Free The Revealing by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page B

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    Bethany stopped by her room one afternoon as Mim was gluing flowers on cards. “Those are pretty.”
    Bethany never said anything nice just to please you. If she said they were good, then they must be.
    “Maybe you could sell them at the Bent N’ Dent. Maybe it could turn into a card business for you. That would sure make Mammi Vera happy.”
    Ever since Mim started eighth grade, Mammi Vera was trying to spur Mim to think ahead about her future, what she would like to do after she finished schooling. “Sie sehnt net weider as die Naas lang is,” Mammi Vera would say, with a frown of concentration on her face. She didn’t see further than her nose is long. Her grandmother assumed Mim didn’t have enough on her mind, but the problem was her grandmotherhad no idea of all that ran through Mim’s mind. How could she? She never bothered to ask.
    Bethany tossed a manila envelope on Mim’s bed. Each week, Bethany dropped off this week’s Mrs. Miracle responses and picked up the most recent letters for Mrs. Miracle that were sent to the Stoney Ridge Times office. “There’s an envelope in there that’s supposed to be important. Not sure what’s in that, but the receptionist said to make sure Mrs. Miracle saw it pronto.”
    Bethany waited by the door, arms folded against her chest, as Mim opened and read the letter. It was from the features editor, a man Mim had never met and never wanted to. Bethany said he was quite unappealing, a real curmudgeon. “What’s up, Mim? You look as worried as a duck in the desert.”
    Mim didn’t even glance up. “You say that’s how I always look.”
    Bethany lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I sure hope this Mrs. Miracle gig doesn’t blow up in your face. First of all, you’re supposed to be eighteen years old to have a column at the newspaper. Secondly, the bishop would not approve of you telling people how to live their life. Thirdly, Rose doesn’t know anything about it, so you’re being deceitful. Fourthly, Mammi Vera would blow an artery if she knew.”
    Mim kept her head down. Did Bethany think those concerns hadn’t crossed her mind? They did! But Mrs. Miracle had a life of her own.
    Bethany waited another long moment, then let out an exasperated snort. “Fine. I’ve got enough problems of my own.” She spun around and walked down the hallway.
    As Mim reread the letter, she could hardly breathe. Theeditor said he had an offer to syndicate the Mrs. Miracle column. Was she interested? Because he was. Call me! he wrote, underlining it twice.
    First, she had no idea what syndication meant. Secondly, whatever it was, she didn’t want it.
    She pulled the dictionary off her desk and looked up the word:
syndication | ˌsin-də-ˈkā-shən | noun • publish or broadcast (material) simultaneously in a number of newspapers, television stations, etc.: his reports were syndicated to 200 other papers .
    Oh, boy. Mim threw herself on her bed, headfirst.

    Geena Spencer had once been a guest at Eagle Hill and liked Stoney Ridge so much she ended up moving here. She became the housemother to the Group Home for wayward girls, and Bethany couldn’t get over the changes there—a person would hardly even recognize it anymore. If a house had a personality, the Group Home used to look sad, neglected, lonely. Now it was smiling, laughing, buzzing with activity.
    The very first thing Geena had done as housemother was to get rid of the television. The previous housemother let the television stay on all day and all night. As soon as it had been given away, the wayward girls made noises about being bored and boom! That was the moment Geena implemented change number two: each girl would be required to work or volunteer ten hours a week in addition to attending school. But they had so much time, Geena pointed out as they howled andcomplained about the new rule, why not use it for good? So they did, and it did do good. Mostly . . . for the wayward