The next morning, I woke up with my stomach in knots.
Today was the day. My first real attempt at the snack business.
I packed my twelve candy bars and twenty-four sodas into a cooler, along with some ice packs to keep the drinks cold. I’d made a new sign the night before: KIORA’S SNACKS – CANDY $1 – SODAS $1.50.
Simple. Clear. Professional.
At least, I hoped it looked professional.
“You ready for this?” Mom asked as she drove me to Riverside Park.
“I think so,” I said, but my voice came out squeaky.
“Remember, if it doesn’t go well today, that’s okay. Every business has growing pains.”
Growing pains. I liked that better than “failure.”
Mom helped me carry my supplies to a picnic table near the playground. It was perfect—close enough to the action that kids would see me, but not so close that I’d be in anyone’s way.
“I’ll pick you up at three,” Mom said. “But Kiora, you’re going to need to figure out a better way to get here if this business takes off. I can’t drive you every day.”
“I know,” I said, though I hadn’t really thought about that part yet.
“Good luck, honey.”
As her car pulled away, I suddenly felt very alone.
What if nobody wanted to buy anything? What if they thought my prices were too high? What if I just sat here all day with a cooler full of snacks and nothing to show for it? What if a squirrel stole all my candy bars? What if I forgot how to make change?
I took a deep breath and started setting up. Candy bars arranged neatly on the table. Sodas visible in the cooler. Sign propped up where everyone could see it.
A family walked by with two kids who looked about my age. The kids glanced at my table but kept walking.
My little heart sank.
Then another family passed. The mom looked at my sign, but they didn’t stop either.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should pack up and go home before I embarrassed myself any further.
But then I remembered what Reese had said about being stubborn. And what Dad had said about his candy business. And what Mom had said about growing pains.
I sat down behind my table and waited.
Twenty minutes later, a boy about ten years old came running over from the playground, sweaty and out of breath.
“How much for a soda?” he asked.
My heart started pounding. “A dollar fifty.”
He dug around in his pocket and pulled out exact change. “Can I have a Cola?”
“Absolutely.” I tried to keep my hands steady as I opened the cooler and pulled out a cold can.
He handed me the money and popped open the soda. “Thanks!”
As he ran back to the playground, I stared at the dollar bill and two quarters in my hand.
My first sale.
I carefully put the money in the empty mason jar I’d brought for cash. The coins clinked against the glass.
I made a sale. A real sale!