Monkey Business

by Leslie Margolis

  Once we had all gotten permission, we piled into Claire’s mom’s minivan. I sat as far from Rachel as possible. Both of us stayed pretty quiet while the rest of our friends chatted on the drive over to the Round Table.

  As we walked toward the restaurant, we passed by a toy store called Play Matters. The window displayed tons of cool-looking toys—a fancy wooden train track, some robots, and a bunch of vintage-looking toy airplanes.

  “Oh, I used to love that place,” said Claire. “My grandma would take me there whenever she visited.”

  Emma paused in front of the store and stared into the window. “Mine too. Hey, I just had an idea,” she said, heading into the store and calling, “I’ll be right back.”

  We all watched through the window as she took a puppet out of her backpack and showed it to the woman working behind the counter. They talked for a while, and then a few minutes later Emma came out with a huge smile on her face.

  “What’s that about?” I asked.

  “Play Matters has agreed to sell our puppets!”

  “No way!” I said.

  “Way!” Emma replied. “The manager said she liked my spirit and enthusiasm, so she’s agreed to take five of them to see how they do.”

  “That’s, like, a real store!” Yumi said.

  “It sure is,” said Emma.

  Claire raised her hand. “High five!”

  “Panda Parade here we come!” Yumi cheered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Crafting Emergencies

  The sock puppet sale scene on Friday was even more frenzied than on day one. Word had definitely gotten out, and we sold our entire supply before the first homeroom bell. By lunchtime, kids were clamoring for more sock puppets.

  “When are you going to have more?” asked Isabel from my English class.

  “Monday morning,” said Claire.

  “Okay, but how can you make sure I get a bunch before they sell out?” asked Hannah. Her cousin loved the sock puppet so much, apparently, he’d asked for three more so he could have a whole sock puppet family.

  “We can’t,” said Emma. “You’ve gotta make sure you beat the crowd.”

  “This is so super-stressful!” said Hannah.

  “I’ll save you a few,” I whispered to her. “Just don’t tell anyone else.”

  Hannah gave me a thumbs-up and walked away.

  Meanwhile a few seventh graders made their way over to our table and asked if we were the geniuses behind the sock puppets.

  “Yup,” said Claire. “And these geniuses need to eat lunch. We’ll have a bunch more next week. Promise.”

  The rest of us giggled as the seventh-graders walked away.

  “You guys, this is crazy!” said Emma.

  “Crazy brilliant,” said Claire.

  We had yet another crafting session in Claire’s dining room that afternoon. And the next day too. And after that we ran out of supplies, so we had to hit the art supply store for more bling, as well as the department store for more socks. Luckily, Claire’s mom was available to drive us to the mall first thing Sunday morning.

  “Don’t we have enough money for tickets yet?” Rachel asked as we piled into the minivan. “We’ve sold more than a hundred puppets, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Emma. “So that makes six hundred dollars of pure profit, but now we’ve got to reinvest and spend money on supplies so we can keep things up.”

  “Just make sure we don’t spend too much,” said Rachel.

  “I won’t,” said Emma, opening up her notebook to do some math equations. “I already figured things out. If we spend an average of two dollars and fifty cents on materials, that means our profit is three dollars and fifty cents per puppet, which is still pretty awesome. All we need is for the next two weeks to be good as last week.”

  Just then Emma looked down at her ringing cell phone. “Hold on a second. I’ve gotta take this call.”

  Claire looked at me with raised eyebrows, and I shrugged. Then we eavesdropped on Emma’s end of the conversation.

  “Okay, you want three monkeys and six more dogs and another rabbit? Just one? Any color preferences?” Emma asked, cradling her phone between her head and her shoulder as she jotted down some notes in her notebook.

  After she hung up she retied her ponytail. “These orders are really stacking up.”

  “That’s cool,” said Claire. “But when did we agree to do custom puppets?”

