Kid Power Read Free

didn’t get home until pretty late in the afternoon, and when I did, I found Mom sitting in the kitchen, circling job ads in the paper.
    â€œThere you are,” she said. “You got a phone call.”
    â€œWho?” I asked. “Lisa?” Lisa’s my best friend, and she calls me all the time.
    â€œNo, a call for Kid Power,” Mom said. “I took the woman’s name and number down and said you’d call her back just as soon as you got in.”
    â€œWhere is it!” I shouted. Somehow a job from your grandmother doesn’t count the way a job from a stranger does.
    â€œCalm down,” Mom said. “Right here.” She handed me a scrap of paper with “Mrs. Dale, 342-4456” written on it.
    I called the number, and took a deep breath. That’s a trick my father taught me. It makes your voice sound deeper and it relaxes you.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œHello, Mrs. Dale?”
    â€œSpeaking.”
    â€œThis is Janie Golden of Kid Power calling.”
    â€œOh yes,” Mrs. Dale said. “I saw your poster in the supermarket today, and I was wondering if you could help me.”
    â€œI’m sure I can,” I said, trying to sound adult and authoritative.
    â€œI’m having a yard sale on Saturday,” she said. “And your sign made me think it would be a good idea if I had someone at the sale just to look after the kids people bring with them. The little ones are always getting their hands on things, and without meaning to—well, sometimes they take things home with them.”
    â€œSo you’d want me to look after them,” I said. “Kind of day-care.”
    â€œExactly,” Mrs. Dale said. “Do you think you could fit me into your schedule?”
    â€œI’m sure I could,” I said, pretending to look at a calendar. “Yes, I’m free on Saturday. What time would you want me there?”
    â€œThe sale is scheduled to start at ten,” she said, “which means the first customers will be there by eight-thirty. It’s supposed to end at four, so that would be a full day’s work for you.”
    â€œNo problem,” I said. “I’ll be there at eight-thirty.”
    â€œWhat do you charge?” she asked.
    I breathed deep again. “A dollar an hour,” I said.
    â€œOh, that’s quite reasonable,” Mrs. Dale said. “I’m sure if someone is there to watch after the children, their parents will be more likely to buy things.”
    â€œThere is one more thing,” I said.
    â€œCertainly,” Mrs. Dale said. “What is it?”
    â€œKid Power is just getting started, and I could use some free publicity,” I said. “Would you mind if I put up a little sign, like I have at the supermarket, at your yard sale?”
    â€œOf course not,” Mrs. Dale said. “I like an enterprising young woman. I’ll see you Saturday then—120 Woodhaven Road.”
    â€œSaturday,” I said, writing down the address. “Thank you Mrs. Dale.”
    â€œThank you, Janie,” she said, and we hung up.
    â€œI got a job!” I hollered, running over to hug Mom. “Eight-thirty to four. At a dollar an hour, that’s $7.50. And I earned $3.00 at Grandma’s. I’m going to be rich!”
    â€œIt might rain on Saturday,” Mom said. “Don’t spend your money before you see it.”
    â€œI’m not going to spend any of it,” I said. “I’m going to save it all just like Carol until I’m the richest person in junior high.”
    â€œDon’t invest in municipal bonds then,” Mom said glumly, looking at the paper.
    â€œAre there any jobs you could do?” I asked.
    â€œNot that I can see,” she said. “I’m either under-qualified or overqualified or just plain not qualified. There doesn’t seem to be much for an unemployed social worker these days.”
    â€œYou’ll find