002: The Honest Cup
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Chapter 1: A Sunday SurpriseNoah arranged the last of the painted wooden crates on the sand, forming a small counter under his beach umbrella. It was a breezy Sunday morning at Balmoral Beach, and The Honest Cup stall was open for business again. Noah had started this humble venture in outside his mum’s apartment at Cremorne Point with just a card table and a dream – offering used books and cold drinks and treats on a “pay what you feel” honesty system. As he straightened the hand-drawn sign, a girl with sandy-blonde hair and a soccer backpack jogged up, curiosity on her face. Her name was Imogen (Immy for short), a friend from school who had spotted Noah’s stall for the first time while out on a morning run.
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“Wow, Noah, did you make all this yourself?” Immy asked, eyes wide at the colourful sign and the array of lemonade jars and homemade muffins on display. Noah grinned and nodded, explaining that he and a couple of friends put it together with recycled wood and paint. Immy was impressed by the creativity and the cheerful vibe. She’d known Noah since the start of Year 7 at Marist Catholic College North Sydney, but had no idea he ran a beach stall on weekends. Noah chuckled, recalling how Book 1 chronicled the stall’s scrappy beginnings – Jules helping design the logo, Declan lugging supplies – and how surprised they all were when real customers showed up. Now here he was, a few weeks into the Honest Cup experiment, and people were slowly noticing.
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Immy lingered as a few locals came by to grab a drink. She watched in amazement as each person dropped coins (and even a few small bills) into the Honesty Box, a large decorated plastic jar labelled “Pay What You Feel 😊”. There was no fixed price list at all. “So...people just pay whatever?” Immy whispered to Noah, half expecting someone to walk off without paying a cent. Noah nodded. “That’s the idea. We trust them to be fair. It’s kinda an experiment, I guess.” Immy looked sceptical for a moment, but when one woman paid five dollars for a single cup of lemonade (far more than Noah would have charged), Immy’s face lit up. “This is actually so cool,” she said sincerely. “Can I help out? I’ve got some free time before soccer practice.” Noah’s heart lifted – running the stall could be hectic and having another friend on board would be awesome. “Of course! Welcome to The Honest Cup team,” he laughed, handing her an apron. And just like that, Immy joined the little venture, ready to mix drinks and make change (when needed) under the bright morning sun.
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Chapter 2: The Honesty Experiment. With Immy now on board, Noah explained the honesty system in more detail as they worked. He had set out a plastic jar for payments and a small sign that read: “Take what you need, give what you can!” – a motto borrowed from community produce stalls he had read about online. The system was simple: no fixed prices, just trust. Noah told Immy how nervous he’d been at first, leaving the payments entirely up to the customers. “I worried someone might just grab a bunch of muffins and walk away without paying,” he admitted, slicing lemons for a new batch of lemonade. “But honestly, so far most people have been really fair.”
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In fact, a few people had even paid extra, saying they loved the idea. Noah had even read about other honesty stalls where most people respect the system and pay correctly, which gave him confidence to try it in his own community.Immy wiped her hands on her apron and neatly arranged some homemade blueberry muffins (baked by Noah’s mum) on the tray. “So no one’s ever tried to scam you?” she asked. Noah paused thoughtfully. “Well, there was one time... I’m pretty sure a guy took a muffin and only dropped a few coins, like 20 cents.” He shrugged softly, remembering how his heart had sunk seeing so little in the jar after that person left. “But then the next customer—a lady—put in a ten-dollar note for a single iced tea. I think it made up for it,” he said with a smile. Immy grinned, already feeling the positive energy.
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“That’s kind of amazing. It’s like it balances out.”Together they served a couple of high school students who wandered over, surprised to see classmates running a stall. Immy enthusiastically explained the Honest Cup concept to them while Noah poured drinks. One of the students dropped in a gold coin and said, “Keep the change!” as they left. Immy realised this was more than a stall; it was a mini social experiment. The honesty system made customers part of the story – everyone had a choice in what to contribute. “It’s brave, trusting people like this,” Immy remarked as an older gentleman paid for his coffee with exact change. “Brave or crazy,” Noah laughed, “maybe both.” But seeing the honest faces and hearing words of encouragement from happy customers, Noah felt proud. The Honesty Experiment was working, teaching them that trust can go a long way.Immy’s creative side also kicked in.
