Ainsley’s face turned to frustration, “He did it again!” she said to Tommy, her best friend this week. Ainsley was 8, and Tommy was ONLY 7. He was just a KID. But she liked him.
She looked down at her table. One jug of iced tea, a stack of glasses, and a sign: Homemade Iced Tea. 5 cents.
Across the street, the neighborhood malcontent, Ernest, stood surrounded by other neighborhood kids. No doubt his cup was full of change.
Tommy wondered, “Why don’t they come here? It’s just Iced Tea,”
Ainsley did not hide her disgust, “He probly tells them he’s gonna punch’em out or sompun!”
“Well he’s always, like, ’Mine is better than yours, nya-nya,”
“I know! What a nincompoop! I’ll show him!”
There was victory in Ernest’s face as Ainsley pulled her Iced Tea from her little table and stomped back to the house.
“Whatcha doin’?” Tommy followed. We was a puppy that way.
“I’ll show him!” vowed Ainsley.
“How?”
“I’m gonna make my milkshakes!”
“Ya?”
“Yip yip! My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard,”
“Can I have one, too?”