Free Flat Broke by Gary Paulsen Page A

he’d lost playing poker.
    I was surprised, but … I guess the blind pursuit of money and power really is bad for a person. Who knew?
    Well, everyone, I guess, except me.
    Despite the fact that all my ideas turned into poo on a stick, everyone around me farts gold dust these days.
    Sarah’s not mad at me, even though I suspect she still thinks I took too much credit for her new business, which, I might point out, landed her a part-time job at the hair salon.
    Katie’s not talking to me, but that’s nothing new. She does nod at me in the hall. I take that as progress. And she’s going to have to hire some tutors to handle all her students.
    I learned from Sarah and Katie that it’s always better to make money with your own ideas than to sponge off others.
    JonPaul and Sam and Renee the security guard are jewelry-making partners. They’re talking about going to art fairs this summer to sell their goods. JonPaul and Renee are the creative side, and Sam takes care of supplies and inventory and their website.
    They taught me that successful people stick to what they’re good at and what makes them happy.
    Daniel, that sly dog, took what used to be poker time and started giving skating lessons to little kids. The team worked out a deal with the rink; they teach the itty-bitty skater classes in exchange for discounted ice time. Daniel says the team’s reactions have gotten really sharp because of how fast they’ve had to learn to stop and catch the toppled toddlers.
    They taught me that hobbies and jobs can have some overlap; and that maybe, if you like what you do, you don’t need to blow off steam.
    No one has even bothered to thank me for starting them out. I’m glad I don’t have their karma, because that kind of ingratitude is going to come home to roost someday. Well, I’m rising above it; that’s what great men do. Rise above adversity. Besides, I’m too busy to obsess about the unfairness of life, because I’m working all the time.
    I work at Amalgamated Waste Management from twelve-thirty to five p.m. on Saturdays and school holidays. ’Nuff said. It’s not that bad. Mostly because I think I fried whatever sense receptors in my nasal cavity used to allow me to smell. I think I’ll ask to stay on even after I’ve worked off my bill. An honest job is a great thing, I’ve discovered.
    I work from five-thirty to nine-thirty p.m. on Saturdays and school holidays at the storage facility, cleaning out abandoned spaces, inventorying items for sale and dividing the rest into resale, recycle and refuse.
    It’s pretty good money. Nowadays I work hard and there’s nothing, ab-sew-loot-lee nuh-thing, smart about what I do. But maybe eighth graders weren’t meant to be world-class moguls.
    I’m as confident as ever that success is still in my future. A guy like me can’t help but excel in this life, even if I’m taking a break from the fast track right now.
    I never did manage to ask Tina out on a date. I was at work the night of the dance. She still doesn’t know I’m the best possible boyfriend material in the whole entire school.
    I have new ideas for how to fix that. I just know that the very next time I come up with a plan to get her attention, it’s going to work.

 
Here’s another terrific story about Kevin

Available from Wendy Lamb Books
ISBN: 978-0-385-74001-2