  Emma frowned at Claire. “We didn’t, exactly, but these are for Play Matters, the toy store by the pizza place.”

  “I remember,” said Claire. “Are you telling me they sold out?”

  “Yup,” said Emma. “And now they want twenty more for their window display.”

  “But that’ll take us hours,” said Yumi. “How are we going to do that and make enough puppets for school?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” I said. “We have all weekend.”

  “And here we are,” Claire added as her mom pulled up to the entrance to the mall.

  “Is an hour enough time for you girls?” Mollie asked.

  “Should be,” said Claire.

  “I’ll meet you all right here by these front doors. Claire, keep your phone on. I will be calling if you’re late.”

  “Got it!” said Claire, saluting her mom.

  “And stick together!” Mollie added.

  The five of us climbed out of the van and hit Zingerman’s Art Supplies first. I’d never been, and walking into the store was a shock in the best possible sense.

  “I’ve never seen so much color in one place,” I said as Yumi took a shopping cart.

  “I know,” said Claire, grabbing my hand. “Come with me. I want to show you my favorite aisle.”

  We all jogged to keep up and ended up surrounded by more sequins than I knew existed in the state of California.

  “There are ten different shades of green sparkly sequins,” said Claire. “And I want every single one!”

  “Look, Dodger Blue is actually the official name of this shade,” said Yumi, excitedly throwing some paint into our cart.

  “Don’t forget the puffy paint,” said Rachel, throwing in an entire set.

  Claire settled on five shades of green and we got plenty of other sequins too. And buttons and random scraps of fabric and yarn, and we even sprung for a glue gun.

  When we got to the cash register, we were shocked at the total. Everything added up to more than a hundred dollars.

  “Are you sure we should spend this much?” Rachel whispered to Emma.

  Emma shrugged. “You’ve got to spend money to make money, right?”

  She handed over the cash and then we hit Target to load up on socks.

  As amazing as I thought our first few batches of sock puppets were, I had to admit the ones that came later were truly spectacular. There was Raymond, the purple monkey with electric blue eyes; Chantelle, the poodle with rainbow bows on her ears; and Cobalt, a construction worker who tied his long black curls back with a red bandanna.

  Two weeks into our launch, kids at Birchwood Middle School were still crazy for our sock puppets. Some days we brought ten to school and some days we brought twenty. On Friday, one of our nautical-themed sailor puppets lost an eye in transit. It didn’t matter—we still sold out!

  We spent another Saturday stocking up on supplies and then crafting.

  At some point I lost count of how many sock puppets we’d all made. It seemed like hundreds. Everyone we knew had at least one. And people wanted more.

  “Can we really still call these emergency crafting sessions?” asked Claire. “Considering that we seem to have one every single day.”

  “You make a really good point,” said Emma.

  “I think we need an emergency vacation day,” said Rachel.

  “We’re taking the day off for my birthday this weekend, right?” I asked.

  “Omigosh, I can’t believe you’re finally turning twelve,” said Yumi.

  “Don’t worry, Annabelle. We won
’t be crafting next Saturday. It’s in the schedule.”

  I laughed. “Glad you could fit my birthday into your busy schedule.”

  “So am I!” Emma replied, totally serious.

  Claire threw a fluffy teddy-bear-in-a-clown-suit sock puppet at her. “She was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh,” said Emma. “Right. I totally knew that. I was just joking.”

  “Way to make me feel special on my birthday,” I said.

  “Hey, it’s not your birthday yet,” Emma reminded me.

  “I’m glad it’s soon,” said Yumi. “I definitely need a day off.”

  “I know,” I said. “I used to look forward to getting out of school, but lately I dread it because there’s so much work to be done.”

  “Every time I think about sock puppets, my hands hurt,” said Rachel.

  “My back aches from being hunched over all the time,” said Yumi. “We must have enough money for the tickets by now. Right, Emma?”

  “Not quite,” said Emma.

  “Well, we must be close at least,” said Rachel.

