LemonMade Me

by Lily Brown

Abby surveyed her set up. The table was now sturdier than ever, thanks to the wad of paper napkins shoved under the back left leg. The white tablecloth with tiny blue flowers was laid out so that all four sides hung evenly over the table’s edges. The small wax paper cups with the lame jokes on them that always made Abby chuckle were neatly stacked up in two towers. The top cup was faced out so customers could see the first part of one of the jokes: “How do you catch a squirrel”. If he or she bought lemonade Abby would turn the cup while she poured so the customer could see the answer: “Climb a tree and act like a nut”. The tip jar, made of an old soup can covered in festive wrapping paper, was positioned on the front right corner of the table sure to catch customers’ eyes. And the most important item, the two big plastic pitchers of light yellow perfectly sweet and tangy lemonade, was placed in the center of the table. Abby always made a lot because it tended to sell out fast.

Satisfied with her lay out, Abby took a seat in her wooden folding chair behind the table. Quickly, she got up and grabbed her sign that read “Abby’s Famous Lemonade. Only $1.00” from her bag. Sometime, she had gotten complaints about the price but as soon as someone tried a cup they were hooked. She had almost been forced to lower her prices but luckily everything had worked out. She attached the sign to the front of the table and stood back to admire it. She was very proud of the pictures of lemons, sugar cubes, and smiley faces she had just added to it. It was just the thing she needed to spice up her business after a year of the same old boring “Lemonade. $1.00”. “Abby’s Famous” had also been a new addition.

She sat back down relieved and ready for work. She surveyed Ohlone Park. Kids were playing tag and throwing the ball for a dog. Others were climbing on the giant web-like play structure and sliding down the yellow plastic slide. The grass was bright green, the sky was bright blue with almost no clouds, and the air was hot but not thick. All of these characteristics combined to create the perfect day to sell lemonade.

Abby enjoyed selling lemonade, but now she cherished her time at the stand even more. Recently she had been forced to take on an employee, her brother. At first it was going to be temporary. An issue had arisen and Abby found it impossible to tend to the lemonade stand and deal with the other situation at the same time. But her brother, Benny, had loved the job so much and had begged her to let him stay on, with a pay cut of course. She had let him because after all she did owe him.

It had all started a couple weeks ago. Abby was selling lemonade as usual on Sunday. Everything had been going well; she was down to her last half pitcher and the tip jar was getting heavy. She was smiling to herself about how great a businesswoman she was when a potential customer approached the table. The woman was wearing a navy pants suit and carrying a purse or brief case-like bag.

“One dollar. Wow that’s, a lot.”

Abby was used to this reaction and started to explain that her lemonade really was worth it, anyone would agree after one sip.

“Well I don’t know about that. Yesterday I got some lemonade from a girl selling it a bit farther down the park that looks just as good. And it’s only fifty cents. That’s half the price.”

Abby was annoyed. Why was a grown woman who probably made a nice amount of money haggling with a sweet little girl like herself? She didn’t show her emotions though because she was a professional and knew better.

“You pay for what you get,” Abby replied sweetly. “If that girl’s lemonade is half the price then it is most definitely half the quality. I make my lemonade with a very secret recipe.”

Abby was used to people trying to compete with her, but the superior taste of her lemonade always drove the competition out of town. It was still annoying though to have to explain herself to customers.

“Alright,” the woman said. “You sold me.”

The woman opened her change purse and handed Abby four shiny quarters. Abby picked one of the wax paper cups with the jokes on them off of a tower and carefully poured lemonade into it until it was almost overflowing.

“This tastes exactly the same as the other girl’s cheaper lemonade,” the woman said after taking one sip. “I want my money back.”

Abby was furious. How could someone have lemonade like hers? She had a secret recipe that absolutely no one knew about. Still fuming she handed the woman back her money because a good businesswoman knows that customer satisfaction is most important.

After that day things went down hill. Usually by 2:30pm at the latest Abby would be sold out. But each day there would be more and more lemonade left. By the end of the week Abby had only filled a few cups, which were bought by her most loyal customers. This would not do. So she decided to hire her younger brother to watch over the stand, just for today, while she investigated.

At first she stood behind a tree watching the girl sell her lemonade. The customers were piling up and a line was even forming, everyone looking satisfied. They made comments on how great the drink tasted and on how it was such a deal. Abby was livid. She moved to a closer spot, crouched behind some bushes, and studied the girl. She was wearing a light pink dress and had two long blonde braids. What a cliché Abby thought, which made her feel better. Abby would never look that tacky. She liked to wear a nice plain t-shirt and cute yellow shorts, her brown hair in a high ponytail. Abby could see this girls tip jar overflowing even from her distance.

She stayed up all night thinking about what this little stupid girl was doing to her business. She knew what needed to be done.

