7
The Promise
Blowing bubbles
Selling an unlikely story.
Char Siu kicked off the heels and threw them across the street where they bounced on her front lawn. She rubbed her eyes, wound her ponytail into a loose bun, then knelt down next to us.
“So what’re we making?”
“Sled,” Jay said, relaxing now that Char Siu was herself again.
“I don’t think that’s right,” she said, eyeing the cardboard box. “It looks too square.”
“Chillax, Char, we’re not pau,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Jay, “we never even added the fins, yet.”
“I dunno; I’ve never seen a sled like that. When my family went to Tahoe last winter all the mainland ones were made of plastic, not cardboard.”
I threw my arms out wide. “You see any snow around here? You only use plastic sleds if there’s snow. We’re making a grass sled.
