Asking for Trouble: 1 (London Confidential) by Sandra Byrd

after all.
    “So then, we’ve had quite a few suggestions from staff and others,” he said. “I’ve narrowed it down to a handful of things we’re going to try. First, we’re going to solicit a few adverts. Which was suggested by Melissa.” The room groaned but looked kindly toward Melissa, who was well loved and respected.
    “Next, we’re going to try to change a bit of the content. Maybe make it a little younger. One new column we’re adding is a sport column with student interviews. Rodney’s in several teams and has been writing with us for two years, so he’s earned the column.”
    Rodney and another reporter grinned at one another at that. Hazelle looked very serious, taking notes with her WA Times pen.
    “And finally, an idea that I’m very chuffed about,” Jack said. “We’re going to launch an advice column. Savannah came up with that idea.”
    “Oh, fantastic!” Melissa enthused in a low voice. She was the only one who looked at me. The others all looked at Jack or chattered among themselves. Why had everyone looked at Melissa and Rodney when their ideas had been put forth . . . but ignored me?
    Because I’m the American delivery girl.
    “We’re going to ask the students at Wexburg Academy to drop off their questions in a box I’ll place outside the newspaper office so they can remain confidential,” Jack said. “The column will be kind of like Dear Auntie Agatha, but it will deal with problems teens have, not adults.”
    “Splendid!” our faculty adviser, Mr. Abrams, said.
    Hazelle’s hand shot up.
    “Hazelle?” Jack asked.
    “Who’s going to write the responses?” she asked. I knew her well enough by now to see that she was angling for the job.
    “Glad you asked,” Jack said. He pulled out a stack of orange papers and handed one to each of us. “As is always our practice, we’re going to accept written samples as an application. The rules and prompts are on this piece of paper. I’m going to post them in a few appointed places around the school, and we’ll run a full page in the next edition of the paper inviting anyone who wants to write to give it a shot.”
    I saw Hazelle scanning the orange paper, her eyes turning glassy like someone with a really high fever.
    I took my paper and casually slid it into my book bag, but I needn’t have bothered. No one expected me to enter, much less win—I could tell by the way they pretty much stared at Hazelle. After all, she was Julia’s little sister. And Julia was brilliant and clever and had been the most successful journalist in the history of the Wexburg Academy Times .
    That counted for something, I knew. But exactly how much?
    “When the contest is over, Mr. Abrams will gather all of the responses and take the names off of them,” Jack continued. “Because, uh, I want this to be completely impartial, I’ve asked Julia, our former editor, who is studying at Oxford, if I could post a packet of the sample advice letters to her. She has agreed to read them and then choose the new columnist. May the best journalist win.”

Chapter 21

    The next day was an early-release day, so I’d planned to spend the entire afternoon at home reading over the orange instruction paper and then writing careful answers. I wondered if Julia was like Hazelle. Should I slant the answers to be slightly snobby?
    Nah. I knew the only way I had a chance, the only way I knew how to write, was in my own voice.
    I put my hand on the knob to my front door and then stopped. I could hear my parents inside—not exactly shouting, but not exactly using calm, reasonable voices either.
    I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop. I wasn’t really eavesdropping. I was just allowing them to finish before going inside.
    “I thought it would be fine,” my dad said. “I thought we’d have an adventure, travel in Europe, see some things together as a family. Give the kids a chance to do something not many kids get to do. I certainly didn’t travel when I was a