Collision by Stefne Miller Page B

funny, some serious, some altogether ridiculous.
    “One more,” she said, running up after resetting the timer.
    I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and smiled.
    “Cabot?”
    “Yep?”
    “Were there still candies left in the bag when we went to sleep?”
    “Yep.”
    “We left it outside the car.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Something was here. Look at the sack. It’s empty.”
    Shocked and scared, I looked down at the mauled bag just as the camera snapped the photograph.

C H A P T E R
    8
    Kei and I ran every morning at around six thirty, and being used to living my life on a schedule, I walked into the main house every morning at six twenty-five. Kei, on the other hand, came down whenever she was done with morning prayer. Sometimes it was six thirty and sometimes it was seven. I learned to busy myself in the kitchen until she finally appeared each day.
    This morning as I walked toward the main house, I found it weird that the kitchen door window shades were down and I couldn’t see into the kitchen. Kei never lowered the shades at night. I didn’t know if it meant something was wrong, or possibly Oliver had come back from Japan earlier than expected. Either way, the sight made me uncomfortable.
    I picked up my pace, jogged to the door, threw it open, took one look around the room, and said, “What the hell?”
    The ceiling was covered in helium balloons with strings hanging off of them, almost touching the floor.
    Kei jumped out from behind the table and screamed, “Happy birthday!” Her excitement, combined with the decorations and my complete shock, made me laugh.
    “Did I surprise you?” she asked with a huge smile on her face.
    “You did.”
    “I did? Honestly?”
    “Honestly. I’m totally shocked,” I said before laughing again.
    “You haven’t seen anything yet. I have the entire day planned.”
    “Do you now?”
    “I do.”
    “And just what exactly does it involve?” I asked.
    “Zero exercise.”
    “Thank God.”
    “Food.”
    “I like food.”
    “A game of pool where I intentionally miss some important shots and then let you win.”
    “That sounds amazing. My pride would appreciate a nice win for a change.”
    “Some cake.”
    “Love cake.”
    “A European adventure.”
    “A European adventure?”
    “Hold your imaginary horses on that one,” she said.
    “All right.”
    “And then, we’ll end the day with a campout minus the rain and hopefully no bears.”
    “Sounds like the most amazing day of my life.” That’s no exaggeration.
    “I should hope so. It’s difficult to plan a spectacular day when the celebrator or the celebratee doesn’t actually want to leave the property. I put a lot of planning into it.”
    “I appreciate it more than you could know, and honestly, I’m not real sure there’s anyone else I’d want to spend my birthday with.”
    “That’s rather depressing.”
    “What? No, it isn’t.”
    “Do you not have any friends at all?”
    “I have friends. Lots of them actually.”
    “And I’m the best you could want for your birthday? Really, Cabot, you need to get out more.”
    “Trust me, I’m out enough.”
    “Whatever you say. First things first.” She threw open the oven door and pulled out a plate of French toast, which she’d already put birthday candles in. “Follow me.”
    We walked down the hallway and into the formal dining room. A dozen or so pictures of France decorated the walls. “We’re starting our day in France.”
    “France?” I said with a chuckle. “Thus the French toast?”
    “Precisely. Please take a seat. It was either French toast or crepes, and I didn’t think it would be wise for me to attempt those. I’m fairly certain Oliver and Mariah would prefer for their home not to be burnt down when they return to it.”
    “I’d bet you’re right. And really, I like French toast more than crepes anyway.”
    “Honestly?”
    “Honestly.”
    I sat in the chair she’d decorated with balloons. And I’m pretty sure I was