Anastasia's Chosen Career Read Free Page A

Anastasia whispered to her father while he was on the phone. "At lunchtime. Because I'm going to be doing this
other
thing, too."
    "Here you are," her father said after he had hung up. He handed Anastasia a slip of paper. "Her name and the address of the store. She'll see you at twelve-fifteen on Monday. She said you could have a sandwich with her, there in the shop, while you do the interview."
    Anastasia looked at it. "So now I'm going to be a Bookstore Owner," she said.
    "Right," her father told her, grinning. "And you'll have wine-and-cheese parties and autographings for poets. For your dad."
    Anastasia folded the paper. "Well, if I promise to do that—and I promise to sell more than three copies—can I do the other thing,
please?
"
    "Oh, all right," her father said. "At least it will keep you busy during vacation. It seems like a harmless enterprise to me. Katherine, what do you think?"
    "Well," Mrs. Krupnik said dubiously, "okay."
    Anastasia jumped up and hugged each of them. "Thank you!" she said. "I have such great parents! Greater than anybody's! You know what Sonya's parents said when she asked them if
she
could do it? They said it was incredibly low class and tacky and revolting and expensive and absolutely ridiculous. What do
they
know, right?"
    ***
    "They're really letting you do it?" Sonya held her large notebook in front of her face so that Mr. Earnshaw wouldn't see that she was whispering. They were in study hall. "
Really?
"
    Anastasia, behind her notebook, nodded. "I'm going to call this afternoon."
    "How're you going to pay for it? It costs a fortune!" Sonya peered up to the front of the room, but Mr. Earnshaw was busy at his desk, correcting papers.
    "Out of my savings account. I have the money I earned last summer—remember I worked for Daphne's grandmother? And also I have the money that my aunts and uncles send on my birthday every year; my parents always make me put it in the bank. So I have about three hundred dollars in my savings account. And this only costs a hundred and nineteen. Shhhh." Anastasia ducked her head and pretended to read her history book. Mr. Earnshaw had stood up and begun to prowl around the room.
    After he had passed her desk and observed her diligently reading about the Battle of Bull Run, Anastasia unfolded the piece of paper and read it for the billionth time.
    INCREASED POISE, it said at the top.
    Boy, thought Anastasia, I can sure use
that.
I have zero poise.
    She remembered all the times that she had
needed
poise and it hadn't been there. The time, just recently, for example, when on Careers Day at the junior high, Anastasia had been assigned to guide the lady architect around the corridors of the school as she visited classes. Anastasia had practiced the night before, things she might say to an architect—
poised
things—and then, when she tried to say them, when she began, "Architecture interests me a great deal. My family lives in a Victorian house that was built in—" she had walked right smack into a glass door, practically wrecking her nose.
    She was still embarrassed thinking about it, even though the lady architect had been very sympathetic and kind and had given her a Kleenex to hold against her fat lip, which bled a little.
    INCREASED CONFIDENCE, the paper said.
    And if anybody needed increased confidence, it was Anastasia. If she'd had enough confidence, she would have run for Class Secretary. She really
wanted
to be Class Secretary. She really liked taking minutes. She liked the
word
"minutes." She wanted to write "Minutes" at the top of a page and then take notes. She would have done it better than anybody—certainly better than stupid old Emily Ewing, who had so much confidence that she had not only run for Class Secretary but had made posters that said
    EXTRAORDINARY EXCELLENCE
EMILY EWING
    and everybody voted for her. But Emily always forgot to go to the meetings. She only wanted to be Class Secretary because she wanted her picture in the yearbook.