  “I hope so,” said Claire. “Because just looking at this pile of fabric scraps is making me sick. I’m so ready to retire.”

  “When can we buy our concert tickets?” asked Yumi. “Every time we ask, you avoid the question.”

  This was true. Emma had been keeping careful records of each puppet and each sale from the moment we launched our business. She had an entire notebook devoted to the project, but she wouldn’t show us what was inside. “I want to really wow you guys, and I’m waiting for the right time,” Emma said.

  The rest of us stopped what we were doing and looked up at her.

  “I think now is the right time,” said Claire.

  “I agree,” said Rachel.

  Emma sighed and opened up her notebook, flipping to the right page.

  “We’re definitely close but we’re not there yet. The problem is every time we buy new supplies, we end up spending more money. But if we make the stuff we have last, we’ll only need to make and sell fifteen more puppets for the tickets and travel expenses,” said Emma.

  “That’s nothing!” said Claire. “We can do that tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” said Emma. “There’s a better option. If we sell forty more, we’ll have enough cash for T-shirts, too.”

  “We’ve never sold forty,” said Claire. “It makes me nervous. I don’t even know forty kids who don’t already have our puppets.”

  “People are doubling up,” said Yumi.

  “But do you think they’ll triple up?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Emma. “And I’ve been thinking about strategy. Do you remember when the last iPad came out, how there was a big shortage and people were lining up for hours at the Apple store hoping to get one? And there were wait lists and everything?”

  “Totally,” I said. “Ted had to order his from Wisconsin and pay extra to have it rush delivered.”

  As soon as I said this, I wished I could take it back. I glanced at Rachel out of the corner of my eye. She seemed to be rolling her eyes, but I wasn’t positive. Maybe it was my imagination. I hoped so. I was so sick of her making rude comments, I’d been going out of my way not to say anything that could even be misconstrued as me being braggy or whatever.

  Luckily, she didn’t say a word or even look at me.

  Claire chimed in instead. “So they didn’t manufacture enough?” she asked. “What does that have to do with us?”

  “They didn’t make enough on purpose,” said Emma. “By making the iPad hard to get and exclusive, more people wanted it. And it totally paid off. So I was thinking, maybe we should not sell sock puppets for a few days and really build demand, create a panic in the marketplace.”

  “What if people forget about them?” asked Rachel.

  “Yeah, remember when everyone was into Rainbow Loom and then winter break happened and when we got back, no one cared?” Yumi said.

  “Not only that, people started making fun of kids who were still wearing their Rainbow Loom jewelry,” I said.

  Emma shook her head. “That won’t happen to our sock puppets.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Claire.

  “Winter break was for three weeks. I’m just saying we take five days off,” said Emma. “That way we can stop what we’re doing now, enjoy the week, and get back to work next weekend.”

  “Not Saturday,” I said. “That’s my birthday.”

  “Sunday then,” said Emma. “We can have a marathon session. Make eight puppets each and really make them count.”

  “It would be nice to have a break,” said Claire. “What does everyone else think?”

  “Let’s vote on it,” I said.

  “All in favor of taking a week off, raise your hand,” said Emma.

  She raised her hand and then Rachel raised hers and Yumi and Claire followed and I did too.

  “It’s unanimous,” Emma said with a smile. “But are you guys agreeing with my strategy or just wanting to take a break?”

  “I would say a little of both,” said Claire. “But does it even matter?”

  Emma slammed her notebook shut, stood up from the table, and stretched. “You guys, this is going to be amazing!”

  My friends and I all agreed. It seemed like nothing could go wrong. But I guess those are famous last words for a reason.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Unhappy Birthday

  “You bought balloons?” I cried, coming downstairs first thing in the morning and finding—to my horror—that the entire living room was filled with silver and blue balloons. My mom and Ted had gotten the regular kind as well as a bunch of those shiny Mylar balloons that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY on them with streamers and firecracker-like bursts of confetti in all the colors of the rainbow.

