Joe and Sam posted Didi’s three logo options later that night, and within an hour there was a clear winner.
Option two won by a landslide: simple block letters, all in very pale blue, spelling the band name, with the I in SKINKS made into a stand holding a retro microphone.
Sam said it was classy.
Joe said it was classic.
Larry said it reminded him of a Sandy Warhol painting.
The girls were just glad to have a clear consensus so that they could show customers a picture when they took preorders.
The easiest time to take preorders was right after dismissal in front of the high school, but they couldn’t wait that long; they needed cash in hand to give Lucy half of the order amount by Monday morning.
Lucky for them, the high school was putting on a production of the school play, The Music Man, on Sunday afternoon, and that event drew a big crowd. Harriet and Didi dragged a card table to the corner of the high school, about a half hour before the play started.
With Harriet’s mouth behind a megaphone and Didi’s design mounted on a sign, they rustled up just enough orders Sunday to give Lucy her deposit.
Didi was in charge of taking down information for preorders this time. She came equipped with her laptop so that she could enter the names directly into a spreadsheet, which she could keep alphabetized and back up on the cloud. There was no chance it would be lost or damaged.
It was a tight operation. Harriet got people interested, especially friends of her brothers, and then she sent them over to Didi to pay. A few people griped about how terrible the last T-shirts were and asked if the Radical Skinks had broken their curse, but Harriet didn’t take any of it personally. She just deflected the tension with a joke about how they’d gotten a counterhex, so all was good now.
She was able to keep up her good humor all week, and by the end of it, most of the unhappy fans were willing to give the Radical Skinks—and their T-shirts—another try.
On Friday at lunch, Harriet called Lucy to see if the T-shirt order had arrived.
“Sorry, sweet pea, not yet,” said Lucy regretfully. “But it’s still early. Check back after school.”
“There goes my social studies quiz,” said Harriet to the girls when she hung up. “I can’t possibly focus on Mesopotamia! All I’m thinking about is that if we don’t get the shirts tonight, we won’t have anything to sell tomorrow at the Battle of the Bands!”
“Harriet,” said Didi sternly, “you have got to calm down.”
“Do fifty jumping jacks,” suggested Resa. “That’s what I do when I need to clear my head. Works like a charm.”
Harriet, who wasn’t much of an athlete, could manage only eleven, but it helped. She made it through social studies and math, and by the time she got out of music class, she was feeling optimistic again.
After school, Resa and Amelia had tennis lessons, so Didi and Harriet rushed to Small Joys, where Lucy told them if they wanted to pick up their order, they’d have to work for it.
“See that stack?” Lucy gestured at a tall pile of boxes by the front door. “They all just got delivered. You open them for me, I bet you’ll find your order.”
“Box cutter!” barked Harriet, her palm open in front of her like a surgeon in need of a scalpel.
They sliced open what felt like a dozen boxes with no luck and were beginning to despair by the time they came to the bottom box in the pile.
Didi slid the X-Acto knife through the packing tape on top, pulled open the box, and saw heaps of midnight blue fabric. “Jackpot!” she called to Harriet, who’d gotten distracted by a box of hair accessories she’d opened.
As Harriet ran over, Didi unfolded a T-shirt and held it at arm’s length.
Harriet screeched so loudly it was a wonder the windows in the shop didn’t shatter.
“It’s utter perfection!” exclaimed Harriet. “A masterpiece! You’re a genius!” She threw her arms around Didi’s slight shoulders and squeezed so hard Didi couldn’t breathe.
“Satisfied customers,” said Lucy from behind the counter, with Rambo in her arms. “My favorite kind.”