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She suggested they add a little decor to make the stall even friendlier. During a lull, she pulled out a set of coloured markers from her backpack (she carried them everywhere for sketching ideas between classes). With Noah’s permission, she began to add cute doodles to the blank edges of the sign – a smiling sun, a cartoon lemonade cup, and even a tiny soccer ball kicking across the bottom (a cheeky signature of her love for the sport). Noah watched, impressed. “You’re really good at art,” he remarked. Immy beamed. “Thanks! I love drawing. Maybe we could design a nicer logo sometime.” The stall was slowly becoming not just Noah’s pet project, but a collaborative canvas for all his friends’ talents. By noon, with the sun high and business steady, The Honest Cup had never looked more charming or felt more full of potential.
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Chapter 3: Spreading the Word. As the weeks passed, The Honest Cup grew from a tiny secret to a bit of a local curiosity. Jules, Noah’s friend who had a knack for graphic design and drama club flair, decided it was time to promote their venture. One Saturday, Jules arrived at the beach carrying a stack of freshly printed flyers. Each flyer had a bright logo (the one Jules had helped design in Book 1) and the tagline: “Thirsty? Trust us – The Honest Cup is open Sundays at Balmoral Beach. Pay what you feel!” Jules had even added a cute cartoon cup (inspired by Immy’s doodles) and a map of where to find the stall. Noah couldn’t help but laugh when Jules struck a pose and announced, “Marketing, darling, is everything!” in an over-the-top voice.
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They split up tasks: Jules would hand out flyers at the beachfront walkway and pin them on community notice boards; Declan (ever the tech-savvy jokester) took on social media, posting a photo of the stall on his Instagram with a witty caption: “The Honest Cup – where the price is right (because you set it). #SupportLocal #HonestySystem.” The response was encouraging – a few classmates commented with thumbs-up emojis, and even a teacher from school mentioned seeing it online. Immy helped too: during lunch breaks at school, she’d slip flyers into the library bulletin area and even convinced the front office to let her leave a stack in the lobby.
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The word was spreading organically, and each new customer that showed up on Sundays often said, “Oh, I heard about you from a flyer!” or “I saw you guys on Instagram.” Noah felt a mix of pride and nervousness; The Honest Cup was becoming known, which was great for business – but it also meant more scrutiny.
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One drizzly afternoon, the four friends huddled under the beach umbrella after closing up early. Business had been slow due to the weather, and they found themselves brainstorming ways to attract more people next time. Jules suggested a limited-time special – perhaps a new flavour of juice each week. Immy excitedly proposed they name the drinks after local spots (like a “Balmoral Berry Smoothie”). Declan, however, had a grander idea brewing behind a mischievous grin. “Guys,” he announced, holding up his smartphone, “I think it’s time for a loyalty program.” Noah raised an eyebrow, and Jules smirked knowingly – Declan was half-serious, half-teasing. “Picture this: a loyalty app,” Declan continued, waving his hands like an inventor unveiling the next big thing. “Customers check in every time they drop money in the Honesty Box. Ten visits earns you a free muffin!”
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Immy burst out laughing. “Declan, we barely have a dozen regulars, and you want an app?” she giggled. Declan shrugged with a laugh, “Why not? Start-up companies have been launched on sillier ideas. I’m just saying, Honest Cup 2.0!” Noah shook his head in amusement. “Let’s hold off on the app for now, tech guru. But maybe we can do an old-school loyalty card – like punch a hole for each drink, and 10th one is free.” Jules snapped his fingers. “Oh, I love that! And I can design the little cards.” They all agreed it was a fun idea to reward their supporters, even without a fancy app.
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That evening, Jules sketched out a tiny card with ten coffee cup icons in a row, and Immy offered to get them printed cheap at her dad’s office.
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Declan pretended to be slightly offended that his app idea was reduced to paper cards, but he went along with it with good humour. The Honest Cup now had flyers, an online presence, and even a budding loyalty card system. It felt like their little enterprise was growing up. “We’re basically a small business now, aren’t we?” Noah joked as he packed up a box of supplies. Jules threw an arm over Noah’s shoulder, “Small? Nah, we’re on our way to being the next Starbucks... but honest!” Everyone laughed. Spirits were high – they had no idea that trouble was quietly brewing alongside their success.
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Chapter 4: Rumours and RoadblocksWith increased visibility came something Noah hadn’t anticipated so soon: criticism. Most locals were friendly, even curious about the kids who ran a “pay-what-you-feel” stall on the beach. But a few were... less enthusiastic. It started with small comments. One morning, as Immy was laying out freshly baked banana bread slices, she overheard two older men in jogging gear muttering nearby. “Can they just do that? Sell things here like that?” one grumbled. “I doubt it’s even legal without a permit,” the other responded under his breath. They weren’t exactly quiet – Noah and Immy exchanged worried glances, realising the men were talking about them. When Noah looked up to say a polite hello (as he did to all passersby), the men just gave a curt nod and continued on, shaking their heads.
