The next three weeks flew by in a blur of movie nights and snack sales. After the success of the first movie night, word spread through the neighborhood like wildfire. Each Friday, more families showed up with their blankets and lawn chairs, and my snack table got busier and busier.
The second movie night brought twenty-five people. The third brought thirty-two. By the fourth and final movie night, I had to ask Dad to help me set up a second table just to handle all the snack sales.
“You’re like a mini entertainment empire,” Reese said, helping me count ticket money after the third movie night. “Twenty-five tickets times four dollars… that’s a hundred dollars just tonight!”
“Plus all the snacks,” Piper added, organizing my cash box. “You sold almost everything you brought.”
Between movie nights, I kept running my regular snack stand at the park during the day. The movie nights had made me something of a local celebrity. Kids would come up to me during regular park hours asking when the next movie would be, and parents would stop by my table to chat about how much their families had enjoyed the events.
“You know, Kiora,” Mrs. Patterson said one Tuesday afternoon, buying waters for her twin boys, “you’ve really brought the community together with these movie nights. It’s wonderful to see all the families gathering like that.”
I beamed with pride as I handed her the waters. “Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. I’m glad everyone’s having fun.”
The daily sales weren’t as spectacular as the movie nights, but they were steady. Twelve dollars here, fifteen dollars there. Some days were better than others. Like the day the Henderson family had a birthday party at the park and bought snacks for twenty kids. Other days were quieter, with just a few regular customers stopping by.
But it all added up.
After the final movie night on the last Friday of July, I sat in my room with all my money spread out on my bed. Bills and coins covered my entire comforter—ones and fives and tens and even a few twenties from the movie ticket sales.
I counted it three times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Six hundred and fifty dollars and seven cents.
I stared at the pile of money, hardly believing it was real. Just two months ago, I’d been a regular kid with no business experience and a dream that seemed impossible. Now I had more money than I’d ever seen in my life.
The Florida trip would cost six hundred dollars. I had enough. More than enough.
But as I sat there looking at all that cash, a strange feeling crept over me. This wasn’t just money anymore. It was proof of what I could do. It was evidence that I could turn an idea into reality, that I could solve problems and make people happy and build something from nothing.
I picked up a stack of money and fanned it out like playing cards. Six hundred dollars would buy me an amazing week in Florida with my Mom.
I was excited — but with my dream finally sitting on my bed, a tiny voice inside me planted a bizarre question — “is that what I really wanted?”