Read Online Asking for Trouble: 1 (London Confidential) by Sandra Byrd - Free Book Online
Authors: Sandra Byrd
Ads: Link
Africa!” The rest of them twittered. “And, um, she starts her weekends on Thursdays?”
I knew they wouldn’t let that one go.
“A paper delivery girl,” another one said. “Though I do like her bag.”
“Her hair grip is nice too,” Penny added loyally. Thanks, Penny.
But she still hadn’t texted me, and I just didn’t have the courage to make any more first moves toward London friends.
Maybe if I got the column. . . . My mind wandered. I could see it now. I’d be delivering the paper and Penny would tell them that, believe it or not, I was the journalist on the Cousin Savvy beat—yes, that’s right, Savvy was short for Savannah. Were they dull? Why hadn’t they gotten that? And then their tight, closed circle would open and they’d welcome me in, and every weekend would be busy with parties and clubs.
“Oh, oof, excuse me!” The bubble in my imagination popped as I ran into one of the most popular boys on campus. I backed away, glad that I hadn’t bumped into him so hard that either of us had fallen down.
“Carry on,” he said, brushing off his sleeves. His tone of voice was formal, and his face was hard. I was too afraid to turn around to see if Penny and the Aristocats were still there. I just didn’t want to know.
Chapter 23
When I got home on Friday afternoon Dad’s car was in the driveway. Uh-oh. Was another marital spat under way? I kicked off my shoes by the front door and walked in. Instead of frowns and loud voices, I was met with smiles—and two suitcases.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“We have to take Dad into London for the night—he’s got an overnight conference.”
“Okay,” I said. “But do we all need to take him?”
Mom nodded. “Good family togetherness time,” she said.
Louanne bounded down the steps. “Want me to deliver your invitations before we go?”
“Sure, you can both go.”
“Mom!” I protested. I did not want to be Postman Patty. My social life was already in the tube—and I didn’t mean the London Underground.
“Just stand nearby and watch Louanne,” Mom said. “But I’ll take an invitation to Vivienne next door.” Mom handed the packet to Louanne. “Take one to each house on the street, and make sure you ask them to give it to the lady of the house.”
I slipped my feet back into my school shoes and rolled my eyes as we walked back into the November drizzle. Every house was made of brick and looked exactly like the next—except for the tiny planted gardens in front, now sleeping till spring, and the color of the doors. Some were a demure brown, others a bright blue or a hopeful yellow. Ours was spicy red. Appropriate, I thought, for a house on Cinnamon Street. Some houses had names that were listed on plaques affixed near the door—names like Thimble Cottage or Swan Lodge. I stood on the tidy sidewalk as Louanne knocked on each door, looking like a Girl Scout selling cookies. I guess, in a way, she was.
She knocked on the first door, and a woman about my mom’s age in an apron took the invitation from her, looked at it politely, and then firmly closed the door.
House number two was manned—literally—by a big guy scratching a huge beer belly, which was not well hidden by his too-small white T-shirt. He seemed friendly enough but pushed the invitation back to Louanne and shook his head, his jowls quivering as he did.
“No wife,” she said to me as she headed toward door number three. Which was much the same as doors four, five, and six. From what I could tell, most of the people who answered the door looked puzzled, took the invitation, and closed the door as quickly and politely as possible.
“No one is answering here, Savvy,” Louanne called back to me at the last house. I gestured for her to stick the invitation in the doorjamb, and we headed back home. On the way in the door, we could see Mom talking with Vivienne next door.
Please, Lord, let Vivienne be positive about the party, I prayed. But I didn’t
I knew they wouldn’t let that one go.
“A paper delivery girl,” another one said. “Though I do like her bag.”
“Her hair grip is nice too,” Penny added loyally. Thanks, Penny.
But she still hadn’t texted me, and I just didn’t have the courage to make any more first moves toward London friends.
Maybe if I got the column. . . . My mind wandered. I could see it now. I’d be delivering the paper and Penny would tell them that, believe it or not, I was the journalist on the Cousin Savvy beat—yes, that’s right, Savvy was short for Savannah. Were they dull? Why hadn’t they gotten that? And then their tight, closed circle would open and they’d welcome me in, and every weekend would be busy with parties and clubs.
“Oh, oof, excuse me!” The bubble in my imagination popped as I ran into one of the most popular boys on campus. I backed away, glad that I hadn’t bumped into him so hard that either of us had fallen down.
“Carry on,” he said, brushing off his sleeves. His tone of voice was formal, and his face was hard. I was too afraid to turn around to see if Penny and the Aristocats were still there. I just didn’t want to know.
Chapter 23
When I got home on Friday afternoon Dad’s car was in the driveway. Uh-oh. Was another marital spat under way? I kicked off my shoes by the front door and walked in. Instead of frowns and loud voices, I was met with smiles—and two suitcases.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“We have to take Dad into London for the night—he’s got an overnight conference.”
“Okay,” I said. “But do we all need to take him?”
Mom nodded. “Good family togetherness time,” she said.
Louanne bounded down the steps. “Want me to deliver your invitations before we go?”
“Sure, you can both go.”
“Mom!” I protested. I did not want to be Postman Patty. My social life was already in the tube—and I didn’t mean the London Underground.
“Just stand nearby and watch Louanne,” Mom said. “But I’ll take an invitation to Vivienne next door.” Mom handed the packet to Louanne. “Take one to each house on the street, and make sure you ask them to give it to the lady of the house.”
I slipped my feet back into my school shoes and rolled my eyes as we walked back into the November drizzle. Every house was made of brick and looked exactly like the next—except for the tiny planted gardens in front, now sleeping till spring, and the color of the doors. Some were a demure brown, others a bright blue or a hopeful yellow. Ours was spicy red. Appropriate, I thought, for a house on Cinnamon Street. Some houses had names that were listed on plaques affixed near the door—names like Thimble Cottage or Swan Lodge. I stood on the tidy sidewalk as Louanne knocked on each door, looking like a Girl Scout selling cookies. I guess, in a way, she was.
She knocked on the first door, and a woman about my mom’s age in an apron took the invitation from her, looked at it politely, and then firmly closed the door.
House number two was manned—literally—by a big guy scratching a huge beer belly, which was not well hidden by his too-small white T-shirt. He seemed friendly enough but pushed the invitation back to Louanne and shook his head, his jowls quivering as he did.
“No wife,” she said to me as she headed toward door number three. Which was much the same as doors four, five, and six. From what I could tell, most of the people who answered the door looked puzzled, took the invitation, and closed the door as quickly and politely as possible.
“No one is answering here, Savvy,” Louanne called back to me at the last house. I gestured for her to stick the invitation in the doorjamb, and we headed back home. On the way in the door, we could see Mom talking with Vivienne next door.
Please, Lord, let Vivienne be positive about the party, I prayed. But I didn’t
Similar Books
