Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK by Betsy St. Amant Read Free Book Online Page A

tanned arm in the air first. At Señora Martinez’s nod, she lowered her arm. “Do we have to audition? Or does everyone who wants to perform get to perform?” I could tell she wasn’t worried about passing an audition so much as sharing the stage with those less worthy.
    “It depends on the turnout,” Señora said. She perched on the edge of her desk, her flowing blue cape settling around her legs. Did she really dress in Spanish garb 24-7, or was it just part of her role as teacher? Because honestly, I could probably learn Spanish better from someone in jeans.
    Señora tapped the flyer. “There are thirty time slots available on Wednesday. If more people show up for the audition, they’ll go ahead with tryouts. If not, those who want the slots will get them.”
    “Not a problem.” Jessica flashed her pearly teeth, and I wondered not for the first time this year how often she Crest white-stripped.
    “Marta, you had a question as well?” Señora Martinez pointed at Marta.
    She nodded. “I was curious what the proceeds from the show went toward.”
    “Proceeds?” Señora frowned. “I don’t understand.”
    “Proceeds from ticket sales, refreshment sales …” Marta’s voice trailed off, and she threw me a confused look. Sadly, there was no language barrier here, just plain lack of caring from the people involved.
    I leaned over and whispered, “Usually any money earned just gets thrown into the school’s general fund or the drama department. It’s always more for performance than for a good cause.” More accurately, a way for the popular to grow more popular and the ridiculed to become more ridiculed, but that was a point to share another time.
    “Doch!
That’s such a waste.” Unfortunately, Marta didn’t whisper, and now the entire class was all ears. She realized the attention and stood formally to her feet. “Why not charge extra this year and find a good cause to donate funds? That’s what we do in Stuttgart. European teenagers are much more involved with their communities and beyond than what I’ve seen here. I think we should change that.”
    Señora crossed her arms over her chest and nodded thoughtfully. “Marta, that’s a wonderful idea. I’ll bring it up to the principal and the school board at our next meeting. I don’t see why they would object.”
    Um, I could—because someone would have to be in charge of picking a good cause, researching it, adding that tidbit of information to the flyers and other means of advertising, helping promote in new ways so we’d actually bring in some decent proceeds, rallying the students to actually care enough to put on a quality performance, and keeping up with the funds raised, as well as getting the money to the charity afterward. Somehow I didn’t see any of the staff willing to go to all that trouble without personal or direct school benefit.
    I raised my arm to explain the hazards involved, although I hated to contradict Marta. It
was
a good idea. But there would be a lot involved that could backfire on her later.
    “Addison, excellent!” Señora clapped her hands with excitement, bangles dancing. “You’ll make a perfect leader for this. Thanks for volunteering.”
    My arm slipped back down to my lap, suddenly numb, as Marta enthusiastically patted my back.
    What just happened?

Chapter Six
    S till lingering in my post-volunteer shock even as the bell rang an hour later, I shuffled into the hallway with the throng of fellow escaping students. Though there was no escaping this particular mess I’d made.
    Marta stuck close to my side in the crowd. “I’m so excited you’re going to organize this fund-raiser.” Her gentle voice lilted higher as she leaned in to be heard over the slamming of lockers around us. “This will be wonderful.”
    I stopped at my own locker and just stared, not even sure which class I had next, much less what book I needed. What had I gotten myself into? I replayed the last hour in my mind and tried to