7 Clues to Winning You by Kristin Walker Read Free Book Online

things smoothed out a bit between my parents and grandparents. Even more when Zach did. When Dad got the job as principal seven years ago and began hinting at something even higher, Granddad took it as an aspiration to politics and began slapping Dad on the back and shaking his hand and listening to Dad’s conversationat the dinner table. When Dad registered as a Republican, I think Granddad nearly cried.
    On my way to the main office, I composed my petition for redress. I made a list of reasons why Luke Pavel’s online rag and the Senior Scramble should be given the ax. Posting the picture last year was nothing more than bullying. I knew for a fact that Dad had a zero-tolerance policy for that, so the bullying angle was probably my best bet. I would include the caption contest and yearbook picture in my bullying argument too. With any luck, I might be able to get him to recall the yearbook proofs.
    As for the scavenger hunt, well, that was simply a bad idea. It had the potential to get out of hand. It was probably illegal, technically, even if it did just involve petty theft. It wasn’t fair to expect the police to turn a blind eye to criminal mischief every year. Someone could easily get hurt. Someone
had
gotten hurt. And frankly, the scavenger hunt was tacky. I decided I’d save that last point in case I needed to appeal for my mother’s help.
    I would present my case in a sensible, logical fashion. I would not get upset. I would not play the crying card. There’d be no need to. Dad would see that I was right about the online newspaper, right about the Senior Scramble, even right about the yearbook. He would be taking a firm stance on bullying and sparing the junior class indignity and peer pressure.
    It would make him look like a strong and responsible leader to the school board when the superintendent position opened up.
    * * *
     
    Just before the head secretary, Gladys, put on her official secretarial smile, I caught a glimpse of burnt-out exhaustion on her face. In that second, she’d looked ten years older than in the next, when she blinked a few times and said cheerfully, “Oh! How was your first day?”
    Long ago, I had made two policies for myself: never complain to strangers, and never answer kindness with antagonism. So even though I wanted to tell her that it was terrible, then brush by her without permission and barge into my father’s office, I didn’t. I put my own official smile on my face and said, “It was fine. Thank you for asking. I was hoping to see my father for a minute. Is he available?” Dad’s workday didn’t end until an hour and a half after school did.
    Gladys glanced behind her at Dad’s office door. It was partially open, so she nodded and waved me by. I thanked her and wished her a nice afternoon and then crossed to Dad’s door. I knocked softly and peered around the edge. “It’s me,” I said.
    Dad stood up quickly and motioned me inside. He skirted around his desk and placed his hands on either side of my shoulders. He gave them a squeeze and said, “So? How’d it go?”
    I opened my mouth to launch into my petition, but for some reason, my brain did a quick run-down of the day like a highlights clip. Actually, a lowlights clip would be more accurate. I saw the girl who called me that first derogatory name this morning. I saw my exchange with Luke Pavel where he said my father was a fascist. I saw myself standing in the lunchroom realizing that I’d have to sit alone. I sawthe issue of
Buried Ashes
on the computer screen. I saw Luke Pavel’s smug expression from a few minutes ago.
    And I started to cry.
    No!
I thought.
No crying! Not yet, anyway!
But it was no use. The tears kept spilling out like they’d escaped captivity. I inhaled in jerky gasps. My nose started to run. Dad shut the office door, pulled me to him, and wrapped his arms around me. I sank my face in his shoulder and sobbed.
    Dad stroked the length of my hair and whispered, “Hey, hey. It couldn’t