Monkey Business Page 7

  “Are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” My mom frowned down at her list again. “I think we got everything we needed.”

  “But everything, um …,” I started speaking before I realized I didn’t know how to complete my thought. “Um, I thought the crib was on back order.”

  “We pay for it now so they can order it, but it’ll come right to the house,” said my mom. “Oh, but I’m glad you brought that up.”

  She turned to the lady at the register and asked, “Is there anyone who can actually assemble the crib?”

  The woman said, “For one hundred dollars more you can order white-glove service. That means the delivery person will assemble it for you.”

  One hundred dollars was the cost of a ticket to the Panda Parade—an entire weekend-long event. And this store was going to charge the same amount of money simply to put together one lousy little crib? Outrageous! I figured my mom would laugh in the cashier’s face, but instead she said, “We’ll take it,” without even blinking.

  I’d never seen anything like it.

  The cashier handed my mom a form and asked her to fill out our address, and then she swiped my mom’s credit card again.

  My mom hardly looked at the receipt before she signed it. And a minute later I was pushing the overflowing shopping cart through the parking lot toward our car.

  I started wondering—what if Rachel was right? What if I were rich now and I didn’t even know it?

  I didn’t feel any different. But what does being rich mean, anyway? Is it living in a big house and having a swimming pool? If so, then I guess I was kind of rich. Or at least richer. Did that make me a snob? I didn’t think I was better than anyone else. Honestly. I thought I was pretty lucky. There was nothing wrong with feeling lucky, was there?

  Not that I felt unlucky before, when it was only me and my mom at home. Things were good then, too, when we lived in North Hollywood. Of course, back then, whenever we’d go to the mall or to Target, my mom clipped coupons. She didn’t use one coupon at the Baby Supply Company this afternoon. Maybe my mom didn’t care about saving money anymore. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I hadn’t actually seen my mom use a coupon all year.

  “Hey, your birthday is coming up, Annabelle. Any thoughts on what you want to do?” my mom asked totally out of the blue.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied.

  “Ted keeps talking about this amazing restaurant in Malibu. And we were thinking maybe we could bring your best friends. It’s right on the beach—I’m sure you girls would love it!”

  This was unbelievable! “You’re not going to suggest we take a limo there, are you?” I asked.

  My mom gave me a funny look. “No, that hadn’t occurred to me. Do you want to take a limo?”

  “Of course not!” I said.

  “Well, good,” she said, as she unlocked the car. “Because that’s not really our style.”

  I looked at the giant cart overflowing with stuff for my new baby brother or sister, wondering what our style was, exactly.

  “Um, are we rich?” I asked.

  My mom stared at me, confused and a little bit horrified. “Is this about your birthday?” she finally asked. “Because going out to dinner somewhere nice for a special occasion does not mean we’re rich. Ted and I just thought since you were turning twelve, you’d want to do something different.”

  “It’s not just about my birthday,” I said. “It’s a lot of stuff. Because if we are rich, I feel like I should know.”

  My mom took a deep breath and blinked and stared off into space for a moment before turning back to me. “It’s been overwhelming, what with the new big house and all this, um, shopping for the house and for the baby. I know our life is a lot different than it was when we were living on my single salary as a teacher, but everything is relative. We’ve always had food and clothes and a nice place to live. So I suppose the more direct answer to your question is yes. We have a lot more money than we did before because now we’re living on Ted’s salary and my salary.”

  “So we have twice as much money?” I asked.

  My mom smiled. “Well, Ted makes more than I do, to be honest with you. So we have more than two of my salaries. But as I said before, everything is relative. Compared to our old apartment, our new house is very large. But compared to the way a lot of people live on this planet, we’ve always been rich. Do you know how many people don’t get enough food to eat? Millions. And do you know how many homeless people there are in the state of California? More than a hundred thousand.”

  She slammed the trunk and we both got into the car.

