“Iamfocused—”
“Neither of you is focused,” I hiss-yawn, rubbing my eyes and fighting to open them.
“Good morning,” Mom coos, sitting down next to me.
She slips her arms around me, squeezing me in a hug that she doesn’t realize is the only thing holding me upright.
Dad sits down on the end of my bed and they both give me a second to yawn and stretch and rub my eyes so that I can join in on my own life.
“Happy birthday to me,” I say, the words making it impossible not to smile.
“How does it feel to be a year older?” Dad asks, pinching my toe through my blanket.
I pull my knees to my chest and stick my tongue out, because clearly that’s what adults do.
“It feels like I need ten more minutes of sleep. And like I can vote. I suddenly feel very political.”
“And clever,” Mom points out, giving me a squeeze.
“Well, we know that you have big eighteen-year-old plans for today, and your party tonight, so we figured we’d get our time in early,” Dad says, him and Mom both standing up at the same time.
“We’re having dinner together,” I remind them, too tired for their pretend pity act.
“Well, who knows, you might decide to go out for dinner,” Mom says, shrugging her shoulders.
I mean, if they want to pay for me to go out—
“Come, we have a surprise for you.” Dad waves me up before he ducks out of the room.
I step into my slippers and head down the hallway with them.
Expecting to see some kind of box in the kitchen or—when nothing’s there—in the living room, I’m dumbfounded.
“The house looks clean,” I say, noticing how there doesn’t seem to be any progress on coffee or breakfast either.
Mom hands me an eye mask and I slip it on. The last thing I see is Dad heading toward the coat closet by the door. I shuffle along as Mom guides me by my shoulders. Being groggy and unsuspecting makes me realize I should’ve paid closer attention because I forget what direction I’m headed.
Then I hear the latch on the front door.
The brisk fall air litters goose bumps across my bare legs and arms, and I’m thankful that I at least have on my fuzzy slippers.
I hear… keys.
Keys.
FREAKING KEYS!
“Watch your step,” Mom says.
Dad’s hands find my outstretched ones and I step down from the threshold onto our front walkway. They guide me along the path, and I try to control the shriek building up in my throat.
We stop, and soon after dad lets go of me, I hear the keys again.
“Okay, take off the blindfold,” Mom says, though it comes out fast, barely able to hide her own excitement.
I take it—basically rip it—off.
A car. A CAR.MYCAR!