Chapter 6

Chapter 6 Underselling underselling (underselling) v. Pricing the same goods for less than the competition. Jessie knew that Evan was up to something. First of all, there were all those phone calls last night. At least ten of them. Then, he'd come knocking on her door this morning, asking if he could have the pieces of foam core she had leaning against her bedroom wall. "No way," she'd answered. "That's for my Labor Day display." "Oh, give it up. Today's Thursday. The contest is on Monday, and you don't even have an idea," Evan said.

"I do too have an idea. I'm just not telling you." Jessie still didn't have a clue about her Labor Day project, but she wasn't going to give Evan the satisfaction of knowing that. "Then how come you haven't done anything?" Evan said, pointing at the blank foam core and the bags of untouched art supplies. "You're supposed to have pictures and typed-up information and a big title. It's supposed to be like a school report." Jessie scrunched her eyes and pursed her lips in a you're-such-an-idiot look. "Don't worry. It's going to be great, and it's going to win first prize. And anyway, Mom bought all those supplies for me, and I'm not giving anything to you." Jessie heard Evan mutter, "Miser," just as she slammed the door in his face. And now three of Evan's friends were over— Paul, Jack, and Ryan. And all three had shown up with paper bags. And they were all in the garage making a lot of noise, with a big keep out sign taped to the door. Not that Jessie would have gone in there

anyway. Who cares what a bunch of boys are doing? But she wished Megan had invited her to come over before lunch instead of after. Jessie went into the kitchen to make a turkey sandwich. The boys had left a slimy mess of peanut butter, Doritos, and—yes—sticky puddles of lemonade mix. Jessie quickly looked in the trash can under the kitchen sink. There were twelve empty cans of frozen lemonade mix. Twelve! That was ninety-six cups' worth of lemonade. Ninety-six possible sales. Holy cow! Where had Evan gotten the lemonade? He hadn't gone to the store, and he didn't have any money anyway. Then Jessie remembered the paper bags that Paul, Ryan, and Jack had carried in. She bet the boys had all raided their freezers and brought over a stash. That didn't seem fair! She and Megan had to buy their lemonade today, using the money they'd made yesterday. How were they going to stay ahead of the game if the boys had free lemonade to sell? "Think, Jessie, think," she whispered to herself.

She couldn't let those boys win. By the time she finished her lunch and cleaned up her mess (she wasn't going to lift a finger to clean up the boys' mess), she had the beginning of a plan in her head. Which is why she found it doubly confusing when she knocked on Megan's screen and Carly Brownell came to the door. Jessie'd been all ready to say, "I've got a great idea." But then there was Carly, looking down at her like she was an earwig. "Um, is Megan home?" asked Jessie. Carly didn't open the screen door as she looked left and right behind Jessie. "Where's Evan?" "Huh?" said Jessie. Megan came running down the stairs carrying bottles of nail polish. "Oh, hi, Jessie," she said, opening the door. She poked her head out and looked around. "Where's Evan?" "He's at home. Why?" asked Jessie. Carly made a noise like a snorting hippopotamus. "I thought you said he was coming," said Megan.

"No, I didn't," said Jessie. "You said it would be fun to make a lemonade stand with all three of us, and I said, yeah, that would be fun." "So, didn't he want to?" asked Megan. "I never asked him," said Jessie. "Oh. I thought you were going to," said Megan. "Then you should have said, 'Hey, Jessie. Ask Evan if he wants to make a lemonade stand tomorrow.' And then I would have asked him." This was exactly what drove Jessie crazy about girls. They always said things halfway and then expected you to get the other half. And Jessie never got the other half. Carly gave Megan a look. Jessie wasn't positive what the look meant, but she was pretty sure it wasn't a nice one. That was the other thing that Jessie hated about girls. They were always giving looks. Looks that contained all kinds of strange and complicated messages. Last year, in second grade, there had been four

girls who were always exchanging looks with one another—Becky Baker, Lorelei Sun, Andrea Hennessey, and Eileen Garrett. Jessie watched them and knew that Evan was right: They talked without words. They used their eyes to pass secret messages. She also knew they didn't like her, but only because Evan had finally explained it to her over Christmas vacation. Jessie was surprised when he told her this. They laughed so much—how could they be mean? They were the four who started the club: the Wild Hot Jellybeans Club. Or, as they called it, the WHJ Club. Becky was president, and she was always telling the others what to do. They made signs and paper buttons and membership cards. The teacher, Mrs. Soren, didn't usually allow clubs in the classroom, but she made an exception, telling the girls, "I'll let you wear your buttons in class, but only if you let all the other kids join—if they want to." By the end of the day, every kid in class was wearing a WHJ button—even Jessie, who'd never belonged to a club before.