The first step was to try the lemonade for herself. Abby reluctantly got in the short line that was forming in front of the cliché girl’s stand. After a five-minute wait it was Abby’s turn.

“One cup of lemonade,” Abby said sharply.

“Coming right up,” the girl sweetly replied.

Abby intently watched the girl take a Dixie cup with a joke on it from one of the stacks of cups on the table and pour lemonade into it from a bright red ceramic pitcher. Snatching the cup, Abby took a sip. She let it sit in her mouth so her tongue could take in all the flavors before letting it rush down her throat. The sweet Meyer lemon taste mixed with tangy regular lemons was distinctly there. The mix of cane and brown sugar, ice cold Brita filtered water, and that little extra something were all there. It was an exact replica of Abby’s lemonade. She quickly walked away, but not before flashing a fake smile and a death stare in the girl’s direction.

She walked back to the upper end of the park to check on her stand. Her brother had managed to spill a quarter of one of the pitcher all over the tablecloth and his shirt, but the tip jar was decently filled and customers seemed to think his lack of etiquette was cute. Only really little kids can get away with that. Reassured that her business was in semi good hands, Abby went over to the big rocks in the grass field on the lowest end of the park, to think. She had often seen college students doing homework and reading over there so she thought by being over there she would look studious and smart.

How had the girl gotten a hold of her recipe? Abby did not write it down, she kept it all in her head for this exact reason. She went through a list of possible suspects. Her mom might have bragged to one of her friends about how great Abby was at making lemonade and they might have told their child and that child might have told some other kid and so on. But that was impossible. Abby had her mom buy all the ingredients except for the secret one which was special powdered sugar she stole from a little container in her mom’s sock drawer. So even if her mom had told someone it was still not possible to recreate exactly. Or had her mom noticed she was dipping in to the powdered sugar?

The next suspect was her brother, Benny. He often screamed and cried and threw a fit until she let him help her make the lemonade. He had a loud mouth and liked to tell anyone who would listen his name, age, and other obscure information like how many stuffed animals he has or how many teeth he has lost. Benny could have easily told someone what she used to make her lemonade. But, then again he did not understand measurements, or the difference between Meyer and regular lemons, or Abby’s secret ingredient. Or was she underestimating his intelligence?

Another suspect was Sally. She used to sell lemonade in the park but Abby had run her out and she now had to sell it in front of her house where there was a fraction of the foot traffic. Sally could have spied on Abby and figured out her recipe. Then out of spite told this new little cliché girl, be a silent partner and split the profits. By using this girl as a front nothing would be traced back to her. But, Sally did not have the patience, drive, or intelligence to pull this off. After all, it had only taken Abby five days to shut down Sally, which was well under Abby’s average of twelve days. But this could have made Sally so angry she became daring and brave.

After contemplating all possible suspects, Abby was still at a loss. Someone had to have done something. But she could not think. Then it hit her. Abby’s last possible plan of action was to just ask the girl outright. She could not do this of course because it would make her look desperate. But if the girl was as nice as she looked she would definitely tell a little innocent boy like Benny.

Abby’s little brother came running up to her ten minutes after he was commanded to find out the recipe of the cliché girl and its origins.

“She said she uses Mayor lemons and regular lemons,” Benny stated.

“Meyer, stupid.”

“ Yea. And she uses brown and white sugar. And filler water.”

“Filtered water! You’re so ignorant!”

“Shut up! And she uses a top secret ingredient.” He whispered this last part to emphasize the secrecy of it.

This was Abby’s recipe, just as she had thought.

“Okay, well where did she get the recipe?” Abby asked, irritated.

“She says it’s an old family recipe that her grandma showed her.”

How could this be? Abby had always prided herself in knowing that she had come up with the ultimate recipe that know one else would ever know. But she was not the original creator and other people knew about it. Her world was falling apart so there was only one thing to do: what she always did when she faced a problem.

Now two weeks later everything was back to normal. Abby had no competition and her business was booming. She smiled to herself thinking about what had happened and how foolish she had been to think it was the end of the world. Abby was very tactful and could always get her self out of an unpleasant situation.

An elderly woman with graying hair and a velour green tracksuit jogged over to the stand.
“One glass of lemonade please.”

“Coming right up,” Abby said.

She poured a generous amount of lemonade in a cup and handed it too the woman.

“Little girl, this is the best lemonade I have ever had!”

Abby sighed a great sigh of relief. Now that the competition had been expunged, she could focus on the good things in life: basking in the knowledge that she made the best lemonade.

“Oh. How horrible.” The customer said noticing the flyer for a missing girl hanging on the corner of Abby’s table. There was a picture of a little girl wearing a pink dress with two blond braids and a phone number written at the bottom for people to call if they had any information. “Did you know her?”

“No not really. But she sold lemonade too and us lemonade sellers have to watch each other’s backs.” Abby replied sweetly.