsheets are really helpful in keeping track of all the parts of your business,” she explains. “These rows and columns can organize whatever you need—a list of all the places that might want to sell your invention, the ones that have agreed to sell it, then sales figures, store by store, once the invention comes out. I always keep notes in the last column, see? Like who I spoke to and what they said. If not I forget.”
