Asking for Trouble: 1 (London Confidential) Read Free

room. Very little homework, thankfully. I washed my face and used a little blackhead scrub I’d been hoarding from home. I was going to have to buy some British substitute soon or else look like I’d suffered a facial assault by a pepper grinder.
    I closed my eyes and prayed:
    What should I do, God? I try to be an honest person. You know that. But I’m lonely, and the newspaper is one place I think I can fit in. It’s not going to hurt anyone if I just make it sound like I’ve had a little more experience than I have. I know I can do the work. Then maybe I’ll make some friends, have a normal lunch table to sit at. And You know my dream is to be a journalist. Could You just make this teensy little thing happen?
    I tried to listen but heard nothing. And of course, I didn’t sleep well.

Chapter 4

    Three days later I got an e-mail from Jack.
    From: Jack
    To: Savannah Smith
----
    Hullo, Miss Smith. We’ve got several applicants for the journalist position. Of course, the most important thing to any editor is the quality of the writing of those contributing. To that end, could you please write a sample article on one of the topics below and e-mail it to me by the end of the week? It may take me a while to read through them all, but I’ll notify you if you’re a finalist.
    “What’s that?” Mom walked into my room with a stack of clean clothes.
    “An e-mail from the editor of the paper! He wants me to submit a sample of my writing!” I jumped up and down in the room and my mother celebrated with me.
    “Don’t worry about chores,” she said after I’d explained to her that I needed to write a sample article. “Just focus on this.”
    She went whistling down the hall, happier, I think, than even I was.
    Well, maybe not. But we were both pretty excited. She called my grandparents and Auntie Tricia long-distance to tell them and to ask them to pray.
    I spent all evening writing the article. Louanne even kept Growl quiet. It was a family effort.
    The next day, I polished the piece and wished I had a friend who also wrote who could proofread it for me.
    The third day, I sent it in.

Chapter 5

    A few nights later we were having company for dinner, so I skipped my Fishcoteque run.
    “Mmm,” Louanne said. “Who’s coming?”
    “Aunt Maude,” Mom answered.
    “No, no, nooooooo!” Louanne wailed. Giggle, who had been calm up to this point, was instantly alarmed by Louanne’s noise and joined in with a howl.
    I had to admit, I felt like howling myself.
    “We have to have her over,” Mom said as she grabbed some foil-wrapped potatoes from the cooker, aka oven. “And it might be enjoyable. It’s been a long time since we had any kind of company at all.” My mom loved inviting people over. At our house in Seattle she’d always had her friends over for game nights or tea or Bible study.
    “Maude’s not even our aunt,” Louanne persisted.
    “No . . . she’s a friend of your grandmother. And she’s our landlord. If you want her to let us keep Giggle, we need to make sure she really, really likes us.”
    “Aha! I’m going to be on my worst behavior!” I said. “Just a minute. I’m going to put on my black lipstick and mess up my hair and play screaming metal music from my laptop.”
    Louanne looked as if she might cry.
    “Just kidding, just kidding,” I said. “I don’t like Giggle, but I do like you.”
    Giggle growled at me, and I threw a towel at him.
    At six on the dot, Aunt Maude arrived. Dad opened the door. “Maude, how nice to see you!” he said, kissing her cheek. “Girls, come and say hello to Aunt Maude.”
    I walked forward and kissed her cheek, following my dad’s lead. I got a big sniff of her face powder and quickly turned my head to sneeze it out.
    “Not ill, are you?” she inquired. “I’m susceptible to head colds and such. I wish I would have known if you were feeling dodgy.”
    “No, it’s allergies,” I said. And I didn’t mention who I was allergic to.
    “Hi,