“But that’s not the worst of it,” Dad tells me. “I just got off the phone with someone from Holeman & Parker. She said that Gina called their offices this morning and tried to convince them that we’re crooks and that they should cease all donations. Apparently she found the list of corporate sponsors on our website and is calling the businesses one by one.”
“Are you serious?” Geez, this just gets better and better, doesn’t it? “Let me give her a call.”
“I’ve tried. I left her a message, but we’ll see if she gets back to us. I just thought I’d pop in and see if you had any good ideas for damage control.”
“I’ll try and figure something out,” I tell him. Assuming she hasn’t turned off half of our donor base already.
He nods. “We’ll need to get some positive buzz around here after this. At least we have that Intown Voice article coming out soon.”
My stomach tightens at the mention of the article. Things didn’t exactly go poorly with Asher Julian over the phone, but I’ve had a knot in my stomach ever since our second interview. He really wanted to hit the Cunningham angle of our story, and I made it clear that he wasn’t going to get the information he wanted from me. What if he decides there isn’t enough of a story without it?
As soon as my dad leaves, I scrabble around my desk until I find Asher’s card. He picks up on the first ring.
“Asher Julian.”
“Hey. It’s Lily from the Frazer Center for the Arts.”
“Ah, Lily.” He sounds genuinely pleased to hear from me. “I was wondering when you’d call.”
I hope he’s not expecting me to suddenly change my mind. “I just wanted to know when you thought the article might run.”
“Well, that depends,” he says.
“On…?”
“On whether or not I get the story my editor wants.”
Crap.
“I’ve y cheeks go hot" aid="lptold you everything I know,” I tell him. “I know you’d prefer something with a little more drama, but I’d like to think that you have an interesting story already.”
“Interesting doesn’t always cut it in this world,” he says. “I’m going to be blunt with you, Lily. My editor has promised me the cover if I do this right. This Cunningham business has been all over the national press this week, and we have a piece of the story right here in our own community. This is huge. I wouldn’t be surprised if the article gets picked up by one of the larger weeklies. Think of what that would mean for the Frazer Center.”
I do. It would be huge for us. But saying even one word against Calder’s family feels like a betrayal. I won’t do it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know anything else about the Cunninghams. But if there’s anything else I can do, any other questions I can answer for you, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I have a couple of other ideas for how we might spin this story, but let me run them by my editor first. Can I give you a call after I’ve talked to her?”
“Of course.”
“It was never my intention to be pushy about any of this,” he says. “And I don’t want you to think that I don’t believe the Frazer Center is worthy of a cover story all on its own. It’s a remarkable organization, and if I had my way it would get not only the cover but an entire ten-page spread. But my editor loves the flash, and I have to walk that fine line between writing something of substance and giving her what she wants. Believe me, it’s an ongoing battle.”
His words make me feel a little better—but only a little.
“Give me a call after you’ve talked to your editor,” I tell him. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says.
I breathe a sigh of relief after I hang up. It’s not a magical solution to our problem, but it’s a move in the right direction. Sometimes I feel like I’m just putting out one fire after another around here.
I only wish I could shake this feeling that my whole world is about to go up in flames.
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time Thursday shows up, I’m ready to put my fist through the wall.
A couple of our teachers have come down with the flu, so I’ve been working overtime to make sure they have everything prepared for classes next week. Gina Billings is still on her crusade to cost us all of our funding, and while no one has yet to obey her “suggestions,” we’ve been fielding calls from annoyed donors all week. I’m afraid this might cost us in the long term, and I’ve yet to hear back from Asher Julian about the article.
On top of that, my dad seems to be coping with the extra stress by being extra nosy.
“He’s been asking me about you,” Morgan tells me when I pop by her classroom that afternoon with a couple of blueberry scones. “Well, he’s been asking about this mystery guy you’ve been seeing. Thought I might know something.”
“He what? What did you say?” Crap. I wasn’t expecting Dad to go all super-sleuth on me.
“I just told him the truth. That I don’t know very much and that I’m sure you’ll let him know if you’ve found a keeper.”
I bite down on my scone. Dammit. Now it feels a whole lot shadier, hiding this from him. Maybe I should try testing the waters again, see if I can gauge Dad’s true opinion of Calder. I just don’t know what I’ll do if Dad’s holding on to any lingering resentment. Honestly, I don’t want to put that strain on what Calder and I have right now.
“How is he?” she asks suddenly. “How’s he dealing with this media craziness?”
“Who? Calder?”
“Duh.”
I feel weird admitting that he doesn’t want to talk about it with me, so I shrug. “About as well as you can expect.”
She nods again.
“Poor guy,” she says. “It just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it?”
She doesn’t need to tell me that. In spite of my best efforts, I find myself drawn to the news again and again. I’ve been spending my lunch breaks with my eyes glued to my computer screen, gorging myself on the gossip blogs. The other night I stopped by the supermarket for some food, and I ended up standing next to the magazines for almost an hour, reading every article on the Cunninghams in the entire store.
The speculations have continued. The most popular theory still seems to be that Wentworth had some sort of gambling problem. Some have embraced the idea that he was involved in a scam overseas—but whether he was part of the con himself or a merely victim remains up for debate.