Read Online Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK by Betsy St. Amant - Free Book Online
Authors: Betsy St. Amant
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planning on keeping it for yourself?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Wow, he really did trust me.
“The drama teacher, Mrs. Lyons, can help you if you feel you need assistance, but I’m sure she will have her hands full with auditions and organizing the talent show.” Principal Stephens frowned as he paused to think. “How about you appoint a temporary treasurer from your class to keep you accountable and help collect the money at the door the night of the show? We can get reports from both of you afterward as to the full amount collected.”
“Sounds good. I choose Marta.”
Principal Stephens picked up his pen and hovered it over a sticky note. “Marta…?”
Uh-oh. I still didn’t actually know her last name. “The foreign-exchange student from Germany. We’ve gotten to be friends, and she helped me brainstorm this fund-raiser.”
“Wonderful. Marta from Germany it is.” Principal Stephens stuck the yellow note on top of the overflowing inbox on his desk. “Will that be all, Addison? I’m afraid I have a waiting room of not-as-trustworthy students to attend to next.”
“Right.” Now I felt like telling Principal Stephens good luck. I let myself out and walked quickly through the miniature lobby to the glass front doors. But I heard the whispers directed at my back. They didn’t exactly say goody-goody (I’m too much of a lady to repeat what technically came out of their mouths), but that was the gist. Was that how Wes saw me, too? Was that why Poodle Girl had him and I didn’t? Why did it even matter?
And why did being good suddenly seem so bad?
I pushed out of the office into the deserted hallway, wishing I had the courage to skip the rest of my math class and go hide out in the library to collect my thoughts. But those guys were exactly right. I wouldn’t do something like that. A risk taker I was not.
So I just headed to class like I was supposed to, the heavy rock of “what-if” in my stomach sinking lower with every step.
The fact that I sat inside Got Beans again after school had nothing to do with how I hoped Wes would make another random appearance. And the fact that I sat in the darkest, farthest corner from the piano, as if spying, also had nothing to do with anything other than how I liked coffee, and there was a draft from the air vent at my typical table.
Right. And I was leaving town tomorrow to sing backup for Justin Bieber.
“Just call me glutton for punishment,” I muttered to my mocha. “And don’t worry, it’s not your fault you can’t cheer me up today. Some issues even chocolate can’t touch.”
“Addison, if you don’t quit talking to your coffee, I’m not giving you double shots anymore,” Bert called from the counter, where he wiped down the display case with a rag.
“Can’t a girl have a bad day?” I held up my mug. “Besides, where are my sprinkles?”
“I told you I ran out yesterday.”
“And I told you that wasn’t acceptable.”
Bert scowled then held up his hands in surrender. “Some days I swear, kid, if you weren’t the preacher’s daughter …” His voice trailed off, and he winked to show he was joking—sort of. Not like I hadn’t heard it before. People were often scared to say their mind to me, even when joking. (Claire would be an exception.) It’s like they thought since Dad was a pastor, I had a more direct line to God than they did. Or maybe they just thought I was a tattletale.
Trust me, neither was true.
I wondered what God thought about this infatuation with Wes that I couldn’t seem to shake. Probably the same thing my dad would think about it—abomination. Okay, maybe that was a little extreme, but this was Crooked Hollow, and my dad was my dad, and God was, well—you know. Yet here I was camped out in a corner of a coffee shop hoping to see my piece of forbidden fruit waltz in. If I didn’t know better, I’d be keeping a weather eye out for rogue lightning bolts. But God didn’t
“Of course not.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Wow, he really did trust me.
“The drama teacher, Mrs. Lyons, can help you if you feel you need assistance, but I’m sure she will have her hands full with auditions and organizing the talent show.” Principal Stephens frowned as he paused to think. “How about you appoint a temporary treasurer from your class to keep you accountable and help collect the money at the door the night of the show? We can get reports from both of you afterward as to the full amount collected.”
“Sounds good. I choose Marta.”
Principal Stephens picked up his pen and hovered it over a sticky note. “Marta…?”
Uh-oh. I still didn’t actually know her last name. “The foreign-exchange student from Germany. We’ve gotten to be friends, and she helped me brainstorm this fund-raiser.”
“Wonderful. Marta from Germany it is.” Principal Stephens stuck the yellow note on top of the overflowing inbox on his desk. “Will that be all, Addison? I’m afraid I have a waiting room of not-as-trustworthy students to attend to next.”
“Right.” Now I felt like telling Principal Stephens good luck. I let myself out and walked quickly through the miniature lobby to the glass front doors. But I heard the whispers directed at my back. They didn’t exactly say goody-goody (I’m too much of a lady to repeat what technically came out of their mouths), but that was the gist. Was that how Wes saw me, too? Was that why Poodle Girl had him and I didn’t? Why did it even matter?
And why did being good suddenly seem so bad?
I pushed out of the office into the deserted hallway, wishing I had the courage to skip the rest of my math class and go hide out in the library to collect my thoughts. But those guys were exactly right. I wouldn’t do something like that. A risk taker I was not.
So I just headed to class like I was supposed to, the heavy rock of “what-if” in my stomach sinking lower with every step.
The fact that I sat inside Got Beans again after school had nothing to do with how I hoped Wes would make another random appearance. And the fact that I sat in the darkest, farthest corner from the piano, as if spying, also had nothing to do with anything other than how I liked coffee, and there was a draft from the air vent at my typical table.
Right. And I was leaving town tomorrow to sing backup for Justin Bieber.
“Just call me glutton for punishment,” I muttered to my mocha. “And don’t worry, it’s not your fault you can’t cheer me up today. Some issues even chocolate can’t touch.”
“Addison, if you don’t quit talking to your coffee, I’m not giving you double shots anymore,” Bert called from the counter, where he wiped down the display case with a rag.
“Can’t a girl have a bad day?” I held up my mug. “Besides, where are my sprinkles?”
“I told you I ran out yesterday.”
“And I told you that wasn’t acceptable.”
Bert scowled then held up his hands in surrender. “Some days I swear, kid, if you weren’t the preacher’s daughter …” His voice trailed off, and he winked to show he was joking—sort of. Not like I hadn’t heard it before. People were often scared to say their mind to me, even when joking. (Claire would be an exception.) It’s like they thought since Dad was a pastor, I had a more direct line to God than they did. Or maybe they just thought I was a tattletale.
Trust me, neither was true.
I wondered what God thought about this infatuation with Wes that I couldn’t seem to shake. Probably the same thing my dad would think about it—abomination. Okay, maybe that was a little extreme, but this was Crooked Hollow, and my dad was my dad, and God was, well—you know. Yet here I was camped out in a corner of a coffee shop hoping to see my piece of forbidden fruit waltz in. If I didn’t know better, I’d be keeping a weather eye out for rogue lightning bolts. But God didn’t
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