“At Risk” kids, they were labeled, because statistics indicated that kids in those circumstances were most at risk of dropping out of school and getting involved in drugs and crime.
Sadly, even with the Mr. Niceguy incentives, at least half of these boys and girls would eventually drop out; only a handful would go on to receive Mr. Niceguy scholarships. Nevertheless, it was Jess’s belief that each year, Mr. Roxbury’s efforts did save young lives, did turn them away from the ravages of ignorance and crime. That belief was what kept those dedicated to the Mr. Niceguy program going.
Omitting any reference to the negative, she smiled and forged on, “Remember, even if you decide college isn’t for you, if you make it through high school with at least a C-plus grade average, the Mr. Niceguy program will give you two thousand dollars as a reward for your success.”
The kids made appreciative sounds, and she had to hush them again. Two thousand dollars sounded like a fortune to a fourteen-year-old. It was meant to. Money was one of the few things these kids responded to, since money—or the lack of it—dominated their lives, and in all too many cases lured them astray.
She raised her voice to be heard over the low buzzing. “The Mr. Niceguy program is here to compensate you for your hard work and to help you complete your education. And we’d be more than happy to hand out checks on graduation day to every one of you sitting here tonight.”
She scanned the watchful faces, wishing every child there could come to the retreat, hating to disappoint any of them. Every child here was exceptional in Jess’s mind. The Mr. Niceguy program, with the help of area schools, had sent out hundreds of flyers about the contest to eligible students. These forty-three had responded. They wanted a better life, and they’d made an effort. She breathed a silent prayer that they would all succeed, despite the odds against them.
Clearing a lump that had formed in her throat, she said, “Enough lecturing. Let’s get on to the list of winners.” Shifting, she thrust a sheet of paper into Lucas’s hand, eyed him threateningly and declared in a loud, firm tone, “Mr. Niceguy will announce the winners.”
Annoyance flickered across Lucas’s face, then he composed himself behind a casual mask. “Thank you, Mrs. Glen,” he intoned, without a hint of the menace Jess knew he harbored because of her dirty trick. “And Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”
She cast him a sidelong glare and caught his devilish grin. He was plotting revenge, the bum. Still, a thrill raced through her at the sight of that crooked, seductive mouth.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, scanning his list. “Here are the condemned ten.” He paused to survey the confused faces. “I say condemned, because I understand you’ll be eating your own cooking, and I’ve tasted it.”
There was a burst of laughter, and Jess found herself staring at him. A joke? Evidently he’d made a few after-dinner speeches in his time. As the giggling died down, Jess wondered why Lucas had made any effort to put the kids at ease. Probably force of habit from years of speech-making.
He began to read, and after each name there was a burst of applause. Jack’s last name was Zeeman, so he’d be the final winner announced. Jess found herself growing eager to see his expression, and was glad now that Lucas had insisted on selecting Jack. Maybe this endorsement would be the turning point he needed in his life.
When Jack’s name was called, no pleasant emotion registered on his face. Not even surprise. His frown merely deepened. Jess called for quiet, because the room had broken up into animated conversations, as well as squeals and hugs from girls who’d discovered that a favorite friend had also been chosen.
Of course, there were downcast faces. She felt the usual pang about that, but clapped her hands for quiet. “Okay, gang, we’ve got a surprise gift for you all in the kitchen.” She gestured in that direction, reminding, “The bus will be here in a few minutes. Enjoy your gift and Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!”
The kids were trailing out where their parting gifts were waiting, the brightly wrapped tokens a ploy for the losers to take their minds off their loss. And besides cupcakes and a pen set, there was a final note to remind them that they were all still in the running for scholarships. Jess looked around. Jack hadn’t moved from