Page 94 of How to Prevent a Fumble

She pops her hip, tilting her head to the right and shimmies her shoulders. “I have something to give you.”

Nervous, I gesture for her to spit it out.

“I was told to first show you something else.”

Without another word, Elara turns and skips down the hall to the office, and I follow after her, confused.

But when she pushes open the door, my heart stops.

This isn’t what the office usually looks like. Not at all.

Because everything was cleared out of it. The desk was replaced by a longer desk and nicer chair. A large, expensive looking monitor sits in the middle, a vase of flowers next to it. In the middle of the room sits a table with photography equipment all around it, and a brand new camera.

And most importantly, on the far wall sits a line of vinyl’s, each one brand new versions of several of my favorites that were smashed back home.

“What is this?” I whisper, walking in further.

“Leo said Uncle Owen told him about your cookbook. He wanted you to have a place to work on it.”

Uncle Owen is going to get his ass kicked.

“This—”

“—is awesome!” Elara yells, skipping around the room. “Mom! You have an office here!”

I had an office before he redid it though, too.

“And you can finish your book, and you could publish it. And then you can be a famous chef!” she nearly yells.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that there’s going to be nothing famous about me. It’s not that kind of cooking.

Before I can say anything else, Elara takes my hand, leading me out of the room.

“We need to go downstairs for the next one,” she tells me, pulling me along.

We put on our shoes, heading out the door. She leads me to the elevators and down to the garage.

And right outside, right next to my old beat up Ford, is a giant truck with a big red bow on it.

Elara places something in my hand, curling my fingers around it. “He said that you needed something more reliable to bring me to school in,” she nearly whispers, knowing that if there was one thing I’d freak out over, it’s this.

I love my little rust bucket.

“I—”

“Mom, take a breath. You haven’t in like, two minutes.”

I take a breath, pressing the button to unlock the car.

Because in front of me sits a Grand Wagoneer.

“Oh!” Elara says, following me as I get a closer look. “Leo said to tell you he knows you’re going to look up the price. He said to tell you not to.”

Like that would stop me.

Opening the drivers-side door, I admire the tan interior and the wide screen in the middle of the console.

“Isn’t it cool?” Elara asks, yanking open a door and climbing into the back.

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