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Now
I
was
laughing
.
I
was
still
scared
,
but
it
was
somehow
comforting
to
think
that
maybe
stage
fright
was
a
trait
I
’
d
inherited
from
Dad
;
I
wasn
’
t
just
some
foundling
,
after
all
.
"
What
if
I
mess
it
up
?
What
if
I
’
m
terrible
?
"
"
I
’
ve
got
news
for
you
,
Mia
.
There
’
s
going
to
be
all
kinds
of
terrible
in
there
,
so
you
won
’
t
really
stand
out
,
"
Mom
said
.
Teddy
gave
a
squeal
of
agreement
.
"
But
seriously
,
how
do
you
get
over
the
jitters
?
"
Dad
was
still
smiling
but
I
could
tell
he
had
turned
serious
because
he
slowed
down
his
speech
.
"
You
don
’
t
.
You
just
work
through
it
.
You
just
hang
in
there
.
"
So
I
went
on
.
I
didn
’
t
blaze
through
the
piece
I
didn
’
t
achieve
glory
or
get
a
standing
ovation
,
but
I
didn
’
t
muck
it
up
entirely
,
either
.
And
after
the
recital
,
I
got
my
present
.
It
was
sitting
in
the
passenger
seat
of
the
car
,
looking
as
human
as
that
cello
I
’
d
been
drawn
to
two
years
earlier
.
It
wasn
’
t
a
rental
.
It
was
mine
.
When
my
ambulance
gets
to
the
nearest
hospital
—
not
the
one
in
my
hometown
but
a
small
local
place
that
looks
more
like
an
old
-
age
home
than
a
medical
center
—
the
medics
rush
me
inside
.
"
I
think
we
’
ve
got
a
collapsed
lung
.
Get
a
chest
tube
in
her
and
move
her
out
!
"
the
nice
red
-
haired
medic
screams
as
she
passes
me
off
to
a
team
of
nurses
and
doctors
.
"
Where
’
s
the
rest
?
"
asks
a
bearded
guy
in
scrubs
.
"
Other
driver
suffering
mild
concussions
,
being
treated
at
the
scene
.
Parents
DOA
.
Boy
,
approximately
seven
years
old
,
just
behind
us
.
"
