The Sugar Mountain Snow Ball (8 page)

Her eyes popped out of her head.

“What?” I asked.

“That!” she said.

“Which
that?
What are you looking at?”

“Do I see yarn? And knitting needles?”

“Oh, that's Mim's old stuff. She used to knit a lot and do crafts when I was young, before the boys were born and she only worked part—”

Eleanor cut me off. “And you never told me?”

“Never told you what?”

“That your stepmother likes to
knit?
”

“I don't know, I guess I forgot because she doesn't do it anymore. She doesn't have time.”

Well, you would have thought I'd cracked open a carton of brand-new books. Eleanor's wide brown eyes practically sprang out of her head as she pawed through the drawer.

“How much?!” she asked, turning over a wad of blue yarn, squishing it between her fingers.

“I have no idea how much she has, because there's a ton more in the hall closet, and maybe—”

Eleanor covered my mouth.

“Money,” she said. “How much
money
to buy it all? I have a little left over from my birthday last year.”

“Oh, you don't have to pay for it. Mim has been meaning to call the art teacher at the elementary school to donate it because she didn't want to see it go to waste. I swear, you can have it all if you want.”

At first, Eleanor frowned like she didn't believe me. Then slowly her mouth rolled out one of her special ribbon smiles until her face stretched as wide as it could go.

“Just to be sure it's okay, you have to ask your stepmother, Ruby. And if she says yes, I promise I will make something very nice for her in return.”

“Really? Like what?”

Eleanor shrugged. “Anything. A hat, mittens, placemats.”

And that's when
the best idea I ever had
hit me, like a shooting star falling from way up in the sky! But more like a shooting star that streaks by and then disappears behind the mountains, because we couldn't have possibly imagined where my idea would end up landing.

11

“I can't believe we didn't think of this before, Eleanor; like, it's
so
obvious. This is
too
exciting!!”

“I know. And it's not like it's a real job or anything, so technically I'm not going behind Thaththa's back, even though I don't think I should tell him . . . not yet, anyway.”

“We can finally make some money! What've we got so far?”

Eleanor took notes since she has that pretty, swoopy kind of handwriting—mine is so sloppy that half the time I can't even read it.

“Okay, our company is called E and R Dream Designs, which is the abbreviation for Eleanor and Ruby, and the
dream
part is obvious.” Eleanor stopped herself and asked, “Are you sure it shouldn't be R and E Dream Designs?”

“Of course not. You're the one making our
gorgeous
creations. I'm just selling them. Anyone with a little extra friendliness can do that.”

“But this was all your idea, and I couldn't make them without your stepmother's supplies.”

“Believe me, you're doing Mim a favor by clearing out all this junk. She complains about it all the time. So keep reading. What's next?”

Eleanor looked back at the notes in her lap and read aloud:

         
“ONE:
Eleanor creates wicked cool stuff from Mim's leftover yarn and craft supplies.

         
TWO:
Ruby is the awesome salesperson who will try to convince lots of stores in the village to carry Eleanor's wicked cool stuff.

         
THREE:
Eleanor and Ruby split their profits equally.

         
FOUR:
Ruby will spend the money she makes on ski lessons with a cute ski instructor so she can meet amazing Outers and become one of them and go to the annual Snow Ball (hopefully with JB Knox) and be forever happy.

         
FIVE:
Eleanor will save her money to purchase a Deluxe Electronic Pluckarama 1080 Sew-Good and Embroidery Machine, and someday develop a line of haute couture which will be worn by people from Paris, New Hampshire, to Paris, France.”

Eleanor stopped reading.

“I'm not too comfortable with the embellishments,” she said.

“The
what-a-ments?
”

Eleanor leaned forward and spoke slowly as if that would help me understand her huge words better.

“Don't you feel we're jinxing ourselves by adding superlatives and projecting unrealistic outcomes?” she asked. “I mean, it should be a basic business plan with a straightforward contractual agreement.”

