The Lemonade Stand
By Olivia Rose Ison
The bright sun blinded my eyes as I squeezed a yellow lemon into the clear pitcher my mom had brought us. I shifted uncomfortably in my purple lawn chair, as Bean let out a scream of joy, “I hear a car!” she announced, a hint of hopefulness in her voice. Catherine (Bean), Christy, Lauren, and I gathered around the plastic table that after 2 hours was covered in sticky lemonade, and dish towels. A cherry red SUV zoomed past us, leaving a trail of the sickening smell of gasoline. Christy let out a sigh of frustration, as she checked her pink watch, “We’ve been out here for almost 3 hours, and we’ve only sold 5 cups!” she complained. We nodded in agreement, as Lauren began to speak: “We’re going to have barely $3.00 to spend at Mora Ice cream.” “Let’s do another dance routine!” Bean shouted in her crazy voice. I shrugged and followed her into the street. “Girls, be careful, a car might come,” Lauren suggested nervously. “They’re fine Lauren,” Christy grumbled. “I’m sorry,” Lauren apologized. “DON’T APOLOGIZE!” we all screamed. Bean and I (the little girls) began our dance routine, throwing in cartwheels and claps once in awhile. The “big” girls watched us, like we were insane monkeys eating bananas! Then we noticed a bent-over old lady in a brown coat, and messy hair walk past us. She glanced over but quickly looked away. “Should we offer her some lemonade?” I whispered. Lauren nodded and the other girls got right to work: “Excuse me, would you like a glass of lemonade?” Christy asked the lady. “I would if I could, but I don’t have a dime on me,” she answered. “It’s OK, you can have some anyway.” Lauren said. I poured the lemonade extra high, so that it spilled slightly when I walked. “Here you go,” I said to the lady. She took it graciously, “Thank you ladies.” she croaked, looking at us almost with tears in her eyes. We said our goodbyes, and then she turned down the street, slowly continuing on her way. The only sound was the cool breeze, and the cawing crows. “That felt good,” I shared. “Yeah, I was thinking, maybe we should give our lemonade money to charity,” Lauren suggested. “WHAT?!” Bean practically yelled. “How am I supposed to get my daily ice cream?” Christy replied, “You know you want to do, Bean. Lauren’s right.” Bean sighed, and then nodded. “They need it more than me,” she said. We smiled and cheered at our new plan. I whipped out a purple marker and scribbled onto the poster board. “All money goes to charity,” Christy read. “I like it,” Bean agreed. Lauren stood up and leaned the sign on the mail box. “Perfect,” I stated. We sat back down, waiting… “Yes, a car!” I cheered. A midnight blue convertible halted to a stop in front of our stand. “Would you like a glass of lemonade? It’s only 50 cents a cup,” Christy offered. I caught a glimpse of the tall blonde woman sitting in the car. She had bright blue eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. She caught me staring at her, and smiled a warm smile, her pearly white teeth showing. “The money goes to charity,” Lauren added. The woman nodded, then reached into her navy tote and pulled out a dollar. “I’ll have one glass, and you can keep the change.” We nodded thankfully, and then got to work on pouring her lemonade. “Here ya’ go.” Lauren purred, handing her the cup. She thanked us and drove off into the distance. Soon another car came, we sold them lemonade, and then more and more cars arrived. We handed them their change, then ran to the next car. Our hands moved quick as lightning, as we counted change, poured lemonade, and took orders. Before we knew it, we were sitting in the comfy living room counting our money. “Oh my gosh! We have $82.00!” I exclaimed. We cheered and cheered, disbelief across our faces. Two hours later, we were sliding $82.00 across the cherry wood counter, to the “Helpline House,” a charity for children. It was a long day, but definitely worth it-better than ice cream!