The idea for ‘the nook’ was sparked when a worker at our school store rudely dismissed me, saying, “You came early, I will NOT sell you any noodles. Get out.” At first, I assumed he owned the store and immediately wanted to compete, driven by the idea of stealing his customers. My frustration only grew when a friend complained, “All they do is buy stuff from Costco and resell at higher prices!” It was one of those casual protests, but it stayed with me. Fueled by a mix of annoyance and ambition, I began crafting a business plan. I envisioned ‘the nook’ as a food corner where students could buy snacks, lunches, and drinks at affordable prices, while experiencing the warmest service imaginable.
People often say, “The worst they could say is no.” But my principal said “no” six times in a row, insisting it was impossible to open another school store. I mentally calculated the money I was losing and grew bitter with the school store’s monopoly.In a seemingly desperate move, I approached the teacher who managed the school store, proposing a collaboration. I’d operate under their name and give them a share of the profits. He agreed, but it was postponed for months until I presented him with an 80-response survey, all confirming students’ eagerness to buy from ‘the nook.’ Finally, he asked, “What do you need to start? A table?” That moment felt like a highlight of my high school career–I could almost hear the sound of coins pouring in.
But, they didn’t. On my first day, a few students tried to steal snacks and mocked ‘the nook.’ I angrily snatched back granola bars, questioning why I’d started this venture. Where I had once felt triumphant, I now felt defeated.
One day, as I was storing products in the school store’s freezers, the teacher shared how all their profits went toward scholarships, school merchandise, and pizza parties for students. Suddenly, my initial motivations feel misguided. Was I trying to compete against a community resource, assuming the worst about them? That day, I promised myself that I would support and not oppose our student community. When we sold out of our initial Costco stock, I began sourcing from local businesses, adding items like soap bars, chocolate, tea, chips, and soups. The local shop owners we partnered with shared how our collaboration has strengthened community ties. One even mentioned the therapeutic nature of such connections, though I laughed it off at the time.
Another moment of realisation came during a friend’s presentation about his depression. He shared his experience of being abandoned and losing a friend to violence. He spoke about how, while people often seem desensitised to death due to social media and video games, witnessing it firsthand can be devastating. My friend had been one of those affected, withdrawing from society. Government aid barely covered his needs, and he had to work to afford expensive therapy. Looking at ‘the nook’s’ small money box, I decided to give him our first $157 in profits. He insisted on helping, so he became a new member to the team, working to pay for therapy. As the year went on, our team grew to ten student workers, all earning money to support their well-being.
“Your store has become a beacon of hope,” my friend wrote in a letter he gave me at graduation. “Not just providing the financial support I need to continue therapy but also creating a sense of community and belonging that I had been missing.” He is improving, attending therapy once a month instead of twice a week.
Eventually, ‘the nook’ collapsed–literally. As I scrambled to gather scattered coins and snacks, hands reached out to help: old customers, new ones, even the kids who tried to steal granola bars. In that moment, as I thanked everyone repeatedly, I saw the impact ‘the nook’ had made. It’s apparent that it had become more than a food stand; it built a community I was proud to be a part of.
Story by: Jessie Luo