The Secret to Success

by Sheila Greenwald

  FOR MY FATHER,

  A BIZ WHIZ WHO KNEW THE REAL FEELING OF SUCCESS CAME FROM HELPING THOSE WHO NEEDED HELP.

  —SG

  FOR CLARA AND ELÉONORE

  —PC-D

  PENGUIN WORKSHOP

  Penguin Young Readers Group

  An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Text copyright © 2017 by Sheila Greenwald. Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. Published by Penguin Workshop, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. PENGUIN and PENGUIN WORKSHOP are trademarks of Penguin Books Ltd, and the W colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 9780451534309 (paperback)

  ISBN 9780451534316 (library binding)

  ISBN 9780451534323 (ebook)

  Version_1

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  COPYRIGHT

  TITLE PAGE

  CHAPTER 1: THE HOLIDAYS ARE COMING

  CHAPTER 2: THINKING ABOUT IT

  CHAPTER 3: COMING SOON

  CHAPTER 4: COMFORT SOUP

  CHAPTER 5: CRAFT FAIR

  CHAPTER 6: FACTORY

  CHAPTER 7: BAD NEWS, GOOD NEWS

  CHAPTER 8: WEATHERPEOPLE ARE NOT WRONG

  CHAPTER 9: CRAFT FAIR TIME

  CHAPTER 10: WIN SOME, WIN SOME

  1

  THE HOLIDAYS ARE COMING

  The holidays are coming,” our teacher, Ms. Cabot, said.

  Holiday break was exactly five weeks and three days away. I was keeping track in my planner.

  “I bet you’re all thinking about eating turkey with your family and opening presents,” she said.

  “Yes,” everyone cheered.

  I cheered, too. I had given my holiday present list to my parents.

  I was excited about the newest Funny Face doll. I even cut out her picture from a catalog and put it where they couldn’t miss it.

  “So can you imagine what it’s like to have no presents and no home in which to open them?” Ms. Cabot went on.

  “Who doesn’t have holiday presents?” Imogene Dingle asked.

  “Not everyone can afford presents,” Ms. Cabot told her. “The holidays can be a really rough time for some families.”

  Everyone was very quiet for a minute.

  “Can’t anyone help?” Gloria Tubbs asked.

  “Yes,” Ms. Cabot said. “Every year our school holds a charity drive. I bet our class can think of ways to raise money that will make the holidays better for a lot of families.”

  “A bake sale,” Lulu Marx called out.

  “We could go door-to-door in our buildings asking for donations,” Daphne Gomez suggested.

  “Wonderful ideas,” Ms. Cabot said, writing them on the board. “I’m sure you’ll come up with even more when you think about it. After that we’ll divide into groups. Each group will have a booth at the school charity drive next Monday.”

  “I’ve got a great idea for a booth,” Imogene whispered to me while Ms. Cabot handed out flyers telling the time and date of the fundraiser. “It will raise the most money.”

  I guessed Imogene was lying and didn’t have a single idea for a booth yet. Neither did I. But, lucky for me, great ideas and making them happen are what I’m best at.

  2

  THINKING ABOUT IT

  My name is Flossie Popkin, and as I said, great ideas are what I’m best at.

  Though I have brown hair like my dad and it’s curly like my mom’s, the person I take after most is my Great-Grandpa Morris, who was bald.

  Great-Grandpa was famous for dreaming up successful businesses. I’m not famous yet, but I’ve dreamed up a lot of businesses. Every time I get a great idea for one, I start to tingle and glow from head to toe.

  I wondered if Great-Grandpa tingled and glowed from head to toe every time he came up with one of his ideas.

  But at lunch, I wasn’t tingling and glowing, at least not yet. I needed to come up with my next great idea.

  Gloria also did not look happy. She could hardly eat her lunch.

  “Those poor kids who have no gifts,” she said with a sigh. “It’s so sad.”

  “My parents always give us holiday presents,” Daphne said. “It wouldn’t seem like a holiday without them. I want a Funny Face doll this year,” she told us. “They’re the best.”

  “The best are the dolls my mom makes out of socks and beads,” Imogene disagreed. “I’ve got tons.”

  “Then you should donate some to a charity drive toy booth,” Daphne suggested.

  “If I did that, they’d be gone in a minute,” Imogene boasted. “But we can’t give them away. Every year my mom sells them at a holiday craft fair in our living room.”

  “Can I help?” I asked. “I’m great at selling. I had a lemonade stand and a vegetable sale. I even had a beauty parlor.”

  “I know all about the beauty parlor,” Imogene reminded me, pointing to her head.

  “Cutting curly hair is harder than I thought,” I said. It felt like the millionth time I had apologized for the Mohawk I gave her by mistake.

  “A lemonade stand on the sidewalk or haircuts in your kitchen are not the same as selling handmade dolls,” Imogene snapped. “We even serve punch and cheese with crackers.”