I took a long sip from my third can of soda and thought for a second. Sometimes it was hard to explain to Eleanor how real life worked.

“I think the problem is, you're complicating everything. Why don't you knit a few adorable thingies and I'll try to get a store to display them and we'll see how it goes. Okay?”

Right then, the front door swung open and banged against the wall.

“
Mim!
You're early!” I said. “Oh, Eleanor, you get to meet Mim, and Mim, you get to meet Eleanor.”

My stepmom dropped her bags on the kitchen table and stretched out her arms.

“Eleanor! I'm so happy to finally meet you.”

Eleanor had a funny look on her face like she was in trouble. She backed away a little and asked, “Do you need help with your groceries, Mrs. LaRue?”

“I need nothing but a big old welcome hug!”

Eleanor stiffened up like she had never hugged anyone in her life; her arms were boards along her sides, and she squeezed her eyes shut as my stepmother squished her tight.

“MIM! Look around! We cleaned!!”

“You did?” she asked, as she transferred her arms over to me. “Well, would you look at that! How wonderful! Thank you, girls. Now, are you two interested in some dinner? I didn't get as much take-out since the boys are eating over at the Petites' house, but I can always dig up something in the freezer to microwave.”

“Thank you, but . . . umm,” Eleanor stammered, “I didn't realize it was so late. I should go.”

Then she bent down to the floor and began stuffing the yarn back into the drawers.

“What are you doing, Eleanor? Don't you want to take all that home so you can start knitting?”

She shook her head hard, like she was embarrassed.

“Wait a second,” I said. “Mim? Can we give Eleanor your old yarn and stuff to knit things? She's practically an expert like you used to be, and we're starting a business to sell her crafts so we can make some money. Plus, she's the reason we cleaned up the house.”

“A business to make money?” Mim asked, looking very impressed. “Please, take it all, Eleanor. You'd be doing me a favor, getting rid of all that junk.”

Eleanor managed to unfreeze and stood up.

“At least take it in appreciation for doing such a nice job tidying up around here,” Mim added, as she emptied a grocery bag, stuffed the yarn into it, and handed it to Eleanor. I could tell Eleanor didn't know what to say, but she smiled and took the bag.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank
you
,” said Mim. “And don't you ever forget—our door is always open.
Tu es ici chez toi.”

“That's French,” I told Eleanor. “It basically means,
Our house is your house
. Right, Mim?”

“
Très bien, ma chérie!
”

As Eleanor slipped on her jacket, a note dropped out of her pocket.

I picked it up. “What's this?”

“A list,” she said quickly, before yanking it from my hand. “A few things my father asked me to pick up.”

“Geez, Eleanor. You'd think it was top-secret information.”

But instead of laughing, Eleanor thanked Mim one last time, then raced out the front door and down the driveway with that bag of yarn like it was stolen merchandise.

12

It turns out the timing could not have been better to start our business, because it was that boring period in January when everyone was burned out from the same old fashions and trends and holiday clearance sales. The store owners seemed even happier that our “collection” was locally made, because that made our stuff “quaint,” or some word like that. Also, Eleanor (who is full of cute little artsy ideas) came up with an adorable label that she attached to everything, which says
E & R DREAM DESIGNS OF PARIS, NEW HAMPSHIRE
, like we are a real fancy specialty company.

So, selling Eleanor's stuff was a cinch. The problem was, we quickly sold out of everything she had already created, and our customers demanded more ASAP! That's when my next idea-light went off, which was a good thing, since I knew I couldn't help Eleanor knit (I mean, I can barely lace up my snow boots), but at least I had what Eleanor called “natural marketing acumen,” which she told me was the same as having good business sense.

We were back at Dream Central one afternoon, brainstorming. In reality, that meant I daydreamed, while Eleanor sketched and the boys played.

“I've been thinking, Eleanor. What if you made smaller items, like key chains and bracelets and bookmarks?”