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A pit formed in Noah’s stomach. Permit? Legal? He hadn’t thought too deeply about it before. It was just a tiny community stall run by kids – surely it wasn’t a big deal... right?The rumblings continued in the following days. A local café owner, whose shop was across the street from the beach, came by one Sunday with her arms crossed. Noah greeted her warmly, offering a sample cup of their new “Mosman Mint Iced Tea”. The woman, whose name tag read Angela, accepted the cup but didn’t drink. Instead, she asked pointedly, “Who’s in charge here?” Noah, a bit intimidated by her brisk tone, replied, “Uh, I guess that would be me. I’m Noah.”
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Angela looked around the stall – at the honesty sign, the jar of cash, the menu of homemade drinks and snacks. “Do you have council approval to operate?” she asked flatly. Noah felt Immy step a little closer beside him. “We... um, this is just a small stand. We’re just kids selling lemonade,” Noah said, trying to keep his voice steady. Angela frowned. “Small or not, this is a public place. You can’t just set up a shop wherever you like. There are rules.” She gestured toward a sign further down the promenade that listed council regulations for beach use. Noah’s throat went dry. He hadn’t even noticed that sign before.By now Jules and Declan, who had been flyering nearby, noticed the tense conversation and wandered back to support their friends.
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Angela continued, not unkindly but firmly, “Look, I appreciate the entrepreneurial spirit. Really, I do. But I pay rent and licenses to run my café. If anyone could just pop a stand wherever, it wouldn’t be fair, would it?” Noah didn’t quite know what to say – he understood her point, but The Honest Cup wasn’t exactly a money-making machine; it was more of a community project (at least in his eyes). Sensing the awkward silence, Immy spoke up respectfully, “We’re sorry if we’ve caused any trouble. We didn’t know about needing a permit.” Angela’s expression softened a touch at Immy’s earnestness. “I’m not trying to shut you down, kids. But others might. Just a heads up – people have started talking, and I’ve heard someone is going to notify the council.” Noah’s heart sank to his toes. Council notification – that sounded serious.
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After Angela left (without drinking the iced tea, which sat sweating on the table), the group gathered in a huddle. Declan kicked at the sand, frustrated. “Great, just great. We try to do something nice and bam, bureaucracy strikes,” he muttered. Jules sighed, folding up the few unsent flyers as if in defeat. Immy put a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe it’s not a big deal?” she offered, trying to be positive. But Noah could already imagine a stern council ranger marching up to them with a fine or a shutdown notice. He recalled hearing or reading that technically you need approval to sell goods from a stall in a public place[1] – something about the Local Government Act, permits, all that official stuff he had never paid attention to.
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Now it was staring them in the face.Their first direct brush with authority came the following Sunday. A middle-aged man in a Mosman Council uniform (khaki shirt with a council logo) strolled over, clipboard in hand. Noah felt his palms sweat. The man introduced himself as Frank, a council ranger. “Morning. Are you the folks running this... stall?” he asked gently. Jules and Immy were about to speak, but Noah stepped forward, trying to appear calm. “Yes, sir. We are. It’s called The Honest Cup.” Frank nodded, glancing at the honesty jar and the setup. For a moment, Noah thought he saw the hint of a smile on the ranger’s face when he read the “Pay What You Feel” sign.
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Frank cleared his throat. “I’ve received a couple of calls about an ‘unlicensed stall’ on council land. I can see you’re just kids doing something constructive, and I personally think it’s a great initiative...” Noah’s tensed shoulders eased slightly in relief, until Frank added, “...however, I do need to advise you that you’re technically not allowed to operate a food or drink business here without council approval. Normally, that means applying for a permit, especially since you’re serving food and drinks to the public.”Noah’s stomach did a flip. “Are... are we in trouble, sir?” he asked quietly. Frank shook his head, offering a reassuring hand wave. “No fines today or anything like that. I’d rather educate than punish. But I can’t guarantee someone higher up won’t take action if this continues without a permit.” He lowered his voice, as if sharing a friendly tip, “Maybe you should talk to the council or look into getting an approval. Or at least, lay low for a bit.” Immy bit her lip. “We understand.
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Thank you for letting us know,” she said. Frank gave them an encouraging nod. “You remind me of my kids... always up to some project. I truly hope you can keep this going. Just do it the right way, okay?” With that, he left, and the friends exhaled collectively, as if they’d been holding their breath for minutes.Noah closed the stall early that day. They had a lot to think about. The rumours had proven true – council was now aware of The Honest Cup. What had started as a simple honest experiment was turning into a lesson on rules and regulations. As Noah locked up the cash box and folded the umbrella, he felt a heaviness in his chest. This stall meant so much to him and his friends. Would they really have to shut it down just because of paperwork? He remembered the last thing Frank said: “Do it the right way.” Those words stuck with him as he headed home, the dusk sky matching his worried mood.
