I keep my eyes down and head to the hall, hoping I can make it to my room without being spotted by my parents first. I enter the house through the back door, trekking through the kitchen where the weekend chef is cleaning up the breakfast spread. The backyard is filled with various people tearing down tents and packing up stemware, everything being loaded meticulously into the back of the vans and trucks that take up the entirety of our rear driveway. Nothing like a sugar and caffeine pick-me-up before walking into what I’m positive is about to become WWIII. I make one last stop before reaching Park Terrace, opting to grab a coffee and scone from my favorite café. I’m not looking forward to going home, but I am looking forward to getting this over with. I return to my car a minute later and place the bag on the passenger seat floor mat, and then I shoot Madden a quick “happy birthday” text before getting back on the road. I hand her my debit card, and she wraps the piece in thick paper before placing it in a nice bag. “Twenty-three dollars and eighteen cents.” The woman hesitates at first before clearing her throat. “Well, that’s the one,” I say, hoping she’ll find it in her heart to let me complete the transaction anyway.
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