Read Asking for Trouble: 1 (London Confidential) Online

Authors: Sandra Byrd

Tags: #JUVENILE FICTION / Religious / Christian

Asking for Trouble: 1 (London Confidential)

BOOK: Asking for Trouble: 1 (London Confidential)
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Asking for Trouble

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Byrd. All rights reserved.

Cover image of London © by Complete Gallery/Shutterstock. All rights reserved.

Cover image of London seal © by Oxlock/Shutterstock. All rights reserved.

Cover photo of girl © by Image Source/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

Designed by Jennifer Ghionzoli

Edited by Stephanie Voiland

Published in association with the literary agency of Browne & Miller Literary Associates, LLC, 410 Michigan Avenue, Suite 460, Chicago, IL 60605.

Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the
Holy Bible
, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the
Holy Bible
, New International Version
®
, NIV
®
. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.
TM
Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-800-323-9400.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Byrd, Sandra.

Asking for trouble / Sandra Byrd.

p. cm. — (London confidential ; [#1])

Summary: When a fifteen-year-old American girl finds herself living outside of London because of her father’s job transfer and becomes a columnist for the school newspaper, she learns to use Bible truths to dole out wise advice to her classmates but soon finds it hard to follow her own advice.

ISBN 978-1-4143-2597-2 (sc)

[1. Schools—Fiction. 2. Advice columns—Fiction. 3. Americans—England—London—Fiction. 4. London (England)—Fiction. 5. England—Fiction. 6. Christian life—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.B9898As 2010

[Fic]—dc22 2009042427

Build: 2013-09-16 11:16:38

DEDICATED TO NINE
BRILLIANT

MANUSCRIPT READERS:

BRITISH GIRLS:

Anna Culliford and Jacque Hall

AMERICAN GIRLS WHO LIVED IN ENGLAND:

Sarah Austin and Brianna Tibbetts

AMERICAN GIRLS:

Abi Davis, Shannon Farmer, Miranda Marburger, and Savannah Marburger

AND OUR RESIDENT AUSSIE,

Erin Mollet

Table of Contents

   
Chapter 1

   
Chapter 2

   
Chapter 3

   
Chapter 4

   
Chapter 5

   
Chapter 6

   
Chapter 7

   
Chapter 8

   
Chapter 9

   
Chapter 10

   
Chapter 11

   
Chapter 12

   
Chapter 13

   
Chapter 14

   
Chapter 15

   
Chapter 16

   
Chapter 17

   
Chapter 18

   
Chapter 19

   
Chapter 20

   
Chapter 21

   
Chapter 22

   
Chapter 23

   
Chapter 24

   
Chapter 25

   
Chapter 26

   
Chapter 27

   
Chapter 28

   
Chapter 29

   
Chapter 30

   
Chapter 31

   
Chapter 32

   
Chapter 33

   
Chapter 34

   
Chapter 35

   
Chapter 36

   
Chapter 37

   
Chapter 38

   
Chapter 39

   
Chapter 40

   
Chapter 41

   
Chapter 42

   
Chapter 43

   
Chapter 44

   
Chapter 45

   
Chapter 46

   
Chapter 47

   
Chapter 48

   
Chapter 49

   
Chapter 50

   
Chapter 51

   
Chapter 52

Chapter 1

I hung back at the doorway to the cafeteria of my new supercool British school, Wexburg Academy. Most of the lunch tables were already packed, and the room was buzzing with chatter. The populars, whom I’d secretly nicknamed the Aristocats, commanded an entire table right in the center of the room. Their good looks and posh accents made up the sun around which all other tables orbited. The normal kids were in the second circle, arranged by friends or clubs or activities. The drama table was on the outer edge of the room, and so were the geeks, the nerds, and the punk wannabes—way out there like Neptune, but still planets. Most everyone had a group. I didn’t.

Okay, so there was
one
table with lots of room. The leftovers table. It might as well have been the dark side of the moon.

No way.

I skipped lunch—again—and headed to the library. One of the computers was available and I logged on, desperately hoping for an e-mail from Seattle.

There was an e-mail from my grandmother reminding me to floss because British dentists only cleaned adult teeth.

Spam from
Teen Vogue
.

An invitation to join the Prince Harry fan club—I opened it and gave it a quick scan. I’d consider it more later.

And . . . one from Jen!

I clicked open the e-mail from my best friend at home—well, it
had
been my home till a couple of months ago—hoping for a lunch full of juicy news served alongside tasty comments about how she missed me and was planning stuff for my next visit home. I craved something that would take me the whole lunch period to read and respond to and remind me that I did have a place somewhere in this universe.

From:
Jen

To:
Savannah

Hey, Fortune Cookie, so how’s it going? Met the Queen yet? LOL. Sorry I haven’t written too much. It’s been so busy. Samantha took the position you’d been promised on the newspaper staff. She’s brand new, but then again you would have been too. It seemed strange without you at first, but I think she’ll do okay—maybe even better than okay. And hey, life has changed for everyone, right? Things are crazy busy at school, home, and church. We hang out a lot more now that a bunch of us are driving. Will write again in a few weeks.

Miss you!

Jen

A few weeks! My lungs filled with air, and I let it out slowly, deflating like a balloon with a slow leak. I poised my hands over the keyboard to write a response but just . . . couldn’t. What would I say? It had already
been
weeks since we’d last e-mailed. Most of my friends texted instead of e-mailing anyway, but texting across the Atlantic Ocean cost way too much. And the truth was . . .

I’d moved, and they’d moved on.

I logged off the computer and sat there for a minute, blinking back tears. Jen hadn’t meant to forget me. I was simply out of her orbit now.

I pretended to read
Sugar
magazine online, but mostly I was staring at the clock, passing the time till I could respectably head to my next class.

Five minutes before class I swung my book bag onto my shoulder and headed down the hall. Someone was stapling flyers to the wall. “Hi, Hazelle.”

“Hullo, Savannah.” She breezed by me, stapling another pink flyer farther down the wall. We had math class together—oh yeah,
maths
, as the Brits called it—first period. I’d tried to make friends with her; I’d even asked her if she’d like to sit together in lunch, but she’d crisply informed me that she sat at the table with the other members of the newspaper staff.

She didn’t bother with small talk now either, but went on stapling down the hall. I glanced at one of the flyers, and one sentence caught my eye right away:
Looking for one experienced journalist to join the newspaper staff.

I yanked the flyer off the wall and jammed it into my bag. I was experienced. Wasn’t I?

A nub of doubt rose inside me—the kind that popped up, unwelcome, anytime I tried to rationalize something that wasn’t exactly true or right.

This time I swallowed it back. I thought back to Jen’s e-mail that kind of felt like a polite dismissal. I lived in London now.

It was time to take matters into my own hands.

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