Yes & I Love You (Say Everything #1) - Roni Loren Page 0,10
uptight teachers at the Wesley Alternative School for Boys. Jasper could almost hear the prim voice of his eighth-grade math teacher. Turn down your volume, Mr. McLane. Inside voice, Mr. McLane.
Those comments would be interspersed between her, Please pay attention, Mr. Anderson. Please stop talking, Mr. Anderson. Is what’s outside the window more interesting than my class, Mr. Anderson?
Yes. Always.
The only reason Fitz hadn’t gotten detention over his infractions like Jasper had was because Mr. McLane always knew the right answers. But Jasper had always liked the guy. It’d been nice not being the only foster kid at Wesley.
Jasper smiled. “Fitz, wow. You look…” Like a goddamned linebacker who ate the former Fitz McLane. “I would’ve never recognized you.”
Fitz stepped back and put his hands out to his sides, beaming proudly. “Finally grew into my voice after I took up weight lifting in college.”
“Cool, man. You look great,” Jasper said. “What are you doing here?”
Fitz pointed toward the ceiling. “The company I run is temporarily renting part of the fourth floor.”
Jasper’s eyebrows jumped up. “Your company? Get the fuck out of here.”
Fitz McLane owned a company? When Jasper had known him, the guy had barely been able to tie the Wesley uniform tie. Fitz’s had always been crooked.
He shrugged, as if owning a company was no big thing. “Yeah, I’m the CEO of GetFIREd. It’s an online investment firm. We specialize in working with people working on a FIRE plan.”
“A fire plan?” Jasper got the image of money actually burning. That felt like his current investment plan. Or as he liked to think of it, the artist’s way.
“It stands for Financial Independence, Retire Early. Helps people who want to retire in their thirties,” he said, glancing past Jasper as if to see if anyone was working the coffee bar.
“Their thirties?” What the hell? Jasper was still figuring out how to start his actual career and people his age were already nearing retirement? “Sounds…wow.”
Fitz grinned and looked back to him. “Right? It’s all about choosing the right assets and cutting expenses. Easy as pie. Get some property in your portfolio, investments that will bring you passive income, live on a shoestring for a while, and boom!” He clapped, the sound echoing. “No more working for the man.” He pulled a card out of his back pocket and handed it to Jasper. “If you’re interested in talking more about it, let me know.”
Jasper snorted. “Thanks, man, but the only part I have covered is the shoestring budget.”
“Ah, gotcha,” Fitz said genially. “What are you up to these days?”
Jasper shrugged. “This and that. You know, all the things our teachers figured I’d grow up to do—petty crime, letting lonely widows use my body for a fee, selling organs on the dark web.”
Fitz laughed. “Excellent. Sounds lucrative.”
“Yes, all of those would probably make me more money than what I actually do,” Jasper admitted. “I’m an actor in an improv group. We perform a few nights a week here in town.”
Fitz snapped his fingers. “That’s right. You got roped into the school’s theater program.”
“Yeah, first by force but then I got hooked.” Jasper didn’t have great memories from Wesley. He’d been living with an awful family that year and had been determined to cause enough trouble to get moved. But Mrs. Hernandez, the English teacher, had been the one shining light of that year. Instead of giving him detention for acting up in class, she’d forced him to “volunteer” for the play. Put all that energy to good use, young man. He’d fallen in love with the high of being onstage, of making people pay attention to him, of making them laugh.
“Wow, so you’re still acting. That’s great. Living the dream,” Fitz said, genuine enthusiasm in his voice. “Your own theater.”
“I… Oh, no. I don’t own a theater. We just do our shows at a local bar for now.” It sounded pathetic even to his own ears. “But we’re going to be offering classes soon, too. Lucinda wants us to give a few classes here at WorkAround as a perk for members—you know, improv skills for business or whatever.”
“That’s cool.” Fitz gave him a pondering look, his brown eyes narrowing. “But you really should look into getting your own theater, one that has room for the classes, too. That’s where the real money is.”
Ha. The money. The real money wasn’t anywhere in comedy except at the very top, where there was only enough air for the chosen few to breathe. Right where Kenzie was headed.