Prologue Hallie Here's the secret to building a business: Be like the spiders. Not just any spiders---the spiders of the South American rainforest. The spider is a solitary creature. It spins its own web. Captures its own food. Eats solo. Check out any spider in your yard or corner of a ceiling. A loner, right? But not the Anelosimus eximius . Yesterday in science class, we watched a video about them. These spiders aren't like other spiders. They're "social spiders." They live together in massive colonies. Fifty thousand spiders crawling together! Think of all those legs! These social spiders figured out that if they spin a gigantic web together, they catch more prey than going it alone. Heavy rain---which happens constantly since, hello, it's the rainforest---can majorly wreck a web. But the spiders learned it's way easier to repair the damage with thousands of legs instead of just eight. I wish we'd known about the rainforest spiders before everything happened. You see, Jaye and I were a team. We had each other. We had a plan. But, it turns out, what we really needed was a whole mess of spiders. A much bigger web. And an enormous platter of nachos. Chapter 1 Jaye "I love the chip aisle." I grabbed Hallie's hand and pulled her with me. We giggled, tripping and skidding around a mother pushing her chubby toddler in a shopping cart. "I do, too," Hallie agreed. "Obviously." "No, even before we started this, the chip aisle was my place." My eyes scanned the colorful, shiny bags standing at attention on the shelves. "If Nai Nai's in a good mood, she lets me pick a bag. Choosing is serious business." I glanced over my shoulder and spotted my grandmother in her olive--green quilted coat. She was waiting in line at the seafood counter. Nai Nai always insisted our fish be weighed at least twice to make sure the scale was correct, so I had plenty of time. Hallie smacked her lips loudly. The mother with the cart stopped and looked our way. "What're you doing?" I whispered. Hallie wasn't like me. She didn't care if people stared at her. In fact, I think she kind of liked it. "I'm seeing what kind of chip mood I'm in." Hallie made more loud smacking sounds. "It's like a taste test, but without the food. You pretend you're eating." She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the kettle corn. "I'm thinking sweet." "Spicy and hot for me. Always." I pointed to an orange bag on a bottom shelf. "Check out the wacky flavors." Hallie's long chestnut hair bounced as she spread her arms wide. "I mean, dill pickle tortilla chips? Really? We can make up such better flavors. What about cheddar caramel potato chips?" "Or pineapple chili chips?" I suggested. "Cheesy tomato?" Hallie offered. "Garlic butter banana?" "How about hot--and--sour soup chips?" Hallie and I tossed ideas back and forth at lightning speed. We were good at doing that. "Icy cucumber lime." "Honey vanilla peanut butter." "Red--fire cinnamon spice!" Suddenly I got worried. "Hold up. Are our chips okay? Should we be adding more flavors?" "No way. Our recipe rocks," Hallie told me. "Besides, Mr. T said to keep it simple while we build the company." Mr. T is Mr. Thompson, our teacher for Business Education and Entrepreneurship. That's the sixth--grade elective class we both chose at Brookdale Middle School. Our class project last month was to create our own startup business. Mr. Thompson picked our partners. He paired me with Hallie Amberose. I'm not going to lie. I was not happy. Hallie wasn't one of the popular kids. Not even a tiny bit. And I was. Well, I was friends with Spencer Montan and Erica Sanchez, which is kind of the same thing. Then Hallie volunteered to eat a cricket on our class field trip to the zoo. After that, Spencer and Erica called her "Bug Girl." But Hallie didn't care. In fact, she decided our startup company should sell chips made from edible bugs. Crushed crickets, actually. Making bug chips with Bug Girl? I was doubly not happy. But that was back in September. It's November now, and a lot has changed. Hallie and I have become friends. She's way nicer and more fun than Erica and Spencer. And I'm really trying not to care (as much) about being popular. But part of me still cares (a little). And I think our cricket chips are PURE GENIUS. Delicious, too. I'm all about edible bugs now. "Ta--da!" Hallie unzipped her purple backpack and pulled out a plastic baggie. The red--and--white homemade label on the front read: Chirps Chips The world's first cricket chip Pushing aside the bags of pretzels, she placed it in the center of the middle shelf. We stepped back to admire it. This was the dream. Our cricket chips on store shelves around the world! "Chirps belongs right there," Hallie said confidently. "I don't know." I couldn't keep the doubt from my voice. "It's a long way from my kitchen to Wegmans. I mean, let's get real. Hot Cheetos aren't made in a house in upstate New York by two twelve--year--olds." "We're just starting out, Jaye. You've got to bee--lieve ." Hallie dragged out the word believe . "I believe in our chips." They're made with