  “Surprise,” said my mom, who was in the middle of putting up red and blue streamers. “I can’t believe you’re twelve.”

  “And I can’t believe you bought me balloons without asking first,” I said. “This is so not cool, Mom! Twelve-year-olds don’t have balloons at their birthday parties!”

  “They don’t?” my mom asked.

  Her reaction left me dumbfounded. How could she be so clueless? It made no sense!

  “No!” I shouted.

  I tried to think back to Emma’s and Rachel’s and Claire’s and Yumi’s parties. They had all been fun. But had it been balloon-type fun? I couldn’t recall, but I didn’t think so.

  Of course, my party was different from theirs. I’d invited a few boys as well as my usual group of friends. And since this was my first boy-girl party, I was guessing that balloons were totally inappropriate.

  “What’s wrong with balloons?” Ted asked, coming into the living room.

  “Only babies have balloons at their birthdays!” I cried.

  My mom looked from me to the balloons. “I had balloons at my baby shower last week and they were lovely!”

  “That totally proves my point,” I exclaimed. “Those balloons weren’t for you—they were because of the future baby.”

  Ted put his arm around my mom and said, “When I turned fifty last year, I had a hundred balloons at my party.”

  “I remember,” said my mom. “That was such an amazing night—and the balloons were a wonderful addition.”

  Every time one of them said “balloon,” I wanted to tear my hair out. Not literally, obviously, because the only thing worse than having a babyish balloon-themed party was attending said party bald. I mean, come on—things were already bad enough. “You guys are totally not getting it,” I said. Okay, maybe I shouted. Probably, I did. But I couldn’t help myself.

  My mom and Ted just stared at me, like I’d been replaced by my bad-tempered alien clone. Like they didn’t even know who I was and clearly, they didn’t—hence the unauthorized balloon purchase. My gosh! As I stared at them, I realized how awful this was. The entire room would’ve been perfect for some kid turning six, but as of this morning I’m twice as old. This
was a total disaster.

  I took a deep breath and blinked hard and tried not to cry because I did not want red and puffy eyes for my party. Plus, crying would only reinforce my whole point—that balloons were babyish—and I was not going to act like a baby. But still. I was so angry. How could they buy balloons for me without asking? Ted, I could understand. He didn’t know me that well, and he’d never had a daughter before. But my mom? She knew that this party was a very big deal. She knew that Oliver was going to be there and other boys, too: Sanjay, Tobias, Corn Dog Joe. We’d talked about the menu and the music and the cake and the whole swimming thing. She’d been so, so careful, asking my permission about everything. She definitely should’ve known better when it came to the balloons.

  “Fine,” I said, trying my best to be patient with them. “I guess balloons are okay for old people and they’re okay for babies, but they are not okay for me.”

  “Annabelle, I think you’re being a little silly about this,” my mom said, waving at the balloons with both hands as if they were some kind of amazing thing. “They’re festive and sophisticated. Balloons are perfect for all birthday parties. It doesn’t matter how old you are. Now, I know you’re nervous about the party, but—”

  “I am not nervous about the party!” I shouted. “Why would you even say that? And how come you sound like some public service announcement for balloons?”

  “Tell you what,” said Ted, clapping his hands once. “I’ll gather up all the balloons and put them in a closet. If you decide you want them later on, you can have them. If not, it’s no big deal. Obviously, we should’ve checked with you first, Annabelle. It’s your birthday.”

  “Just make sure they’re in a closet far away from the party space,” I said.

  “That’s enough, Annabelle!” my mom snapped.

  “It’s fine,” said Ted holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll put them upstairs in my closet. Okay?”

  “Thank you!” I huffed, turning around and storming out of the room. Okay, part of me felt bratty for acting this way, but honestly, I couldn’t help myself.

  My mom started to go after me, but then I overheard Ted say, “Honey, wait. Give her some space.” And she listened to him—thankfully!