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

figure out what had gone so terribly wrong. Apparently I missed a step—a pretty crucial one—sometime between when Señora Martinez mentioned Marta’s idea was a good one and when I raised my hand to argue. Well, maybe not argue. More like inform. A now moot point as I was suddenly a hero—at least in Marta’s eyes. I bet the rest of the class could not care less about my volunteering—or worse yet, maybe they realized my blunder from the expression that had surely been on my face and were laughing at me.
    Marta continued as if I hadn’t totally spaced out. “I’d be happy to help you. I know this is a big task.”
    I couldn’t help but smile at her more formal manner of speech. Is that how I would sound if I ever became fluent in Spanish? Not that there was any danger of that happening soon. Yet another moot point. “I don’t even know where to start,” I finally said. Oh yes, math was next. Great. This day just kept getting better. I swapped out my books in my locker.
    Marta’s head tilted to one side as if the answer were obvious. “First, you should choose a charity or good cause to contribute the funds to and get the charity approved by the principal.”
    “You say that like it’s so simple,” I argued. “There are a zillion good causes out there. How can I narrow it down?” And if I did, how would I choose something anyone would care enough about to promote or invest in? Something relevant that would appeal not only to the students but more importantly, to their parents and families and to the community. They were the ones needing to be convinced to purchase tickets to our petty little performance in the first place. Despite what Jessica Daily thought, not everyone in the world really wanted to hear her sing.
    Suddenly even my calculus textbook looked less intimidating than the looming task I’d just taken on.
    “Easy. Just make it personal.” Marta tapped my arm, jerking me back from the abyss. “What do
you
care about?”
    I stared at the textbook in my hand. Not math, that was for sure. Reading, however … I looked up. “Books. I like books.” I winced. I sounded like an overeager, desperate parrot. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “I mean, I love reading. That’s important to me.”
    “Why is that?” Marta looked as if she actually cared.
    I pulled
Pride and Prejudice
from my purse, just long enough for her to see the cover before concealing it back in the depths of my bag. “I’m never without a novel, usually a classic.
    New fiction is good, too, but there’s just something about the way those older authors wrote that pulls you into an entirely different world when reading.”
    I was rambling now but couldn’t stop. No one had ever listened to me talk about books before. Marta was even nodding like she agreed. I went on, picking up speed. “It sucks that people don’t read as much anymore, you know? It’s like video games and technology have completely replaced a good book. And then there are the people out there who want to read but can’t because they never even learned how—” I stopped and slowly smiled. “Wait a second.”
    Marta grinned back. “Congratulations. I think you just found your good cause.”

    If I were a more guilt-driven person, I’d feel bad that Marta had helped me twice now with ideas for school-related projects and I’d done nothing for her in return. But instead I was grateful. She had definitely earned a mocha latte, on me.
    I pushed open the heavy wooden door of Got Beans, my favorite coffee shop in Crooked Hollow. It was one of the only places to get coffee in Crooked Hollow, besides Blue’s Diner, whose coffee looked like the overdue oil I once watched my dad change in his car. Starbucks it was not, but it was still pretty good as far as small-town coffee went. I inhaled the aroma of freshly ground beans, mingled with a hint of cinnamon and chocolate. Someday I’d have to convince my dad to buy something more advanced than a Mr. Coffee