Read Online Asking for Trouble by Rosalind James - Free Book Online Page B

nonprofits. All I have is sales. What does an . . . an
Assistant Director of Development do?”
    Rae waved a neatly manicured hand. “This is what I mean by
perfect. It’s sales. It’s fundraising. You could do it with your eyes closed.
All that Kincaid charm and looks and brains—you were born to do this job.” She laughed with obvious excitement, then
grew serious again. “If you’re all right with the money, that is. It probably
wouldn’t pay half of what you were earning. That could be a real roadblock. But
down the road, you can do all right in development. Don’t get me wrong, you
wouldn’t get rich, but you could do all right.”
    “Call it an investment in a career change, you think?”
Alyssa asked, beginning to get excited herself. “Maybe so. Maybe. I have some
money saved.”
    Rae smiled with satisfaction, and Alyssa’s parents were
following right along and smiling, too. Right up their alley, and Alyssa
realized that the idea of doing a job that would please them didn’t make her
uncomfortable. She seemed to have lost the need to rebel for rebellion’s sake,
which meant she must be maturing after all. Who knew?
    “I can make a call right away,” Rae said. “If you want me
to. Just let me know.”
    That caused Alyssa’s first moment of hesitation. “I’m not
sure. I know it’s all about who you know, but having them know I’m Alec’s
sister—wouldn’t that put both of you into an awkward position if it
didn’t work out? Especially with you on the board? Nepotism, and all that.”
    “Hmm,” Rae considered. “Probably true, but without
experience in the field,” she added with her usual frankness, “you won’t have
much of a shot unless you get a push from somebody.”
    “I’ll do it,” Joe put in. “I’ll call, if you want to go for
it. I know the Development Director a bit. Just let me know, and I’ll make the
call. Rae’s right, they do good work.”

 
    Which was why they got his money every year. Not because
Project Second Chance had helped him, but because they hadn’t. Because he could
have used the help, and he wanted to give it to some other kid. Something they
could count on, something that wouldn’t get their hopes up only to dash them
again.
    He’d thought he’d had that something once or twice. One
time, for a little while, he’d really thought so. On that day towards the end
of his sophomore year, especially, when Mr. Wilson, his Computer Science
teacher, had asked him to come by after school to meet with him.
    Joe had hesitated. “If I miss the bus,” he said, reluctant
as always to reveal any details about his life, “I don’t have a way to get
back.” He didn’t say “home,” because the foster home wasn’t home. Not this one,
and not the one before that, or the one before that either.
    “Right. I should have thought of that,” Mr. Wilson said.
“Come by at lunch, then.”
    Joe wanted to ask him if there was something wrong, but he
didn’t. His heart sank, though, because his Programming class—well, going
to A-Tech at all—was the best thing in his life, and if he’d messed that
up . . .
    He tried to forget it. Focus
on now. Pre-Calculus, AP Chemistry. He did the work, he paid
attention—well, he did the best he could, with the long list of things
that could have got him kicked out running through his mind. But wouldn’t it
have been the dean or the assistant principal talking to him, not a teacher? He
shoved the thought away again. Focus.
    Lunch period came at last, and he was hesitating at the door
of Mr. Wilson’s classroom.
    “Come in.” His teacher waved him to a chair next to his
desk, pointed to his own sandwich, neatly encased in wax paper and sitting on
the neatly arranged desktop. “Hope you brought your lunch, because I hate to
eat alone.”
    Joe pulled out his first peanut butter on white bread and
took a bite, barely sparing a thought for the embarrassing meagerness of his
lunch, because as always, he was hungry.
    Mr.