Chapter Sixteen #2
My eyes drop to the notebook in front of me, as if I can magically summon a response to earn her approval.
Just getting Ryser and Solar Summit to sponsor the festival felt like the biggest wins we could manage.
What other company around here would have the funds to spare for this sort of thing?
Even Pretzel in Paradise, the most popular shop in town, isn’t immune from financial realities.
Meg keeps fairly limited hours because she can’t afford any more hired help beyond the one other employee she has.
“Yes,” I admit.
“I think there’s plenty of opportunity to go for more.
You know, I’m going to that wellness innovation conference in a couple of weeks since we’ve been trying to branch out into the personal care space.
I can see if anyone I talk to there might want to sponsor the festival.
We’ll be talking to some companies about potential partnerships.
Deodorant, foot fungus, toothpaste, diaper cream. ”
“As sponsors for an apple festival?” Randy asks, alarm growing across his face.
“We want to have a healthy promotion budget so we can raise interest and draw a crowd, right? Your budget’s very small compared to what we’d typically do.”
“We didn’t have a lot of funds to work with,” Arun says pointedly.
“Speaking of the budget,” I rush to say before Amanda can comment on Arun’s bristled tone, “you make a good point, Amanda. But now that Ryser’s getting more involved, would you be able to allocate more funds from your budget?”
Amanda gives the hum she uses when someone volunteers an idea she doesn’t like.
“I may have to, if it comes down to it. But let’s focus on the sponsorships for now.
It’ll save us some money. And it wouldn’t hurt for Ryser to be seen aligning with some trusted brands right about now,” she adds with a chuckle.
“Right,” I say, faking a laugh back.
Amanda looks down at her list. “And it has to be an apple festival? Like I said, we are trying to break into the personal care space. If this was a 5K, it would tie in a lot better with our new line of antioxidant sunscreen.”
In the silence that follows, Tessa, Randy, Jen, and Arun all exchange worried glances.
The temptation to say yes and win Amanda’s approval rises inside me.
I start imagining the logistics of pivoting from apple festival to 5K.
Ryser Cares used to hold fundraising 5Ks all the time, so this would be part of Greenstead’s history too, sort of.
The vendors could still exhibit their booths.
A pretzel from Meg’s and an ice-cold lemonade from the popcorn cart would be the perfect post-race refreshment.
Though I’m not sure how many runners come away from a race wanting a jalapeno-popper burger from Prime Burger or a slice of salted peanut butter pie from Cooper Cakes—which, while delicious, always leaves me thirsty.
And I can’t quite picture a crowd of hot, sweaty runners crossing the finish line and stopping to sniff artisan candles, peruse handmade jewelry, or check out any of the other miscellaneous booths that don’t quite match up with a 5K.
Seeing Tessa, Randy, Jen, and Arun’s mounting concern brings me back down to reality.
We can’t make such a drastic change after we’ve already sold people on the concept of reinstating a beloved apple festival.
I know Marina would be horrified to hear that I even entertained the thought.
I remember her words at Solar Summit, so confident and sincere: I trust your judgment.
“It has to be an apple festival,” I say. Tessa lets out a relieved sigh.
“Okay.” Amanda marks something off her list. “Can you tell me about the vendors you have so far?”
That puts us back on less worrisome ground. We dive into a rundown of local businesses, and Amanda listens and takes notes. But when Jen mentions that a history buff has signed up to do a booth on the history of Greenstead, Amanda narrows her eyes.
“Will it involve the factory malfunction?” she asks.
“The flood,” Jen corrects. Amanda stares at her blankly, as though her brain is incapable of processing the word flood . “Yes, it will include the malfunction,” Jen mumbles, giving in. “It’s part of Greenstead’s history.”
“No,” Amanda says at once, “we’re not doing that.”
Jen presses her lips together tightly, but she doesn’t argue.
“You know what we could do instead,” Amanda says, perking up with an idea. “We’ll put a history spin on the Ryser booth. It could have a monitor displaying the history of Ryser, our volunteer work, our contributions.”
“The Ryser booth?” I repeat.
“Of course. It’ll sell the usual favorites. Our mini apple pies are always a hit.”
“Uh…Cooper’s Cakes will be selling apple pies,” Tessa points out.
Amanda nods patiently. “That’s fine.”
“But wouldn’t it be kind of messed up for Ryser to compete with a local business?” Tessa says.
“Oh, nobody’s competing,” Amanda replies with a dismissive laugh. “If people see Ryser at a food festival, they’re going to expect their favorite Ryser foods. The last thing we want to do is disappoint people.”
“That’s ironic,” Tessa mutters. The others titter. I peek at the screen to see if Amanda heard, but she’s busy jotting something down.
Then Amanda moves to the next item on her list. “What is a Nancy convention, and what does that have to do with the festival?”
Ignoring Arun’s stifled laugh, I explain, “Oh, Nancy Fletcher’s a…
”—god help me—“local celebrity. Including a meet and greet for her fans at the festival is a great way to get buzz and draw more people to the event.” This version sounds much more impressive than A delusional ex-reality-show-contestant held Juniper Park hostage until we agreed to her demands .
Amanda makes a skeptical hum. “This was the woman whose show you were on? Who was bad-mouthing Ryser? Do we really want to be associated with her? She’s got a fairly unflattering picture of you on her website, by the way.”
“I know,” I say darkly. My dad already showed me the page with the caption contest Nancy’s running. Above that same unsightly still of me looking nauseous on her show, the page reads: What’s Queasy Lauryn thinking? Funniest caption wins two free tickets to the Nancy convention!
The worst part: My dad’s spent the last week workshopping possible captions with Wendy.
Still, as much as Nancy irritates me, we did make a deal. Going back on it feels slimy. “We already made an agreement.”
“Send me the agreement,” Amanda says. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“It was more of a…handshake deal,” Arun says.
Amanda brightens. “Then it’s nonbinding. Perfect! The Nancy convention is out.”
My heart drops. As awful as Nancy may be, I hate the thought of her and her Nancies being ousted, crossed off a list, just like that.
I notice, as the meeting goes on, that the others are speaking less and less.
By the time the call comes to an end, Amanda and I are the only ones who have spoken in the last ten minutes.
The others are statues. They glance up at the screen every once in a while, but otherwise they drink their coffee, sweep up donut crumbs with a napkin, or stare listlessly ahead at nothing.
When we sign off the call, it seems like all the air has been sucked out of the room.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I try. I aim for upbeat, but my voice comes out questioning.
The others don’t respond.
Normally, the office has a relaxed atmosphere, loose with idle chatter.
But the silence only grows louder once we’re all sitting at our desks.
No sounds of typing, phone calls about festival logistics, ideas being tossed out, updates from Jen about who’s engaging with our festival account on social media.
We just sit on our computers, occasional mouse clicks or keystrokes breaking up the overwhelming quiet.
And the first shred of doubt plants in my gut as I start to suspect that working with Amanda might not be such a good thing for us after all.