Page 18

Bree

Ken just turned off the light when frantic pounding echoes through our house. The doorbell rings repeatedly, urgent and desperate.

"Who the hell?" I mumble, reaching for my robe. "In this weather?”

The storm outside is pure drama—lightning cracking, wind howling, rain battering the windows.

Ken's already pulling on sweats. "Stay here—"

"Not a chance." I follow him downstairs.

Ken cracks the door—and there she is.

Clara.

Soaked. Breathless. Shaking.

Mascara halfway down her face. Her hair is plastered to her head like a drowned poodle. She looks like she ran through a car wash with attitude.

"Clara?" My heart races. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She beams. Absolutely glowing.

“I WON THE FUCKING LOTTERY!”

Ken just blinks . “What?”

She holds up her phone, screen glowing in the darkness, like it’s the Holy Grail. “Six hundred twenty million dollars, Mega Millions rollover. I checked it four times. It’s real.”

I scream. She screams. We both start jumping up and down like idiots.

Ken winces. “My eardrums.”

"Wait!" Clara stops mid-jump. “I need to send a text to your dad.”

"My dad?"

"Yup,"

She types furiously, then smirks.

Clara: I QUIT!

"Clara!" I laugh.

"Hold on, one more." She types again, grinning maniacally.

Clara: S orry-not-sorry. I'm suddenly FILTHY FUCKING RICH!

THE END