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Chapter 5: Advice at HomeThat evening, Noah sat at the kitchen table picking at a dinner of fish and chips, his appetite lacking. His step-mum, Alex, noticed immediately. “Buddy, everything alright? You’re quieter than usual,” she said, concern in her eyes. Noah glanced up. Across the table his dad was reading something on his phone, but Noah knew he was listening. Dad always had a sixth sense for serious matters. Noah took a breath and explained the day’s events: how a council ranger had visited and the warnings about needing a permit or risk being shut down. As he spoke, Alex put down her fork, and Dad lowered his phone, giving Noah their full attention.
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When Noah finished, Alex reached over to squeeze his hand. “I’m proud of what you’re doing, bud. You’ve shown initiative, honesty, hard work... things some adults never learn,” she said softly. “But,” she added with a small frown, “I do worry. I’d hate to see you heartbroken if the council shuts it all down.” Noah nodded, voicing his own fear: “I just don’t want to lose what we built. Everyone has worked so hard, and people seem to like it.” His dad cleared his throat. “It’s a fine project, son. Teaches you responsibility.
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And you’ve handled money and customers with integrity.” Coming from his dad, that was high praise; he was a straight-shooter who rarely sugar-coated things.Noah mustered the courage to ask the question weighing on him, “What do you think I should do, Dad? Try to get a permit or something? Or... maybe just stop?” The thought of stopping made his chest tight, but he had to consider it. His dad leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “Well, you have a choice to make. If you want to keep going, you’ll need to play by the rules eventually. That might mean permits, fees, maybe even making the stall more professional.” He gave a wry smile, “Bureaucracy isn’t fun, but it’s part of life.” Noah looked down, murmuring, “And if I don’t get official... they could kick us out any day.”
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Darian nodded gravely. “I won’t lie. If someone at council really wanted to, they could send the rangers to shut you down tomorrow.” He tapped the table gently for emphasis. “Remember this, Noah: once you’re visible, someone will want to shut it down. The more success and attention you get, the more you’ll attract two kinds of people – those who support you, and those who find a reason to oppose you.” Noah knew his dad was speaking from experience; Dad had started a small landscaping business years ago and had his share of run-ins with local regulations and competitors. “So what do I do? I don’t want to give up... but I don’t want to break the rules either,” Noah said, voice wavering just a little.His step-mum chimed in gently, “Maybe there’s a middle ground. Have you thought about talking to the council? Explaining what The Honest Cup is about?” Noah shrugged. “I wouldn’t even know who to talk to. It’s not like I can just walk into the town hall and say, ‘Hi, I’m a kid who wants to sell lemonade.’”
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At this, his parents exchanged a quick glance that Noah caught – they had an idea. “Actually,” Alex said slowly, “you can talk to them. Or at least write to them.” She got up and rummaged in a drawer by the phone, pulling out a leaflet. “Here – this is from the Mosman Council newsletter. It has the email and address for the Mayor’s office.” She pointed to a line, and Noah read the name: Mayor Ann Marie Kimber – he recognised it; she’d been mentioned at school during a civics lesson.Noah’s dad raised his eyebrows approvingly, “The Mayor... that’s not a bad idea. Go straight to the top.” Noah was astonished – write to the Mayor? It sounded daunting, but also intriguing. “Would... would the Mayor even read a letter from me?” he wondered out loud.
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His dad shrugged. “Worth a shot. Worst case, she doesn’t see it and some staffer sends a form reply. Best case, maybe she takes interest. A young citizen with an honest small venture – it might strike a chord.” Alex nodded enthusiastically. “If you explain how your stall works on honesty and community spirit, and that you’re trying to do the right thing, I bet she’d listen. It’s a very Mosman thing, honestly – community initiative and all.”Noah allowed a tiny spark of hope to glow inside him. He pushed aside his now-cold fish and chips and said, “Alright. I’ll talk to the others tomorrow and see what they think. Maybe writing a letter could be our way to make it official or at least buy us some goodwill.” As he helped clear the plates, Noah felt grateful. His parents were worried, yes, but supportive.
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They didn’t shut him down or scold him for getting into a sticky situation. Instead, they treated him almost like an adult, discussing solutions. That night, lying in bed, Noah texted Immy, Jules, and Declan in their group chat: “Team meeting tomorrow. Need to decide: go legit or not. I have an idea... tell you at lunch.” His phone buzzed almost immediately with responses of “Ok” and “Got it”. With that settled, Noah finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming of council forms chasing him around the beach (his anxieties often turned to goofy dreams). Little did he know, the next day would bring not only decisions, but also some perspective from an unlikely source – Immy’s world of soccer.
