When the girls reconvened that night at Harriet’s house, they had tons of good news to share. They sat around Harriet’s kitchen table, crunching on carrot sticks.
“You girls need vitamins!” Harriet’s mom had said as she placed a plate of carrot sticks in the middle of the table. “I can tell by looking at your hair.”
Then Mrs. Nguyen excused herself to see about dinner, and the girls swapped stories from their day.
Amelia explained that Lucy had spoken to a new vendor, who had agreed to give the girls the T-shirts at twelve dollars apiece, and—even better news—they needed only a 50 percent deposit to place the order.
“The other half’s due when the shirts are delivered, which gives us plenty of time to collect preorders,” explained Amelia. “It’s totally perfect. There’s only one catch—the shirts have to be one size fits all.”
Resa considered as she bit into a carrot stick. “That’s okay,” she concluded. “In fact, it’s easier for us. No switching sizes.”
“I think we should sell them for $19.50,” said Amelia. “We’ll make almost eight dollars on each shirt.”
“Maybe we should round up to twenty dollars,” suggested Didi. She was wearing Zappa-armor, a baseball cap with a hoodie pulled up over it, and she kept glancing over at Harriet’s lap to make sure Zappa was still slumbering there. “To keep it simple.”
Resa shook her head. “If we keep the price in the teens, it looks a lot lower, which’ll make people want to buy. Plus, a lot of people will just tell us to keep the change, so we’ll make twenty dollars on a lot of the sales.”
“Exaaaaactly,” said Amelia. She broke a carrot stick in half with a satisfying snap! Then she popped one half in her mouth.
“Did you order baseball caps?” asked Didi.
“No,” said Harriet. “They didn’t have any. But they did have…” She unzipped her sweater to reveal no fewer than six buttons of varying sizes pinned to her yellow tunic.
“‘Vote for Liptiz’?” asked Resa, reading one button and then another. “‘Be bold—eat cabbage!’?”
“Yeah, Lucy had lots of samples, so she said I could have some,” said Harriet. “This one’s my favorite!” She pointed to a large lime-green button by her shoulder.
“‘Big Guts!’” read Didi. “‘Get stuffed.’”
Resa winced. “What is Big Guts?”
“Beats me!” Harriet laughed. “A restaurant? A taxidermist?”
“Whatever it is,” said Didi, shuddering, “I’m staying faaaaaar away.”
“We can do buttons instead of hats,” said Amelia. “We’ll make way more profit anyway. They’ll cost us fifty cents apiece, and we can charge two dollars, maybe even $2.50.”
“That’s more than double,” said Resa.
“It’s more than triple,” Amelia corrected. “And if people can’t—or don’t—want to spend twenty dollars for a T-shirt, they can buy buttons. Or they can buy both.”
“Buttons are also good advertising for the Radical Skinks,” said Resa. “Because people can leave the buttons on their backpacks or jackets, where everyone can see the band name.”
“We should have them right up front on the table, so customers can just grab them and buy them before they even have a chance to think about it,” suggested Harriet. “Like how they always have candy bars by the register at the supermarket.”
“An impulse buy,” said Resa.
“Right!” agreed Harriet. “You buy them without thinking because they look so good. And they’re only a dollar, and before you know it, you’re sinking your teeth into a luscious, creamy, chocolaty—”
“Here,” interrupted Didi, handing her a carrot. “Eat this. You seem hungry.”
“Did someone say hungry?” sang Mrs. Nguyen, sailing into the room. “Dinner’s in five minutes!” She turned to Harriet and noticed the carrot stick, untouched, in her hand. “Eat that carrot! You need Vitamin D … or C … or whatever’s in carrots.”
Harriet obliged with a tiny nibble, though she wore a look of extreme disgust on her face. She gulped loudly, and Mrs. Nguyen, satisfied, returned to the living room.
“Blegh!” Harriet said as soon as her mother had left the room. “Raw vegetables are the worst. There’s nothing to mask their revolting flavor.”
“Lucy’s in the store tomorrow morning,” said Amelia. “So if we get her the design by noon, she’ll send it to the vendor, and they should be able to get us the shirts by Friday afternoon.”
“I already came up with three options for new logos,” said Didi. “But I need to know what color the T-shirt is going to be before I add color.”
“Blue!” said Harriet. “Because…” She picked up Zappa and held the carrot about an inch in front of her face; the skink darted her blue tongue out to lick it.
“Good girl!” said Harriet, placing Zappa, and the carrot stick, on her lap.
Didi scooted her chair back reflexively. Reptiles were always her kryptonite, but especially when their tongues were visible. She took a big breath and refocused on the subject at hand. “What shade of blue do we want the T-shirts to be?” she asked. “Azure? Cerulean? Indigo?”
“How about whatever you call this?” Amelia opened up a photo on her phone and showed it to Didi. “It’s the only blue the vendor offers.”
“Okay, midnight blue, got it,” said Didi. “I’ll add color to my logo ideas after dinner. I brought my sketchbook.”
“We have good news, too,” said Resa. She drum-rolled her toes and looked at the girls expectantly.
“Well?” asked Amelia. “What’s the good news?”
Resa drum-rolled her toes again.
“You know you’re supposed to follow that with a big announcement, right?” asked Amelia. “That’s how a drumroll works.”
Resa rolled her eyes. “The drumroll is the news! We got Sam a loaner snare drum! And Larry can keep the guitar one more week. The boys are at Music Mania now, picking up the drum.”
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” yelled Harriet.
Zappa looked up suddenly from her carrot, causing Didi to yell, “Grab the skink!” Harriet clamped a hand down on Zappa’s back, keeping her in place.
Harriet beamed. “We’ve got a good system now, Di.”
Didi didn’t look so sure.
“So what’d you have to give to that shark Mo?” asked Amelia suspiciously.
Resa shrugged. “Not much. Just four shout-outs a day on social media; a promise to buy the drum and the guitar at her shop; a free T-shirt; and, if the Radical Skinks win the Battle of the Bands, they have to thank Music Mania on national television.”
Amelia whistled. “At least you didn’t have to give her your firstborn child.”
Resa tilted her chin down at Amelia. “What can I tell you? She’s tough, that Mo. She knows she’s got all the cards. We’re at her mercy.”
“What about an amp?” asked Harriet.
Resa shook her head. “No go. But the boys have a friend who’s good with electronics, and she was able to fix the cord—for the time being. It’ll hold up for one more show.”
There was a knock at the door, followed by Mrs. Nguyen’s yelling, “I’ve got it!” A minute later, a delicious aroma wafted into the room.
Harriet inhaled deeply. “Smells like—”
“Dinner!” announced Mrs. Nguyen as she walked in, two boxes of pizza stacked in her hands.
Harriet squealed in excitement. “One of the best things about pizza,” she said, opening the first box, “is that it gets the gross taste of carrots out of your mouth.”