Asking for Trouble: 1 (London Confidential) by Sandra Byrd Read Free Book Online Page A

what that meant. Thankfully, Gwennie and Jill, the other girl from Fishcoteque, were in that class and didn’t hold the popped crawfish eye or the science club beaker explosion they’d heard about against me, and they let me be their lab partner. I was still the odd girl out—it was clear they’d been BFF for a long time. And they didn’t let me handle any glass. But it was still better than trying to beg for or scare up lab partners.
    “Come along, Savvy,” Jill said as we brought our equipment back to the sinks to wash. “You’ve done quite well for a . . . for someone who, uh, doesn’t fancy science.”
    Well, that was polite. And anyway, it was lunchtime.
    It’s not like I was going to run to the lunchroom like a kid, but I was pretty eager. I tried to play it cool. Jack was deep in discussion with Melissa. I thought he looked especially cute when he was serious. But enough of that. I caught his eye.
    “Jack, could I talk with you for a minute?” I said.
    “Sure, Savvy. Here?”
    “Would it be all right to walk in the courtyard?” I asked. I’d never asked him for anything personal or significant, so I wasn’t sure how he was going to answer. But he was great, of course.
    “Of course,” Jack said. He took his lunch sack, and I just left mine in my book bag.
    Once we were in the courtyard and out of earshot, I started right in. “Well, yesterday afternoon when I was checking on the papers, I did a bit of reporting,” I said.
    I saw him frown.
    “Not officially!” I rushed in. “I just talked to some people about why they liked, or didn’t like, the paper.”
    I could tell he was a little miffed that I’d done that research without checking but also that he was dying to know what I’d found out.
    “And?” he asked. “What did they say?”
    I told him that most people felt like there wasn’t enough interesting, teen-specific stuff in there. Too academic. “ Dull was the word one really nice guy used,” I said. I saw him wince at that. And who could blame him? He was editor in chief.
    “But then . . . I had an idea. I was at Fishcoteque reading Auntie Agatha, and it struck me: why couldn’t we have our own Auntie Agatha column right here at Wexburg Academy? You know, with students writing in and then having their questions answered. Anonymously, of course, but publicly. Because everyone likes to read advice columns.”
    Jack had stopped walking and was just looking at me now. He wasn’t eating his lunch. His frown had softened into a grin that I knew was going to lead to that smile.
    “And then,” I continued before he could start looking for holes in my idea, “they’ll already have the paper open. So of course they’ll read the rest of it. And the new adverts.”
    I sat down on a stone bench, and he sat down next to me.
    “What do you think?” I asked, unable to bear the silence any longer.
    “I think it’s brilliant,” he said. “But who would write it? A faculty adviser?”
    “Oh no, no,” I said. “Have you ever read when Auntie Agatha answers a teen or a kid? Bad news. Literally.”
    He nodded and pulled out his sandwich.
    “Actually,” I dared, “I thought I might write it.”
    He looked up at me. “I dunno, Savvy. It’s a great idea. But you’re new. Then again, it is your idea. Let me think on it, all right? Let’s keep it confidential for now, okay? I’ll propose it at the newspaper staff meeting next Tuesday.”
    “Okay,” I said. I’d been expecting a bit more enthusiasm . . . and perhaps even a Wexburg Academy Times pen. But that was sure to come later.
    “Give me your phone number,” he said. “So I can ring or text you this time.”
    My heart skipped a beat. I looked at his face for any sign of personal interest. But he still looked all business.
    I told him, and he wrote it down on a piece of paper. Just like Penny had, only she’d never texted me after all.
    “I’ll text you before the next meeting and let you know what I’m going to