The next morning, I woke up thinking about what that mom had said yesterday.
The little league tournament starts today! It was going to be a three-day event at the park, which meant hundreds of kids playing baseball in the heat, getting thirsty and hungry.
This could be my biggest sales day ever!
But then I remembered my problem from last night. I had way more inventory than would fit in my cooler.
I grabbed the phone and called Reese.
“Hey, it’s the tournament today,” I said as soon as she picked up. “I could make a fortune, but I can’t fit all my snacks in one cooler.”
“Oh! My mom has this huge cooler she uses for family reunions. You could probably borrow it if you want.”
“Really? That would be perfect!”
An hour later, Reese showed up at my house with a second cooler.
“It’s not as big as ours, but it should give you the extra space you need,” she said.
Perfect. I loaded both coolers with my inventory: 24 candy bars, 48 sodas, 24 bags of chips, and 48 water bottles. It was a tight fit, but everything went in.
I loaded both coolers into my red wagon. It was heavier than usual, but manageable.
Or so I thought.
Halfway to the park, I realized I was moving slower than a turtle with a backpack. A jogger passed me, then slowed down and asked if I needed help. A little kid on a tricycle zoomed past me like I was standing still.
“Come on, wagon,” I muttered, pulling harder. “We’ve got money to make.”
The tournament was already in full swing. Kids in bright uniforms were warming up, parents were claiming spots in the bleachers, and coaches were giving last-minute pep talks.
It was perfect timing.
I set up my table and arranged my display. Within minutes, I had my first customer—a sweaty kid in a red uniform who’d just finished warming up.
“Water!” he gasped, dramatically throwing himself against my table. “Please tell me you have water! I’m dying! Actually dying!”
“Ice cold,” I said, pulling a bottle from one of my coolers. “One dollar.”
He grabbed the bottle, twisted off the cap, and poured half of it over his head before drinking the rest. “You’re a lifesaver! Literally! I was about to become a puddle!”
He handed me the now soggy dollar bill like I’d just performed a miracle.
And that was just the beginning.
For the next six hours, I had a steady stream of customers. Kids buying snacks between games. Parents grabbing sodas while they watched. Coaches stocking up on water bottles for their teams.
I sold candy bars to nervous players who needed a sugar boost. I sold chips to parents who’d forgotten to pack lunch. I sold water bottles to everyone because it was turning into one of the hottest days of the summer.
By three o’clock, I was almost completely sold out. I’d gone through 24 candy bars, 35 sodas, 24 bags of chips, and 40 water bottles. Both coolers, which had seemed so full that morning, were now nearly empty.
I counted my money three times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. $116.50 in one day. That was more than I’d made in my first week combined.
I was packing up my remaining inventory, practically bouncing with excitement, when a shadow fell across my table.
I looked up, expecting to see another customer, but instead I saw something that made my stomach drop.
A giant food truck had just pulled up right next to the park.