  As I put my seat belt on I asked, “Did you buy all this stuff when you were pregnant with me?”

  “No,” she said. “Definitely not. I was on my own with you and I was in graduate school and I was so young. There wasn’t much extra money, and I’d never even had a real job before. Your grandmother took care of you so I could finish my degree and get a job at the high school.”

  “Is it better this time around?” I wondered. “Having more money?”

  My mom thought about this for a few moments before answering. “Not better. I’m not going to lie. It’s certainly easier not having to worry so much about the future and how I’m going to pay for things. But if I could go back in time and do things differently, I wouldn’t. I have no regrets. You are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Having another baby is going to make that greatest thing bigger. Two greatest things. Does that answer your question?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Are things okay with you and your friends?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “Why?”

  “Just making sure. It must be hard for Rachel, not having you across the street anymore. She must feel abandoned.”

  “I only moved a mile away!” I said. “And it’s not like I had a choice in the matter.”

  “I know, sweetie. She’s got to understand that. And if she doesn’t now, well, I’m sure she’ll come around. But try not to be too hard on her.”

  “What if she’s being hard on me?” I asked.

  “Is that where all your questions are coming from?” she asked.

  “No comment,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and sinking back into my seat.

  Chapter Eight

  The Sting of it

  Saturday’s trouble started at Yumi’s, where we all decided to meet at nine a.m. sharp. The morning was gorgeous—the perfect day to have a lemonade stand. At least that was what I thought until we actually set up the lemonade stand.

  Claire was fifteen minutes late, but worse than that, even though we’d voted down the muffins less than twenty-four hours before, she’d brought a big Tupperware container filled with them.

  “What are those doing here?” asked Yumi.

  “Funny story,” said Claire. “I was in the mood to bake last night, so I made them. Not for the sale—just to eat. But then my moms asked me to get them out of the house because they’re both dieting and they don’t want to be tempted, so I had no choice but to bring them with me. Anyway, we don’t have to sell them. We can give them away.”

  Emma shook her head and said, “A, that story isn’t funny at all. And B, my whole point yesterday was that muffins are going to make the table too crowded, so giving them away for free does not exactly solve anything.”

  “Was that your whole point?” asked Claire, tilting her head and squinting at Emma. “I seem to recall you had a bunch of points!”

  “Let’s not go back there,” said Rachel. “Why don’t we sell them since they’re here already?”

  “Did you guys plan this all along?” Emma asked. “Because if you did, well, that’s just really sneaky.”

  “Come on, everyone,” I said. “We shouldn’t waste time fighting. We’ve got to get to the playground.”

  Everyone seemed to agree with me, which was good. But then Claire and Emma reache
d for the handle of the wagon at the same time and neither wanted to let go.

  “I’ll get it,” Claire snapped.

  “That’s okay,” Emma replied stiffly.

  “What, you don’t trust me?” asked Claire.

  “Fine. Get it,” said Emma, letting go and taking a few steps back.

  Claire placed her muffin container on top of the fold-up table, which was balanced on top of the beach chairs, which were hovering over the two pitchers of lemonade and the stack of red plastic cups. Then she pulled the wagon along. I dragged the cooler on wheels behind me.

  When we were halfway to the park she told us she was ready for a break so Rachel took over. Except Rachel pulled the wagon too fast, and some of the lemonade sloshed out of the pitcher. So Yumi took the wagon instead.

  By the time we finally got there, we were all a little sweaty from the heat and a little sticky from the spilled lemonade. Oliver’s game didn’t start until ten, but I could see his team warming up. He was on the Dodgers, so the uniforms were blue. They were playing the Cardinals, who were in red.

  “Let’s set up under this tree,” said Emma.

  “But it’s so far from the action,” said Yumi, staring at the baseball diamond in the distance.

  “I know,” said Emma. “But it’s right by the parking lot, so every single person who comes to the park will have to pass us at least twice. Plus, we should stick to the shade because it’s so hot out today.”

