“You want to do what?” Mom nearly choked on her coffee.
“Buy a soda machine,” I repeated, holding up the newspaper ad. “Look, it’s only four hundred dollars, and I could put it in the park where people would use it all the time.”
Dad looked up from his toast. “Kiora, that’s… that’s actually pretty smart. Passive income.”
“Passive what?” I asked.
“Income that comes in even when you’re not actively working for it. Like rent from a property, or…” He gestured at the newspaper. “Profits from a vending machine.”
Mom was still staring at me like I’d announced I was joining the circus. “But honey, what about Florida? We were going to book the trip tonight.”
My stomach twisted, but I took a deep breath. “I know. But Mom, what if this could make me enough money for Florida and more? What if instead of spending everything on one week, I could build something that keeps making money?”
“There is risk involved,” Dad said thoughtfully. “What if the machine breaks? What if people don’t buy from it?”
“Then I’ll figure something else out,” I said, surprised by how confident I sounded. “But I won’t know unless I try.”
An hour later, I was dialing the phone number from the ad with shaky fingers.
“Hello?” A gruff voice answered.
“Hi, is this Mike? I’m calling about the soda machine.”
“Yeah, that’s me. You interested?”
“Yes sir. Could I come see it today?”
There was a pause. “How old are you, kid?”
“Twelve. But I have the money.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Well, I’ll be. Yeah, come on over. You know where Maple Street is?”
Two hours later, Dad and I were standing in Mike’s garage, looking at the biggest vending machine I’d ever seen up close. It was taller than me, painted red and white, with a clear front panel that showed where all the sodas would go.
“She’s a beauty,” Mike said, patting the side of the machine. “Holds seventy-two cans, takes quarters and dollar bills, even gives change. I used to have her at my auto shop, but I’m retiring and moving to Arizona.”
“Does it work?” I asked, running my hand along the smooth metal surface.
“Like a charm. Want to see?”
Mike plugged it in, and the machine hummed to life. Lights flickered on inside, and a small digital display lit up. He dropped in four quarters and pressed a button, and a can of soda tumbled down into the slot at the bottom.
“Four hundred dollars?” Dad asked.
“For this little entrepreneur here? Three seventy five.”
I looked at Dad, my heart pounding. “Should we do it?”
Dad smiled. “It’s your money, kiddo. What do you think?”
I thought about my friends planning my Florida trip. I thought about Mom’s disappointed face when I’d told her I might not want to go. I thought about all the safe, normal things a twelve-year-old was supposed to want.
Then I thought about the movie nights, and the pride I’d felt watching families enjoy something I’d created. I thought about the kid who was dying of thirst. I thought about having a business that could work even while I slept.
“I’ll take it,” I said.
Dad arranged to pick it up later that night. He had to call his friend with a truck to see if he could help out.
The next challenge was getting permission to put it in the park. Dad drove me to city hall, where I marched up to Mr. Chen’s desk with a confidence I didn’t know I had.
“I’d like to apply for a permit to place a vending machine in Riverside Park,” I announced.
Mr. Chen looked up from his computer with that same expression of confusion on his face. “A vending machine? In the park? Well, that would require a Commercial Use Permit, and approval from the Parks Department…”
Forty minutes and one hundred and twenty-five dollars in fees later, I walked out with temporary approval, pending a site inspection.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Mom said when I told her. “Kiora, you’re twelve years old, and you just negotiated a business deal with the city.”
“Is that bad?” I asked, suddenly worried.
“Bad? Honey, it’s incredible. I’m just… I’m shocked at how bold you’ve become.”
Dad and his friend Greg helped move the machine to the park the next day. It took two grown men, a wheeled cart called a dolly, and a truck with a lift gate, but we managed to get it positioned near the playground where families would see it easily.
I spent the afternoon stocking it for the first time, loading can after can of soda into the slots. Sodas of all varieties – seventy-two cans total. My hands were shaking with excitement as I loaded the last few.
“Ready for the first official purchase?” Dad asked, holding up a dollar bill.
I nodded, hardly able to speak.
Dad fed the bill into the machine, pressed the button for a cola, and we both held our breath. The machine whirred, clicked, and dropped a can into the slot with a satisfying thunk.
“Congratulations,” Dad said. “You’re officially in the vending machine business.”
As the sun set and we packed up to go home, I stood there looking at my machine. It was plugged into the park’s electrical outlet, humming quietly in the evening air. The lights inside glowed softly, advertising cold drinks to anyone who walked by.
Tomorrow, people would discover it. Kids would beg their parents for quarters. Joggers would stop for a cold drink after their run. Families would grab sodas during their picnics.
And I wouldn’t even have to be there.
I listened to the gentle hum of the machine and smiled. This was it. My tiny business was now growing, even while I was sleeping.
The sound of that quiet humming stayed in my mind all night long.