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Chapter 6: Soccer and Sisters. Monday after school, Noah found himself on the sidelines of a grassy soccer field at Mosman Oval. Immy had invited him, along with Jules and Declan, to come watch her soccer practice before their team meeting. She was passionate about soccer – a talented forward on the girls’ junior team and notorious at school for juggling a ball on her knees even while waiting for the bus.
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Normally, Noah might have been too preoccupied to spend an afternoon watching practice, but he figured a bit of normal life (and supporting a friend) would do him good. Plus, he was curious to see Immy in its element. On the field, Immy was a force of nature. She darted between cones, passed the ball with precision, and scored two impressive goals during a practice scrimmage. Noah, Jules, and Declan cheered from the bleachers as if it were a championship match, earning a playful eye-roll from Immy’s coach. After practice, Immy jogged over, sweat-damped hair and an enormous grin on her face. “So, what’d you think?” she panted, dropping her duffel bag by the bleachers. “You were awesome!” Jules exclaimed. Declan nodded, “Sign me up for your fan club, Immy. I want season tickets.” Immy laughed and towelled off her face. Noah gave her a thumbs up. “That last goal was epic. You’re like Sam Kerr out there.” At the mention of the famed Australian striker, Immy’s eyes lit up. “Sam Kerr is my idol!
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Ever since I was little, I’ve dreamed of playing internationally like her,” she admitted.As they all sat down on the grass to chat, a tall girl with the same sandy-blonde hair approached – Immy’s older sister, Rachel. Rachel was about 17 and had her car keys in hand. “Hey Immy, ready to go? Oh, hi guys!” she said, recognising Noah and the others from the few times she’d picked Immy up at school. “Hi Rachel!” they chimed back.
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Rachel was friendly and often teased Immy, but clearly cared a lot about her. “Mum’s got dinner almost ready, so we gotta hustle,” Rachel told her sister, then noticed their serious faces. “Everything okay?” Immy gave a quick summary: “We’ve got a bit of an issue with our beach stall. Council stuff. We’re about to have a meeting on it.” Rachel, being older and perhaps wiser in the ways of school clubs and events, gave a sympathetic smile. “Council, huh? They can be sticklers. Good luck, guys. And Immy, don’t forget to mention Dad’s idea – could help.” Immy nodded, “I will, thanks.”After Rachel left, the four friends sat in a circle on the grass to finally hash out their decision.
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But before they dove in, Noah was curious about what Rachel hinted. “What idea from your dad?” he asked Immy. Immy took a sip from her water bottle. “Oh, right. So my parents are from the UK, yeah? They love those British community traditions. My dad said this whole honesty stall reminds him of the honesty boxes they use in English villages – like people leave out vegetables or eggs with a little money box. He thought maybe we could spin it as a community service or something, not a business, if we talk to the council. Like, we’re not trying to make a profit, we’re encouraging community spirit.” Jules snapped his fingers, “That’s a really good angle. Community spirit project, I like that.” Declan smirked, “Maybe we tell them we’re doing a school project on trust. Hey, whatever helps.” Noah filed that thought away for the letter. Emphasise the community and honesty aspect – make it sound less like a rogue lemonade stand and more like a social good initiative.
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Immy then shared another titbit, this one more personal: “Honestly, I joined you guys because it reminded me of why I love soccer. It’s fun and brings people together. But also, like, I play by the rules because that’s fair. If someone cheats in a game, it ruins it. Same with this – if we try to dodge the rules, it kind of ruins the spirit of what we’re doing.” She looked at Noah, eyes earnest. “I think we should be honest with the council, just like we want our customers to be honest with us.” Noah felt a warm respect for Immy in that moment. She managed to connect her passion for fair play in sports to their current dilemma in such a clear way. It was true – how could they run an honesty-based project if they weren’t being above-board with the authorities?The conversation drifted a bit as they packed up to walk to a nearby café for their meeting (and some much-needed hot chocolate).
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On the way, Jules walked beside Noah and nudged him. “Did you see how happy Immy was out there playing? She’s got big dreams, huh.” Noah nodded. “Yeah, playing internationally… that’s huge.” Jules smiled, “I bet she’ll do it too. She’s so dedicated. I mean, she shows up early to our stall and never misses practice. If we all bring that level of dedication, we can handle this council thing.” Jules’ words bolstered Noah’s confidence. Dedication and honesty – they had those strengths in their team, no doubt about it.As they settled around a table with steaming mugs, Declan joked, “Maybe Immy can become a Matilda and then sponsor The Honest Cup with her soccer millions.” Immy laughed, tossing a sugar packet at him. “Deal – but you’ll have to make the smoothies for my team when we win the World Cup.” The friends chuckled, the mood lighter. Noah realised this little detour into Immy’s world was exactly what they needed – perspective.
