lemonade stand

We're driving back from Target, through the winds and turns of the hilly roads. As we speed through the trees, a boy standing on the edge of the street begins to wave a sign at us. I follow him as we drive past, glancing quickly at the other boy and the table he sat at.
"Oh, they're selling lemonade! Can we go back, please?" I plead with my mother. It is hot but I'm not terribly thirsty. I just want to stop and make those boys smile. There's something about knowing I've made someone's day that fills my own day, makes me smile. That in that smile, theirs and mine, we somehow felt life. Real life.
When we reach an opening in the road, my mother u-turns and heads back to the boys, mumbling about how she must be doing something illegal all for a cup of lemonade. I laugh and look out for the lemonade stand.
We slow to a stop as we come near the boys. I roll down my window and smile at them. They must be about 11 or 12 but don't quote me. I'm terrible with guessing age, estimating time or distance. Basically, don't ask me questions concerning numbers, thanks.
"Hi, can we have one cup of lemonade?"
The thicker, blond boy sitting at the table says sure and pours me my craved cup of yellowy goodness. Both boys have wide smiles on their faces that light my own face as I look back at them. My favorite.
"How much?"
"A dollar."
"A dollar?!" my mother exclaims, teasingly. "What is this, La Cañada pricing?"
The blond boy answers, "Yep" with a laugh.
"Do we get a discount for coming back for you guys?" Just give them the damn dollar. "We just passed you, you know."
The dark-haired boy, still in his school uniform, comes forward to the car and I smile at him as I hand him the dollar and he passes over the small styrofoam cup. I say thanks and, still smiling, he nods but keeps quiet. He turns back to his friend and says laughingly, "A whole dollar!" We're their only customers. He runs back into the house. My mother and I wave at the blond boy as we move forward and turn back.
Zooming back up the hill towards home, I take the first sip of my lemonade. It's thick and entirely undiluted. I wince, then smile at the sour taste of the unsweetened, pulpy juice.