Suite Scarlett by Maureen Johnson Page B

have been preferable.
    “Mrs. Amberson spoke to us this morning,” her mom said, opening a box of no-kill traps. “Has she told you her idea?”
    “Oh, she told me,” Scarlett said, warily watching the floor.
    “You don’t seem happy about it. I thought you’d be excited about working on a book.”
    “Wait…what?”
    “She wants you to be her assistant!” her mother said happily. “You really seem to have impressed her.”
    “I thought you said I couldn’t get a job,” Scarlett said quickly.
    Her parents gave each other googely-eyes for a moment.
    “Look,” her dad said, “we had a long talk in bed this morning about all of you. And we’ve come to some decisions. We’ve realized just how much you all try.”
    “Lola works hard and has voluntarily taken a year off from going to school or moving,” her mother said, reaching out for her dad’s hand. “Spencer has tried his best at auditioning, and he’s really straightened up in the last year—getting up at five every morning to work a breakfast shift. And you…you’venever gotten much of a chance at all. And here comes something that is what you love, writing, that would pay a really generous amount.”
    “It would?” Scarlett said.
    “She’s offering to pay you five hundred dollars a week,” she said. “Cash. We need the help around here, but she is your guest, and that’s a lot of money. And a good opportunity.”
    Five hundred dollars a week was an actual, literal fortune. Some of her friends got almost that much for their cab, clothing, and going out allowances.
    “So,” he said, “are you happy with that?”
    This would have been the right time to tell them about the tuna, and the lying to the security guard. But… five hundred dollars.
    There was something else lingering here, though.
    “What did you decide about Spencer?” she asked.
    “Spencer told us that this show is connected to NYU and Juilliard, and that doing it might give him a very good chance to go there, maybe even get another scholarship, this time for something he really wants to do,” her dad said.
    “We called the culinary school,” her mother said. “They said they’d have to let his scholarship go today, but there’s no reason he can’t reapply, and they’ll make a note on his file. There is a strong chance that if he reapplies in the next few weeks, they’ll be able to give him the same package. It’s not guaranteed, but it sounds like he has a good shot.”
    “We decided to let him do this show,” he finished. “If it doesn’t work, we may still be able to get him in. And combined with you getting this opportunity…”
    “The two things came at the same time,” her mother finished. “With this little bit of extra security for you, we felt better about taking a chance with him.”
    Of course. Of course , her taking this job was tied into Spencer’s chance.
    “So…” her dad said, all smiles, “happy?”
    “Thrilled,” Scarlett said.
    Okay. So her summer was about to be a minefield. But she would be rich by the end of it. She could buy a whole new wardrobe. A new computer. There would be iced coffees at lunch and cabs when she needed them…
    “As for the money,” her dad said, “it’s way too much to play with. So she’ll be paying us directly, and we’ll put it away for you. But you can have fifty a week. Now, we just need you to take the dirty table linens to Mrs. Foo’s and pick up Marlene’s prescriptions at Duane Reade. The linens are behind the front desk.”
    Scarlett slunk out of the dining room.
    The dirty tablecloths and napkins had been bundled into a large plastic bag. Obviously, they had been allowed to collect, because the bag was heavy and a bit hard to carry. She hoisted it up and it partially blocked her view. She used it as cushioning as she slammed her way back out the door.
    She staggered her way down half the block, the sun beating down on her.
    “Whoa!” a familiar voice said. “That looks heavy.”
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