It was the third week in January, and we were spending a lot less time at Dream Central these days because I was busy with customers in the village and Eleanor was busy manufacturing at home (while her thaththa worked at the gas station). But most days, we still met for a few minutes at the playground to give each other what Eleanor called “daily updates,” and so that I could work out, following the exercises in my father's
Fresh Powder
magazines. And of course, the twins burned off the sillies, running around and playing.

“Ruby,” said Eleanor, “that's your best idea yet! I've been up late every night in my bedroom, trying to knit pieces in one day that normally take a week. My fingers are aching. It's so obvious! Why didn't we think of that before?”

“It came to me when I pitched E and R Dream Designs to Mrs. Wilder, the owner of the Treasure Chest. You know how they have all sorts of little trinkets in there? I thought to myself over and over, can Eleanor
knit
that? I even thought about cat collars and table coasters.”

I hated thinking of Eleanor working so hard every night, but so far we had each made only $65.47. Don't get me wrong; neither of us had ever had that kind of money before, but I quickly realized we'd need to make a lot more, a lot faster, in time for everything to fall into place for my magical evening at the Snow Ball with the
one and only JB Knox. The big night was just a little more than two months away.

“I had another idea, too. You could use my stepmother's old scrapbook supplies and knit them into jewelry or whatever. She pulled out another box from the back of the closet yesterday, and it was full of cute knickknacks like antique buttons and charms and polished stones with holes through the middle. She said we could have all of it.”

This time, Eleanor squealed.

“Can you bring the box to school with you tomorrow?” she asked. “I'll start right away and work through the weekend.”

“Is tomorrow Friday already?” I leaned over and stretched my legs. “I can't believe how time flies now. It's like I'm falling back into bed as soon as I get up.”

Just then, Henry ran over and asked if he could talk to a big kid he saw standing behind a bush.

“What big kid?”

I twisted around to where he pointed, but all I saw was frozen trees, crackling as the wind pushed them up against one another.

“I guess he's gone,” said Henry.

“Do you know his name?”

“Nope.”

“What did he look like?”

“Tall and skinny.”

Eleanor asked, “Did you notice what he was wearing?”

“A big green jacket and a black hat.”

“I can't believe it,” I said. “It sounds just like that new boy I was telling you about.”

I had stopped searching for that kid behind his iron jail fence since nowadays I was always in a rush. First, I had to fetch the twins at the Petites', then hurry them down to Dream Central to quickly wear them out, and meet with Eleanor, then race into town to sell our designs, dragging the boys with me, all before it got dark.

“How many times have you seen him, Henry?”

“I don't know. A bunch. He hides behind the fort,” he said. Then Henry whined, “I'm
staaarrrving
.”

Since we were always running here and there, the boys and I had been skipping our afternoon snack. But I hadn't been missing it, which was strange, because I used to be hungry practically all the time.

“I have a banana,” said Eleanor, “and some leftover spiced nuts and date bread.”

“It's hard to believe that kid's been spying on us,” I said. “I wonder if he's been coming over here for weeks, or what? He's obviously shy or something, even though I told him it's okay to hang out with us. He doesn't have to sneak around. I mean, it's not like we're gonna bite his head off or anything.”

“Can I have the banana?” Henry asked Eleanor as Charlie ran over.

“You two can have it all,” she replied, passing her snacks to both of the boys.

“I'm thirsty,” said Charlie. “Do you have any root beer?”

“Don't be rude,” I said. “She's not a refrigerator.”

“I don't mind,” said Eleanor, digging through her backpack. “No soda, though, which isn't a drink technically—more like pouring sugar down your throat. But I do have some extra water bottles.”

“Oh, they aren't gonna drink . . .”

But before I could finish my sentence Charlie grabbed the water and followed Henry back to the fort.

“Ruby, stand up and take off your hat,” said Eleanor.

“My hat? Why?”