  “Don’t serve crackers,” I advised. “They make a mess. I would know. I’m great at snacks.”

  “You’re great at bossing everybody around,” Imogene muttered. “Bossy Flossie. Who could work with you?”

  “Me!” Billy Lark shouted from the other end of the table.

  Imogene rolled her eyes. “That’s because you live in Flossie’s building,” she scoffed.

  “It’s because we’re partners,” Billy protested. “Our vegetable stand at last year’s Street Fair Fundraiser was a hit.”

  “Billy is ready for my ideas,” I told Imogene. “Some people aren’t.”

  “Some people aren’t ready for you, Bossy Flossie,” Imogene said.

  “Bossy Flossie, Bossy Flossie,” Imogene’s friend Charlie Diaz teased.

  “Bossy just means I know how to make things happen,” I told Charlie.

  “So what are you going to make happen next?” Imogene asked.

  “Coming soon,” I said, because I didn’t know yet.

  3

  COMING SOON

  I don’t have anything to sell, and nobody will buy my mom’s sugar-free cake,” Billy complained on the way home from school.

  Billy and I were friends, ever since everyone in our class except me made fun of him for talking about super-healthy food all the time.

  “We’ll think of something,” I assured him.

  Just then I saw Willow Tipton and her nanny, Ms. Moss, stepping out of a taxi.

  “Willow lives in the biggest apartment in our building,” I told Billy.

  “Lucky Willow,” Billy said.

  But Willow didn’t look lucky.

  She had an ice pack on her arm, and I could see some bandages, too.<
br />
  “No more trips to Dr. Max.” Willow wept as we followed her through the lobby and into the elevator. “It’s not fair that I go to see him for an earache and come home with an elbow ache.”

  “You didn’t notice the steps into his office and fell down,” Ms. Moss said, soothing Willow as she patted her shoulder. “You’ll feel better soon. Dr. Max says your ears are all better and you’ll be having fun with your friends in no time.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” Willow grumbled as she stepped out of the elevator.

  “Willow was in our class last year,” I told Billy. “She had bad earaches and had to stay home. In school she cried so much Charlie Diaz called her Weeping Willow.”

  “He called me Cabbage Head,” Billy reminded me. “Poor Willow. Nobody wants to be friends with you when you have a nickname like that.”

  “Except me,” I said. I knew how Willow felt.

  4

  COMFORT SOUP

  The reason I wanted to get to know Willow was that until Billy came along, I had no friends at school either. I was sorry Willow stopped coming to school.

  When I got home, my mom and my brother, Simon the science whiz, were in the kitchen.

  Simon was mixing food for his pet rats, Mr. Salt and Mr. Pepper, and a new family of mice he bought at the pet shop. Mom was stirring a pot at the stove.

  “Since Dad and I are on the late shift at the hospital, you and your brother can just heat this up for dinner,” she said. “It’s my comfort soup.”

  “I know who could use some comfort soup,” I said.

  “Who?” Mom asked.

  “Willow Tipton. I just saw her get out of a taxi. She fell down at her doctor’s office. She was crying.”

  “Soup for Willow, what a good idea,” Mom said. She handed me a jarful.

  “Maybe Willow would like a comfort mouse,” Simon offered. “I’ve got six babies to spare.”

  I said no to the mouse but put the soup in a paper bag and took the elevator down to apartment 7A.

  “My mom made her special comfort soup, and I thought you might like some,” I told Willow when she and her nanny opened the door.

  “How lovely, Willow!” her nanny gushed. “You have a friend in the building who has come to see you.”

  “She didn’t come to see me,” Willow grumbled. “She came to see my toys.”

  “Why would I do that?” I asked.

  “Because everyone knows Mom and Dad own Tipton’s Toys for Tots, and I’ve got more toys than Santa.” Willow opened the door wider for me to come inside. “I’ll show you.”

  When we got to her room, I was amazed.

  “It’s like Toys ‘R’ You,” I joked. “Why are they all still in boxes, though?”

  “Because I don’t like toys,” Willow declared with a shrug.

  “How could you not like toys?” I asked. I could see at least three Funny Face dolls. I just wanted one.

  “They’re no fun,” Willow said.

  “Maybe that’s because you need someone to help you play with them,” I suggested.

  “I don’t like playing either,” Willow said.

  “If you don’t like playing with your toys, maybe you could give them to someone who does,” I said. “Today at school we were talking about how some kids don’t get any toys, even for the holidays.”

  “They can’t have mine,” Willow snapped. “I don’t like dolls or games. But if I didn’t have them, no one would ever visit me.”

  “What about those?” I asked, pointing to the shelf full of craft kits. “They look like fun.”

  “Fun?” Willow burst out laughing. “Who needs twelve pot holders, twenty felt tote bags, fifteen doodle socks, twenty macramé rings, five beaded rubber-band bracelets, twenty duct-tape belts, or fifteen glow-in-the-dark creepy crawler rubber worms?” She took a deep breath. “What would I do with all that stuff?”