  “It’s going to be eighty-seven degrees, my mom told me,” said Emma.

  “That’s good news for us!” said Claire as she finished setting up the sign.

  Yumi and Emma unfolded the two chairs and we all set up the table.

  After Claire arranged her mini-muffins, she frowned and said, “Most of the chocolate chips have already melted.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” said Emma, giving them a quick glance. Except I could tell she didn’t mean it.

  “That’s okay. They still taste delicious,” said Claire, popping one in her mouth.

  “Don’t eat too much of the inventory,” Yumi warned.

  Claire let out a laugh. “What do you care? You didn’t want to sell them in the first place. Remember?”

  Rachel reached for one and took a bite. “Delicious!” she said.

  “Um, could I try one?” I asked.

  “Of course.” Claire offered me the container, and I took the smallest-looking muffin.

  As soon as I took a bite, the banana-and-chocolate gooey deliciousness practically melted in my mouth. “That’s amazing!” I said, polishing off the rest.

  “I know. You guys should try one,” Claire said to Yumi and Emma.

  Yumi went for it, but Emma refused. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry,” she said in the primmest voice I’ve ever heard.

  “Come on, Emma. These are some seriously delicious muffins,” said Rachel.

  Emma sealed her lips tightly and reorganized the table.

  Then we got our first customer. Oliver showed up in his baseball uniform—a blue shirt and gray pants with blue kneesocks, and black cleats. He wore his baseball cap low over his forehead and his ears stuck out in the cutest way.

  “Good morning,” I said brightly. Too brightly? I hoped not.

  “Hey, everyone. Cool sign!” he said.

  “Thanks,” Claire and I said at the same time. “Claire did most of the work,” I admitted, pointing to my friend.

  “Well, everyone helped,” Claire said shyly.

  “I’ll take one large lemonade please,” he said.

  “There’s only one size,” said Emma, holding up a red cup.

  “Okay. Then I guess I’ll take it,” said Oliver.

  “That’ll be fifty cents,” I said.

  He patted the sides of his pants, where his pockets would have been if he actually had pockets on his uniform. “Uh-oh, I don’t have any cash on me. Do you take IOUs?”

  “Of course,” I said at the exact same time that Rachel said, “No way.”

  I elbowed her.

  “Come on, we know Oliver is good for it,” I said.

  “This is not the way to run a business,” said Rachel, pointing to the baseball diamond. “Oliver, surely you could get some money from your mom. Isn’t she right over there on the bleachers?”

  Oliver raised his eyebrows. He looked not totally offended, but pretty confused. “Um, okay. Be right back.”

  I turned to Rachel after he jogged off and asked, “Did you really have to do that?”

  “Do what?” asked Rachel.

  “Treat my boyfriend like a stranger who’s out to steal fifty cents’ worth of lemonade. You know Oliver will pay us back.”

  “I know he’s not going to steal from our stand intentionally, but he could forget to give us the money. And then where would we be?” asked Rachel. “This is a business. Not a free-lemonade stand. And he’s not upset. Look—he’s getting the money.”

  She had a point. Oliver came back less than two minutes later with a dollar. “I’ll take two cups now,” he said. “My mom wants to try some too.”

  Rachel glanced at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Do not say I told you so,” I said as I got Oliver his lemonade. “Seriously. I can’t really take the stress right now.”

  After I handed Oliver his drinks, he took a sip of one and told me it was delicious.

  “Thanks!” I said.

  “Be sure to tell your friends,” Emma called.

  “I will,” said Oliver. “Good luck, you guys. I’ve gotta go play ball.”

  “Knock ’em dead!” I said.

  As soon as Oliver left, a bunch of sweaty moms who’d finished their stroller-cizing class came over. Their babies were too young for lemonade, it looked like. But we managed to sell five cups—one to each of them.