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Win or lose, official or not, they had already gained so much: friendship, skills, and a sense of community. That thought steeled Noah’s resolve as they moved on to the main topic: what to do about the stall’s future.
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Chapter 7: Decision Point. In the cozy corner of the café, over the next hour, the quartet laid out all their options and concerns. Noah spread a napkin on the table and began to scribble notes (the back of Immy’s flyer for an upcoming soccer fundraiser also got used for impromptu note-taking). “So, basically two paths,” he said, drawing a line down the middle of the napkin. “Option 1: Get official. Option 2: Stay low-key (or quit).” They all stared at the two stark choices in ink.After a sip of cocoa, Noah listed out Option 1’s implications: applying for a permit or approval, which might mean: - Paperwork and fees: Possibly filling forms and paying for a stall license. (Declan quickly googled on his phone and grimaced, “Temporary food stall… looks like it could be over a hundred bucks for a permit.” Jules winced – that was basically all the money they had in the honesty jar at the moment.) - Parental or adult help: Since they were minors, an adult might have to be the official applicant. “My mum would probably do it for us if it comes to that,” Noah commented. - Council conditions: They might have to set fixed prices or get a food safety check. That could change the casual vibe. “We’d probably have to buy a proper cooler or something for the drinks, maybe even a hand-washing station,” Immy mused, recalling seeing those at school bake sales. - Scheduling: If official, they might be restricted to certain times or events. Perhaps the council would only allow them on market days or special events.Then Option 2: keep it scrappy, which meant: - Do nothing new: Just continue as is and hope they could fly under the radar. (This felt unrealistic now with the attention they’d gotten. “Ignorance won’t be bliss if a fine drops in our lap,” Jules sighed.) - Relocate or downsize: Maybe moving the stall off the beach to someone’s front yard or making it a private pop-up might avoid council jurisdiction. But that defeated the purpose – they wanted to be where people were, building community. - Quit (at least for now): Close up shop until they figured out a better plan. This option hung in the air like a gloomy cloud; no one wanted to say it out loud, but it was technically an option.
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Declan, ever the optimist when it came to ideas, spoke up first. “Look, going official sounds like a pain, but it could be worth it. If we had permission, imagine how much more we could do! We could advertise openly, maybe even expand.” His eyes shone at the thought of growth. “Plus, if we got a permit, maybe we could even do this at the Mosman Market or events where there are more people.” Jules nodded slowly, “True, official could unlock things. But... the cost, though. We’re not exactly rolling in profits here.” He scribbled some numbers: they had made some money each weekend, but most of it went back into buying ingredients or new cups.
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They weren’t charging fixed prices, so some days they barely broke even. “If we have to start paying fees, we might need to actually charge set prices or get sponsorship,” Jules noted. The idea of asking people to pay a fixed price felt almost like betraying the honesty concept. Immy added, “Yeah, and would it even be The Honest Cup if it wasn’t pay-what-you-feel? That’s our whole thing.”Immy gently advocated for doing things the right way but keeping their values. “Maybe there’s a compromise. Could we get like a temporary permit for a community stall? Perhaps the council has something for charity or youth projects.” She remembered her dad’s suggestion and mentioned it now: framing it as a community project or educational initiative. If the council saw it that way, maybe they’d waive fees or allow flexibility.
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Noah liked that angle. It wasn’t even a lie – they genuinely were doing this to bring people together (and yes, to learn and have fun, not to become tycoons).Jules twirled a pen between his fingers, considering Option 2. “If we keep low-key...we could also try to partner with someone who has a permit. Like what if we ‘piggyback’ on Angela’s café somehow? Sell her coffee at the beach or something on commission so it’s under her license?” It was a creative thought, but likely complicated. Declan shook his head, “Doubt she’d go for that, she wasn’t exactly friendly. And then it wouldn’t be our independent thing anymore.” The group fell silent for a moment.Noah looked at each of his friends. “I won’t lie, guys. Part of me just wants to keep doing it under the radar. I love our little stall the way it is – no formalities, just trust. It feels...pure.” His voice caught a bit; it was the first time he articulated how much The Honest Cup meant to him beyond the surface.
