Five dollars.
Fifteen.
Forty.
Whatever he had.
Again and again.
My father pushed the keys toward me.
“You deserve something nice.”
I took them.
Relief passed over his face.
Then I folded his fingers around them.
“I’ve wanted a car for two years.”
I looked at Ray.
“I wanted a dad for 14.”
Nobody moved.
I turned back to my father.
“I’m not waiting anymore.”
His face went blank. “You’re choosing him?”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“He chose me.”
My father looked at Ray.
Ray didn’t look proud.
He looked miserable.
Because that was Ray.
He hadn’t been trying to beat anyone.
He hadn’t even known there was a competition until someone arrived and declared one.
My father pulled his hand back.
“You’re 17. You don’t understand everything.”
He looked at Mom.
“You’ve done a hell of a job turning him against me.”
