Leah took the cap off the highlighter and breathed in. Dizzy yellow. Joe kept reading the paper and pretended not to notice his daughter sniffing a marker. “What are you up to today?” Joe asked.
“Nothing, There’s nothing to do.” Leah put the highlighter to white paper and drew a wobbly sun.
“Why don’t you start a lemonade stand?”
“A lemonade stand?”
“Yeah. I used to run one when I was a kid.”
Leah put the cap back on the highlighter and began to dream. Soon the marker’s antiseptic fumes were replaced by a zesty lemon scent. She would set the stand up at the corner of Phoenix and Rainbow; it would get the most traffic there. The lemonade would be fresh squeezed. She would ask neighbor Robin if she could have some of the lemons off her lemon tree—that would cut costs. And cups. The cups would have to be recyclable or maybe biodegradable. She would need a marketing department; Jane and Liz could be recruited to make signs. If she charged 50 cents a cup and sold 50 cups, she would make $25. That would be enough for her, Jane and Liz to go see a movie.
“What do you think?” Joe asked.
“I think it’s a great idea!” Leah jumped up and looked around the kitchen to see what ingredients they had. There was no sugar and no lemons. She found dusty styrofoam cups in the back of a cupboard. “Dad, we don’t have any stuff to make the lemonade.”
Joe opened the pantry. He reached up and pulled out a can of powder lemonade mix. “Here you go. This stuff is pretty good.”
“No, I don’t want to use mix. I want to make it from scratch.”
“You’ll have to go to the store, then.”
“That’ll cut into my profits.”
Joe shrugged.
“I’m gonna go over to neighbor Robin’s and see if I can have some of the lemons off her lemon tree.”
“What lemon tree?”
“The one in the front yard.”
“Those aren’t lemons, they’re figs.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
Leah picked up her cell phone to call Jane and Liz. Maybe they would chip in to buy everything she needed. Neither girl answered her phone, and Leah didn’t bother leaving messages.
She flopped down at the kitchen table and picked up her yellow highlighter. “Lemonade stands are stupid,” she said and took deep breaths as she filled in her artificial sun.
Joe pulled a pitcher down off the shelf and poured the lemonade mix into it. “I swear,” he said, “this stuff tastes just like the real thing.” He added water and stirred until no evidence of the powder was left. He got a glass from the dishwasher and filled it to the rim. Murky yellow. “Here, taste it for yourself.” He turned around to offer Leah the glass, but she had already left the room.