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Immy reached over and gave his hand a supportive squeeze. “I know. It’s special.” Noah sighed and continued, “But I also don’t want to risk it all blowing up. If we got shut down out of nowhere one day, I think that would feel worse.” Jules agreed softly, “It would be pretty crushing to get kicked out in front of customers or something. Better to handle it on our terms if we can.”Gradually, a consensus emerged: they would try to work with the system, not against it. None of them wanted to quit, and the risks of doing nothing were too high now. Declan raised his cocoa mug, now mostly empty but it served as a prop for a toast. “To doing it the honest way,” he said. “Honest with our customers and honest with the council.” The others clinked their mugs and echoed, “To the honest way!” A plan began forming: Noah would write a letter to the Mayor, as his parents suggested. They would explain the situation and essentially ask for guidance or permission. “Better to ask before we’re forced to stop,” Jules noted. “It shows goodwill on our part.”They divvied up tasks in case things moved forward. Jules and Immy would research any community youth programs or grants that might support The Honest Cup – maybe there was funding or a program for young entrepreneurs or community projects in Mosman.
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Declan offered to look into the technical side: “If we need to do a formal application online, I can help fill it in once we get the green light.” But first, the letter. Everything hinged on that plea to the Mayor.Noah pulled out his notebook and jotted a rough outline as they brainstormed key points: - Introduce who they are: local students (Year 7) who started a small honesty-based refreshment stall at Balmoral Beach. - Explain the concept of The Honest Cup: pay-what-you-feel, building trust and community, cleaning up after themselves, being responsible, etc. - Emphasise the positive community response and the values of honesty and entrepreneurship it’s teaching them. - Acknowledge the issue: they recently learned they might be breaking rules by not having a permit. - Humbly ask for advice or permission: is there a way for them to continue this project legally?
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Perhaps a special permit, or being part of an event, or any guidance the council can provide. - Promise to follow any guidelines: they are willing to register, get inspections – whatever is needed – they just want to keep their project going. - Keep the tone respectful and enthusiastic, not entitled.Immy also suggested adding how they are not doing it for big profit but for experience and community. “Make it clear we’re not some rogue business trying to avoid fees – we’re kids with a positive idea.” Noah agreed wholeheartedly. By the time they left the café, Noah had a page full of notes for the letter and, more importantly, the support of his friends in moving forward. The moral dilemma was essentially resolved in their minds: they would try to make it official without losing the heart of The Honest Cup.The late evening sky was deep purple as they walked home in different directions. Noah felt a mix of nerves and optimism. Writing to the Mayor was intimidating, but it also felt proactive. “This time last week, I wouldn’t have imagined we’d be doing this,” he said to Declan as they parted ways at a corner. Declan chuckled, “Hey, life comes at you fast. Today it’s a letter to the Mayor, tomorrow it’s The Honest Cup franchises all over Sydney!” Noah laughed and shook his head. “One step at a time, man. One step at a time.”
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Chapter 8: The Letter to the MayorThe next afternoon, Noah sat at his desk, a blank notebook page in front of him and his laptop open for reference. He had never written a formal letter like this, let alone to someone as important as the Mayor of Mosman. A half-eaten sandwich lay next to him (fuel for thought, his mum insisted). He took a deep breath, clicked his pen, and began to write draft one on paper – he found it easier to get his thoughts out in handwriting first, then he’d type it up neatly.“Dear Mayor Kimber,” he began, then paused. Was that too direct? Should he say “Dear Madam Mayor” or something?
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After a moment, he continued, deciding simplicity was fine. He introduced himself: “My name is Noah Macey, and I am a Year 7 student at Marist Catholic College North Shore in North Sydney.” He noted that he was a Mosman resident (since the Mayor would want to know he’s a local kid). Next, Noah described The Honest Cup: “Along with three friends, I have started a small weekend refreshment stall at Balmoral Beach, using an honesty system where customers pay what they feel is fair. We sell homemade lemonade, iced tea, and snacks, and we operate only on Sunday mornings.” He made sure to mention how tidy they are: “We always clean up after ourselves and keep the area tidy, and we’ve had many beachgoers appreciate our presence.” He wanted to paint a picture of responsible, community-minded kids, not troublemakers.Noah then moved to the heart of the issue. “We recently learned that our stall might be in violation of council regulations because we do not have a permit or official approval. As soon as we realised this, we knew we had to reach out and do the right thing.” He explained that they were newcomers to these rules and meant no harm: “Please know that we started this project with good intentions – to bring our community together and learn about business in a small way – and not to flout any laws or compete unfairly with local businesses.” He even referenced that one of their inspirations was the traditional honesty boxes and community stalls (the titbit Immy’s dad gave): “The idea was inspired by community honesty stalls I’ve heard about in Australia and overseas, where trust and community spirit are emphasised.”Noah found himself writing with passion now. He truly cared about this project, and he hoped that came through. He then made the ask: “I am writing to respectfully ask for your guidance and permission regarding our stall. Is there a way for us to continue The Honest Cup without breaking any rules? We are willing to apply for any permits or follow any guidelines required. We would also be open to participating in council events or community programs if that is more appropriate.” He recalled from the council info that non-profit ventures sometimes had fee exemptions[2], so he added: “Our stall is not for profit – any small amount of money we make generally goes back into buying ingredients, and we’ve also discussed donating a portion to a local charity once we cover costs.” (That last part was something they had talked about as a possibility for the future; including it now felt right, and he knew his friends would back it.)