cricket powder, so they're super healthy for people and the planet. Everyone who's tried them agrees they taste better---and a bit nuttier---than regular chips. "But it took us almost six weeks to get the recipe right. And we only came in second in the school pitch competition---" "Second is good," Hallie cut in. "We didn't win," I pointed out. "So what? The top two teams still move on to the county pitch competition. We get another chance to win." Hallie grinned. Her smile had a way of overtaking her entire face. I wrapped a long strand of my black hair around my finger. I stared at our little baggie on the shelf, dwarfed by the big, well--known brands. "We have no money, Hals. How can we possibly turn our chips into a snack sensation with no money?" "We can make money. Maybe I can walk dogs. There are lots of dogs in my neighborhood. And you can babysit---" "I hate babysitting," I reminded her. Watching my seven--year--old brother, Eddie, was bad enough. "Okay, fine. I know, we'll collect our old toys and have a yard sale. We can sell our baby stuff, too. Like blankets and rattles." Hallie never ran out of ideas. I twisted my hair tighter. "I don't really have any." I'd moved here from China when I was in kindergarten. My baby stuff had been left behind. Or given away, I guess. And Eddie still played with most of my old toys. I didn't have anything to sell to make the kind of money we needed. Hallie planted her hands on her hips. "We'll figure it out. We'll find a way." "You think?" "Yes! This is too important. Our chips are filled with protein, and eating crickets instead of a hamburgers helps with climate change, because cows use so much water and grass and . . ." Hallie was throwing out the facts I already knew. "We have to do this. You and me. I promise you, Jaye. Someday our chips will be on every supermarket shelf in the nation!" I grinned. "Not the nation. The world! Come on, Hals, you've got to bee--lieve !" Hallie raised her two pointer fingers to her head and wiggled them like antennae. I did the same. This was our special never--give--up cricket signal. "Hey, want to try some chips?" Hallie called to a bearded guy in a baseball cap who was reaching for pretzels. She pointed to our tiny bag. "They're going to be the next big thing." "Bigger than big!" I cried. "Huge!" Hallie added. "Ginormous!" The bearded guy shot us a confused look. Hallie didn't care. She grabbed both of my hands. Together we spun in a circle right in the middle of the snack aisle. Neither of us could stop laughing. Excitement tingled from my fingers to my toes. This wasn't just a school project anymore. Or even a corner lemonade stand. We were going to build a real business. I'd never been at the center of something so important. And Hallie made me believe. In us. Chapter 2 Hallie Chip Domination Road Map 1. Win school pitch 2. Win county pitch 3. Win state pitch 4. Win national pitch 5. Be the BIGGEST, BEST food company EVER and get the WHOLE WORLD to eat bugs! "Jaye Wu and Hallie Amberose?" The woman at the sign--up desk handed us a shiny blue folder. PITCH! The Ultimate Kid--preneurship Pitch Competition was emblazoned in yellow across the front. "That's us." My voice echoed off Hotel Tremain's high ceiling. Mom had dropped us off at the historic redbrick hotel in the center of Andersville. Then she went to the Saturday afternoon farmer's market. I gazed around the fancy ballroom. Round wooden tables had been pushed to the sides, and rows of padded maroon leather chairs filled the center. Kids waited in clumps for the information session to start. I spotted Raul Cortez and Peter Rank. Their Summer Sled had won first place in our school pitch competition. It's a board that gets attached to huge blocks of ice, made from molds. You can carry the ice in a cooler to a park, and the Summer Sled lets you sled down a grassy hill. No snow needed! A total game changer for kids in warm--weather places. "There's Bryar Besson." Jaye pointed to a girl in a green dress with a long thick ponytail. "Who's that?" I glanced down at my T--shirt and rainbow--striped leggings. Should I've dressed up for this? "Bryar plays on my soccer team. I didn't know her school did this, too." Jaye walked into the ballroom, and I followed. "And what's Li--Ming Zhao doing here? I just saw him at Chinese school this morning." "I guess he won his school competition, too." Many middle schools in Kirra County had hosted an entrepreneur competition. Pitch! was like Shark Tank but for kids. The top two teams at each school had come to this special meeting today to learn the rules for the next competition. I watched Jaye wave to other kids. Jaye's always in the middle of a big group. Her grandma drives her all over to soccer practice, cello lessons, orchestra rehearsal, Chinese school, and I don't know what else with lots of different kids. I knew no one there. But that's probably because I go home every day right after school. And because I'm not a group--friend person. Never have been. "Jaye!" A tiny girl hurried over. She wore sweatpants and a hot--pink leotard, as if she'd