  “I know what to do with it,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Sell them from a craft booth at our school’s charity drive to help needy families.”

  “A craft booth?” Willow repeated.

  “Join our team. We’ll help you make them. Everybody loves to buy crafts. Next Monday we’ll have the best booth at the charity sale.”

  Willow’s eyes grew wider and wider. “I would like that,” she whispered.

  “Like what?” her nanny asked.

  “Crafts by Willow,” Willow cried excitedly.

  “You mean Crafts by Ms. Cabot’s Class to raise money for needy families to celebrate the holidays,” I corrected her.

  Willow began to rub her ear. “But I’m not in Ms. Cabot’s class,” she said. “I do my schoolwork at home. I’m sick.”

  “Dr. Max says you’re fine,” her nanny disagreed. “He says you could go back to school tomorrow.”

  Willow tugged on both ears.

  “You’re making my ears hurt,” she accused me.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t know your ears would hurt if you made crafts with a team and sold them in the best booth ever at our school fundraiser.”

  “The best booth ever?” Willow let go of her ears. “I think they just stopped hurting,” she said.

  I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one tingling and glowing from head to toe.

  5

  CRAFT FAIR

  Mom was putting on her coat to go to work when I came home from Willow’s.

  “Your cheeks are pink and shiny,” she said. “Do you have a fever, or are you starting a new business?”

  “Not a new business, a craft sale booth to raise money for a needy family.” I showed Mom the flyer that Ms. Cabot had given us.

  “What a wonderful idea!” Mom exclaimed. “Every day in the hospital I see sick people and their children whose lives could be changed by charity help like that.” She gave me a big hug.

  “Great-Grandpa Morris told us he was so proud of me and Dad when we took up nursing. He believed helping others was the secret to success.”

  “Helping others is the secret to success? What about publicity and promotion and presentation and location and opportunity? What about winning out over everybody else in business?” I asked.

  “There’s more than one way to win,” Mom said.

  That didn’t make sense. Winning was winning. Winning meant selling more stuff and raising more money than Imogene or any other booth at our charity sale.

  I was glad I understood Great-Grandpa’s other advice.

  It was pinned on the bulletin board over my desk.

  I called Billy to tell him about Willow and her craft kits.

  “I love making paper planes,” he said. “But don’t ask me to use glitter glue. I hate glitter glue.”

  I promised Billy he wouldn’t have to use glitter glue. He seemed excited to join a crafting project.

  But the next morning on the way to school, Billy’s nose began to twitch. Whenever Billy’s nose goes up and down like a rabbit’s, I know he’s worried about something.

  “Can we use Willow’s craft kits if she isn’t in our class anymore?” he asked.

  “She’ll be back soon,” I assured him.

  Billy didn’t look assured. He was worried for the whole walk, and right up until Ms. Cabot asked us about our project.

  But when Ms. Cabot said, “A craft booth is a great idea, Flossie and Billy,” he gave me a high five.

  Ms. Cabot added our craft sale booth to the list on the board along with “Bake Sale” and “Toy Sale” and “Book Sale.”

  “I’ve got some macramé bracelets I could give you,” Lulu told me.

  “I have some clay pots,” Daphne said.

  “What if we don’t have any crafts to offer?” Charlie asked.

  “No problem,” I told him. “Just meet us after school. We’ve got tons of k
its to work from.”

  “I love craft kits,” Gloria gushed.

  “This is going to be such a fabulous charity sale,” Ms. Cabot said. “Be sure to bring in your items to sell on Monday morning and tell your friends. The more people who come, the more money we’ll raise.”

  “I’ll post flyers in my building,” Daphne piped up.

  “I’ll tell my soccer team,” Imogene said.

  Wow!

  Flyers and a whole soccer team.

  Great-Grandpa would be proud.

  We had opportunity and publicity and location. We couldn’t lose.

  On the way home from school, Gloria and Billy raced each other. I ran with Charlie, trying to catch up. I couldn’t wait to start.

  6

  FACTORY

  But when we rang Willow’s doorbell, she wouldn’t let us in.

  “Who said you could bring a crowd?” she complained.

  “It’s just four people.” I counted again to be sure. “Me, Billy, Charlie, and Gloria. If we’re going to make enough crafts in time for a craft booth at the fundraiser, we need a crowd,” I explained.

  Willow thought about this for a minute.

  “I have an idea,” she said with a smile. “My mom and dad told me all about how products are made for Tipton’s Toys.”

  She led us into the dining room. On the table were stacks of craft kits.

  “We need a factory,” Willow said. “Here’s how it works.”

  After she arranged chairs around the table and told us each where to sit, she held up a plain headband to demonstrate.

  “I’ll paste on the feathers and pass it to Gloria to do the stones. Gloria will pass it to Flossie for the beads. Charlie and Billy can finish with glitter glue.”