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As the letter neared its end, Noah concluded with sincerity: “We love Mosman and our little project has brought joy to us and many locals. We just want to do the right thing and continue in a respectful way. Thank you very much for taking the time to read this letter. We hope to hear from you with any advice or instructions you might have for us.” Finally, he signed off: “Sincerely, Noah , on behalf of The Honest Cup team (Imogen , Jules , and Declan ____).” He included their last names and even their school name again for good measure.Reading back over the draft, Noah felt it was earnest and clear. He typed it up on his laptop, formatting it like a real business letter with his address and the date at the top, and the Mayor’s address (thanks to the newsletter his mum gave him) below that. Before printing, he called in his proofreaders: Mum, Dad, and his step-sister, Autumn (who mostly came for moral support and to peek at what her step-brother was doing).
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His mum suggested one or two minor wording tweaks (like changing “ask for permission” to “seek guidance and permission” to sound more polite). His dad nodded in approval at the respectful tone, and joked, “If she doesn’t respond positively to this, I’ll eat my hat.” Noah chuckled. For the first time in days, he felt a lightness – a sense that he had done everything he could.He printed the letter on a clean sheet of paper. It was a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, to send a physical letter in the age of email. But something about putting it on paper made it feel more real and intentional. Plus, Mayor Kimber was known to respond to community letters in the local newspaper. Noah even included a photo of The Honest Cup that Jules had taken (a nice shot with the four of them smiling behind the stall) by paper-clipping it to the letter – a visual aid to help the Mayor understand what it was.
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That Wednesday after school, Noah and Immy walked together to the Mosman Council chambers (a short bus ride then a few blocks’ walk). Immy insisted on coming along for support, and Noah was grateful. Standing in front of the imposing doors of the Council building, Noah suddenly felt butterflies. “I… maybe I should have just mailed it,” he murmured. Immy patted his shoulder. “No way, this is better. We hand it to them, we know it gets there.” Inside, a receptionist greeted them. Noah had rehearsed a line: “Hello, I’m here to deliver a letter for Mayor Kimber.” The receptionist smiled at the two clearly nervous kids and accepted the envelope. “I’ll make sure she gets it,” she said kindly. “Do you want to leave a return address or contact?” Noah had already included his email and phone in the letter header, so he just thanked her and said that info was inside. As they turned to leave, Immy whispered, “We did it!” and gently high-fived Noah.
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Now, all they had to do was wait. And waiting, as it turned out, was the hardest part. Each day after that, Noah checked his email obsessively and asked his mum if any mail had arrived. Jules suggested they not expect anything for at least a week – “She’s a Mayor, probably super busy,” he reasoned. Declan joked that maybe the Mayor would show up in person at the stall one day as a response. “Imagine Mayor Kimber coming for a lemonade!” That image both thrilled and terrified Noah – he wasn’t sure if he’d give her the drink for free or not, given the Honest Cup rules!Sunday came around again, and they decided to operate as usual unless told otherwise.
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With a sort of tentative hope, they reopened The Honest Cup that week, feeling a bit like they were under a spotlight. Every time a council-looking person strolled by, Noah tensed, but nothing happened. Word must not have gotten to any enforcement, or perhaps (he dared to think) maybe Mayor Kimber had intervened quietly to let them be for now. In truth, it was just a quiet weekend with no interference. A couple of the regular customers even said, “Glad you’re still here! Heard some folks were fussing about permits – hope it all works out.” This support buoyed their spirits.As the sun set on that Sunday, Noah counted the coins in the honesty jar with Immy, Jules, and Declan. It was enough to cover costs and then some – which they agreed to save in case they needed to pay a permit fee soon. They sat on the sand and watched the water, tired but proud. “No response yet, huh?” Declan asked gently. Noah shook his head, “Not yet. But it’s only been a few days.” Jules tossed a pebble into a gentle wave. “I have a good feeling. I bet she’ll respond.” Immy leaned back on her elbows, looking at the pink and orange streaked sky. “However it turns out, we did the right thing. That matters.” Noah smiled at his friends. “Yeah, it does. We’ve been honest, stayed true to what this was all about.”