  Things were going great. The park was plenty busy—there were games being played on all three baseball fields.

  We saw some friends from school—Hannah and Tobias came by, separately, and they each bought lemonade. And Sanjay and his little brothers bought three cups. A Girl Scouts troop was having a picnic in the park, so we easily sold ten cups of lemonade to them.

  Then Rachel’s five-year-old neighbor, Sienna, came by with her mom and they bought two cups. Sienna was smallish and blond, with chunky red-framed glasses.

  “This is my friend Annabelle who used to live in your house,” Rachel said to them.

  Sienna was more interested in the lemonade, but her mom smiled at me and said, “We really love your old place!”

  “I’m glad!” I said. “I miss it. I mean, I didn’t live there for even a year, but I miss the street and everything.”

  “It’s a lovely street,” said Sienna’s mom. “And we’re so lucky we’ve got a built-in babysitter.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, tilting my head to one side.

  “Rachel didn’t tell you she’s been helping out with Sienna?” asked Sienna’s mom.

  “This is the best lemonade I’ve had in ages, isn’t it, Mummy?” asked Sienna, holding up the cup.

  “It’s delicious,” said her mom. “Thanks, Rachel. We’ll see you tonight, eh?”

  “Yup,” said Rachel. “I’ll be there at five thirty.”

  Once they left, I asked, “What’s that all about?”

  “I’m a mother’s helper,” said Rachel. “I’m taking care of Sienna for two hours tonight.”

  “That’s awesome!” said Yumi. “How much are you getting paid?”

  “Five dollars an hour,” said Rachel.

  “That’s great! We’ll have ten more dollars for our Panda Parade fund,” said Claire.

  “Oh, I wasn’t going to contribute that money toward the tickets,” said Rachel. “I need it for something else.”

  “But we all pooled our money last week,” said Emma. “Remember?”

  “I thought that was just to get started,” said Rachel. “Anyway, the lemonade stand will earn enough money for the trip. Right, Emma?”

  No o
ne really said anything—probably because we didn’t know what to say. This was kind of awkward. As I recalled, Rachel hadn’t contributed anything last week. This wasn’t a big deal, because she hadn’t had money at the time. But now she had her allowance plus the money for taking care of Sienna. It only seemed fair that she put it toward the Panda Parade fund. We’d all forked over all our savings, and Yumi was continuing to give us her babysitting earnings. Why wasn’t Rachel doing the same?

  I didn’t ask, though, because I didn’t want to get into another fight with Rachel about money. Probably she’d say something like I didn’t really need my savings because my mom bought me whatever it was that I wanted. It wasn’t true, but I didn’t want to open myself up to another attack.

  A bunch more people came over to buy lemonade, and it seemed as if our stand was a big success, but thinking about Rachel put me in a rotten mood, so I couldn’t enjoy it. Even though we didn’t actually have this fight in real life, our pretend fight in my head was pretty bad, and I couldn’t help but be annoyed with her all over again.

  An hour later, when Oliver’s game ended, both teams cheered and then gave each other high fives.

  The other baseball games seemed to be breaking up too.

  Claire said, “Everyone, get ready!”

  We sat up straighter, ready for the onslaught. Thirty boys in baseball uniforms were walking straight toward us. They all looked thirsty.

  “It’s rush hour!” I exclaimed.

  “This is what we’ve been waiting for!” said Rachel.

  “I wish we had more muffins,” said Claire.

  “I have to agree,” said Emma. “They were good.”

  “When did you have one?” asked Claire.

  “I snuck it when no one was looking. Sorry!” Emma flashed Claire a guilty smile.

  “Told you they were great,” said Claire, throwing her arm around Emma’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

  Oliver was leading the pack, bringing the entire team over and not just that—parents, too.

  “Hey, do you want some more lemonade?” I asked, all ready to pour him a cup.

  “No, thanks.” Oliver held up a big can of Limonata and said, “We all got these after the game.”