Tourist Trap by Emma Harrison

By Emma Harrison

Access identify: Cassandra Grace occasion: Horseback driving (jumping) Animal identify: Lola (best horse within the world!) rate enclosed: Um, virtually . . . See, the item is, I virtually find the money for, i've got lots of driving scholars who pay me, yet there is this man, and each time he calls i must see him, so i have type of been skipping paintings in recent times . . . yet i will have the price quickly, I promise!

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My mother, who usually had to drive twenty miles to the grade school to teach every day, had the newer car. Dad always maintained that as long as the truck was running, it was good enough to get him where he needed to go. My mom thought it was an eyesore, but I liked the old thing. It was rugged and reliable, just like my dad. I rolled down the window, then leaned forward and flicked on the radio. Music blasted so loud I jumped and fumbled for the knob. It was a good two seconds before I realized the wailing guitar was not coming from our crappy old speakers.

She stared across the lobby at the framed poster advertising next week’s film—something about a boy and his baseball. ” “Or at least just one of the three,” I put in, • 32 • balancing one box on top of another. “Never gonna happen,” Derek said. He pushed himself off the counter and came over to help me. “Dad is nothing if not a purist. ” Donna lamented, collapsing fully on top of the candy case. Her arms splayed out across the glass as she pressed her cheek into it. ” she said, lifting her head minutely.

Marni Locke should be calling here tomorrow. She wants to bring in her two boys for lessons. ” I smiled, dollar signs lighting up in my mind. One good thing about the invaders: They were definitely going to help me inch closer to my monetary goals. Sure, the more lessons I gave, the less time I would have for fun, but let’s be honest—there wasn’t all that much to do around Lake Logan, anyway. “We didn’t have to go shopping, Dad. I could have had cereal,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at my father as we walked out of Wonder • 27 • Mart, our local food market.

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