Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
He breathes. And when he’s back on my other side, he exhales, “I did it.”
“You did it.” We bump knuckles.
His smile appears, then he leans forward like he just got off a rollercoaster. “Don’t ever let me do that again. I think I’m gonna hurl.”
It’s safe to say public speaking is not for him.
“Luna.”
My turn.
I put away my notecards and go front and center.
“I have a PowerPoint,” I remind Uncle Stokes. He slides the remote to me, and before I click into the main slide, I address the board. “My grandfather loved this company. I’ve always called it his brainchild, but it wasn’t really a baby to him, I’ve realized. It was the embodiment of his love for my mom and my aunts. So the success of Fizzle is important to me—because its foundation was built on love and family. And I want it to always embody those things.”
No one is speaking.
No one is scribbling notes.
Okay, that might be bad. As I angle towards the screen against the wall, I remember how much I love my proposal. How much I believe in my product and pitch. And how much Donnelly believes in me too.
I light up the boardroom with visuals of the future. “Fizz O’Naut.” The tallboy aluminum can has wrap-around tattoo-styled art. American traditional, thanks to Donnelly. A purple astronaut holds the same can and floats in a bubble.
The tagline: fizz me up
The board leans in for a closer inspection.
“Is it beer?” Chett Wagner asks.
“No,” I smile. “It’s water, but it’s cool to drink water.” I click, and the slide shows a blue version of the astronaut. “Sparkling water.” Another slide. Green with a lime in the astronaut’s hand. “Flavored water. It could be supplied at breweries, festivals, sporting events, for anyone who wants the feeling of drinking a beer but would rather hydrate. And it’s more environmentally friendly than plastic.”
I go into demographics and numbers, and they ask a few more questions before I’m done. My smile hasn’t shrunk.
“That was awesome,” Xander whispers with the biggest smile. It magnifies mine even more.
Eliot grins in pride. “Well played.”
Yep, I’m on cloud nine. I’ve soared to a beautiful height, and I love it here. Whatever happens, at least I put in maximum effort. I gave it everything I could. Still, I’m crossing my fingers, toes, eyelashes and any invisible limbs—all in hopes that Charlie bows out of the race.
And that’s when I finally accept how much I really, really want to win.
“Charlie,” Uncle Stokes calls.
Quit.
Drop out.
I’m manifesting my destiny, okay.
It doesn’t work.
Charlie stands among the board, and he doesn’t give a resignation speech. Instead, he says, “I present to you nothing.”
Mr. Wagner flusters. “Nothing?”
“This has to be a joke,” Ms. Kapoor mutters.
“No joke,” Charlie says. “If you choose me, I will do nothing. I will not destroy the company, but I won’t better it either. I will simply ensure that none of you run Fizzle into the ground—and if you think it’s for some hackneyed reason like love and family…” Ouch, direct hit at me. “It’s worse. It’s because I know where my money comes from. And I do love to travel.” He sports an irritated smile. “So choose me, and this is what you get. Thank you. The pleasure was never mine.” He exits without a single word.
Eliot claps and tries so hard not to laugh. “Standing O, brother!” I wonder if anyone could hear him through the wall.
Eliot is the only one on his feet.
The board sees, and now they seem unsettled by Eliot. The real mischief-maker is showing. But as we pack up our things, I still hear the board advocating for Charlie.
We were always fighting for second.
Second.
It’s a better placement than I think anyone would expect for a Hale. Can I have that at least?
Halway Comics.
Future number two. An opportunity not yet given or taken.
My dad has spoken very little behind his desk. We delivered the draft of the comic book (volume one) to him not too long ago, and he’s given no indication he’s even finished it yet. He asked to meet us. Hence, Donnelly and I standing side by side, too much anticipation to even sit. We’re waiting for any reception or feedback.
Dad flips open the draft and slips on reading glasses.
“It’s a space opera,” I say, nervous. We should’ve come in with an actual pitch, but I figured we’ve talked about this comic at the dinner table with him. He didn’t need a formal presentation.
Big mistake.
He probably wants professional. To see how much we’re really invested in this project, and it’s a whole lot. So I start saying, “The story mirrors our lives, but it’s sci-fi with an alien princess and a human and a little bit of time travel.”
“It’s soft sci-fi,” Donnelly adds, studying my dad too.
“Uh-huh,” I nod. “The mainstream market should be able to digest it still. It’s not that bizarre.”