come straight from gymnastics. "Hey, Posie!" Jaye turned to me. "We went to Federal together. Until she moved." Federal was Jaye's elementary school. I'd gone to Lynwood, on the other side of town. "Where's Spencer?" Posie looked past me. "He's not here," Jaye said. "Oh? I figured he'd be your partner." Posie seemed confused. "I mean, you guys do everything together." "Yeah, well, not anymore . . ." Jaye twirled her hair. She does that when she's uncomfortable. "What happened?" Posie gasped. "Did you have a fight?" "Nothing like that." I stepped forward to rescue Jaye. " I'm her partner." Spencer lived across the street from Jaye, and they'd been best friends since kindergarten. The kids in our grade think he's the coolest. But they're wrong---he's horribly mean. Spencer stole the first business idea Jaye came up with and lied about it, then their friendship crashed and burned. But things weren't so great between them even before he did that. Now Jaye was friends with me. Sometimes I get scared she'll go back to Spencer and Erica Sanchez and all those other popular kids. That she won't think I'm cool enough. She told me she never would, but . . . "EAT BUGS." Posie read aloud the words on my black T--shirt. "What's that?" "It's our mission statement." I'd ironed the white felt letters onto my black T--shirt this morning. I'd made a matching shirt for Jaye, but she'd put her navy sweater over it. "Our tortilla chips are super healthy and yummy, because they're made with cricket powder. They have three times more protein than regular potato chips. Did you know crickets use way less water and natural resources than cows? So food made from crickets is way better for the planet---" Jaye touched my arm. "Too much info, Hals." When I'm excited, I rev up and can't stop talking. "What're you doing?" Jaye asked Posie. "My company delivers personalized activity kits to kids in hospitals." Posie explained how each kid answered an online questionnaire, and then their kit came with books and games chosen especially for them, and even a hospital gown in their favorite color. Two boys from her school came over and told us about the app they designed. It let animal shelters post short videos with great graphics. This helped get even the most scraggly pups adopted. "Welcome, innovators and entrepreneurs!" A bald man in a dark suit tapped a microphone at a podium. "Everyone find a seat." I headed to the first row, but Jaye grabbed my sleeve. "No way! Too close." I followed her to the fourth row, next to Raul and Peter. I opened my Listbook to a fresh page. I love to make lists! Sometimes they're serious, like Important Books I Should Read or Murals to Paint on My Bedroom Wall or Birthday Gifts for Henry (he's my big brother). And lots of times they're just fun, like Words that Rhyme with Clementine or The Top Five Cutest Baby Animals . The guy at the podium spoke again. "I'm Lewis Fletcher, and I'm a teacher at Mount Bancroft Middle." Two kids near the back let out a whoop. I turned to the teachers gathered at the side and waved to Mr. T. I wanted our teacher to have a fan section, too. "You've all been hard at work. You've developed your own business, created a product, and you're figuring out how to sell and market it. You were chosen to move on to the county--wide competition. This next level will not be easy." Fletcher grew serious. "Look to your left. Now look to your right. This room is filled with extreme talent." I twisted in my seat. Desire to win shone bright in every kid's eyes. "The Kirra County Pitch Competition is on December fourth." As he gave details about where it was, I peeked at the calendar on my phone. Today was November 6. December 4 was in four weeks. Plenty of time. "Here's how it will work," he continued. "Each team will have two minutes to present their business plan. You must tell us why your company and product is important, the problem it is solving, and how you plan to grow the business. Then the judges will ask you some questions. All the judges own their own businesses, so be prepared, kids. They know what's up." Jaye and I had already done this for our school competition. We'd just do the same thing again. Easy! "The first--place winner will receive a cash prize of one thousand dollars. Second place will be five hundred dollars. The money must go back into your business." That was mega money! I reached over and squeezed Jaye's hand. Our Pitch Partner Power Pulse, we called it. "The first-- and second--place winners will both move on to the state pitch competition held in New York City"--- Mr. Fletcher paused for effect---"and they'll stay in a luxury hotel for the weekend." The room erupted. This was huge! I'd never been to New York City. Mr. Fletcher tapped the microphone to quiet us. Then he smiled mischievously. "But . . . there's a twist. A few new things you have to do." I scribbled down everything he said. 1. show an INNOVATIVE way we made people aware of our product (like advertising or a big event or a viral video) 2. show how the $ works (cost to make it/price we sell it for/how we'll use $$$ if