“It could,” he said warmly. “Look over everything today. We can talk tonight or tomorrow morning before you decide.”
We hung up, and I sat for a good twenty seconds staring at my phone like it might sprout wings and fly away.
Three more books. Two offers. An actual chance to get Ava and me out of this house.
Hope bloomed so strongly it felt like sunlight in my lungs.
I practically floated into the house.
Belle was in the kitchen, earbuds in, dancing in small, silly shoulder movements while unloading the dishwasher. I leaned against the doorway until she spotted me.
“Hey, girl!” she chirped. “You’re smiling so big I can see your molars. What’s up?”
I opened my mouth, then covered it with both hands and let out a little squeal. A literal squeal. I hadn’t done that since I was a teenager.
Belle’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, now I need the tea. Spill.”
“I got two offers,” I said, shaking my hands like the joy physically had to go somewhere, “and one of them wants THREE more derby girl books.”
Belle’s jaw dropped. “Shut up.”
“I will not shut up,” I laughed. “I’m—Belle, I’m going to cry.”
She launched herself at me, hugging tight, hopping us both side to side. “This is HUGE! Oh my god, El, this is everything!”
“I know,” I whispered, overwhelmed in the best way. “We could . . . actually leave. I could actually afford something just for us.”
She pulled back and cupped my cheeks. “You worked your butt off for this. You deserve it.”
I laughed when she pretended to wipe a tear from her own eye with a dramatic flourish.
“So,” she said, releasing me and leaning on the counter. “How’s derby training? Ready to kick ass at tryouts?”
I groaned. “I think so? I mean, I can skate backward and stop without flailing like a baby giraffe, so that’s good. I’m still . . . terrified of taking hits.”
“You’ll be fine,” Belle said, waving her hand dismissively. “Just think of all your pent-up mom frustration. You’ll be unstoppable.”
I snorted. “You’re not wrong.”
We were laughing when I suddenly felt something shift in the air, colder, tighter.
Belle’s eyes flicked upward. “Um . . . incoming.”
I turned.
My mother stood in the doorway like she’d been carved out of frost.
I screamed. A genuine, undignified yelp.
“Eleanor.” Her voice was sharp, even. “Stop being so dramatic.”
My heart pounded. “Mom, you startled me.”
She stepped further into the kitchen, her expression softening by exactly zero percent. “I wanted to tell you that your sister is coming to the show tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I said, teeth clenched so hard I might crack a molar. “Good. Stacey’s coming.”
“Yes,” my mother replied. “She rearranged her schedule for it.”