WHEN we win) 3. complete a Special Challenge (????) Before I could ask Jaye what she thought that meant, we were divided into groups. "Foodies with me," a tall woman with sun--bleached hair called from the far corner of the room. The four food companies in the competition hurried over. Jaye's friend Bryar was there. The woman, whose name was Liz Rees, had us sit in a circle and introduce our products. There was a muffin company (that was Bryar's), a hot sauce company, a gourmet samosa company, and our cricket chips. Ms. Rees shared the story of starting her advertising agency, CurrentZ, and told about her work with startups. Then she asked us to share the inspiration for our company names. "Ours is obvious," I said, when she got to us. "A cricket chirps, and Chirps sounds like chips. And it's an alliteration." I expected Ms. Rees to chuckle. I mean, it's a super--catchy name. But she just nodded, and went on to the next team. Finally, after a lot of instructions on how to give a sales pitch, Ms. Rees handed all four food companies the same neon yellow card with the Special Challenge written on it. Sell 200 units of your product. Keep track of each sale. No sales permitted to family members or relatives. "Two hundred? That's a lot," Jaye whispered. So far we'd only sold five bags since the last competition. And three of them were to Jaye's grandma. "I know, right?" said Bryar. "Our muffins are large, so people won't want to eat a bunch at once." "No big deal," one of the hot sauce boys boasted. "We've got two hundred bottles in my garage. We'll sell them all this week. Like this." He snapped his fingers. "Yeah? So will we," I quickly said. "You'll never beat our hot sauce," the boy taunted. "It's on fire!" "Oh, burn!" His partner fist--bumped him. "Our chips will crunch the competition!" I exclaimed. Bryar laughed at my comeback. "Good pun, right?" I asked Jaye. We liked to try to out--pun each other. Jaye pulled me aside. She looked concerned. "We've only got a few bags of chips to sell." "So we'll make some more." Sure, we had to step up our game, but I wasn't worried. We could bake and sell a bunch of chips. Everyone filed into the lobby to find their parents. Ever since I can remember, I've been the last kid picked up from everything. My mom's an artist, and she's always getting lost in clouds of creative thought. At least, that's what she says. She shows up eventually, so I usually don't stress it. But today I felt embarrassed. Jaye wasn't used to waiting around. Her grandma was always first in line at school pickup. I fumbled an apology, then asked if she wanted to sleep over tonight. "I can't. Family dinner." I chewed the inside of my cheek. She'd given the same excuse last week. Why didn't she ever want to sleep over? Jaye sat on a blue velvet bench, her forehead wrinkled in thought. "Can I use your Listbook?" I hesitated. My Listbook is like my journal, diary, and assignment pad rolled into one. I never let anyone write in it. Until now. I slowly handed it over. She wrote furiously, her left hand cupped protectively over her tiny notes. I sat next to her and waited silently. Finally, she showed me. What We Need to Make 200 Bags of Chips - 3,000 crickets - 8 pounds of corn masa - LOTS of spices - olive oil - mixing bowl & spoon & rolling pin - baking trays & spatula - 200 small bags - 200 labels - KITCHEN!!!! "A kitchen? What about your kitchen?" I cried. We'd cooked our other batches of chips there. Nai Nai helped. Her grandma lives with them and takes care of Jaye and her brother, Eddie. Jaye's mom helped us once, which was great because she's a scientist, and she taught us how to precisely measure out all the ingredients. It turns out cooking is a lot like doing an experiment in a lab. But Jaye's mom is always working. Her dad, too. They're never around. "Eddie has a big tennis tournament soon. He has all these lessons and a mini tournament leading up to it," Jaye explained. "Nai Nai has to take him to everything. We need to hit pause on cooking, because we can't use the oven without her." Nai Nai rules over their spotless, organized kitchen. "A pause? No way! We'll just cook at my house"---I caught Jaye rolling her eyes---"or not." My kitchen was cramped and the counters were cluttered with stuff, like the blender Henry was taking apart, the tangled scarf my mom was knitting, and highlighter pens my dad leaves behind. It's not the best if you're making food to sell. "And we need to buy ingredients. Where are we going to get all those bugs? Crickets cost a lot of money. And we have zero money," Jaye reminded me. "Except for the twenty dollars Auntie Lin sent for my birthday." "That's something. I have ten dollars." "It's not enough." My phone beeped with a text. Mom was outside. "We'll figure it out. Remember what Mr. T said in class? The greatest entrepreneurs aren't afraid to think outside the box." I grabbed Jaye's hand and gave it a squeeze. "So that's what we'll do." Excerpted from Pitch Partners #2 by Laura D'Asaro, Rose Wang, Heather Alexander All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
