Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

When he finished, he grinned and stuck out his hand
for me to shake. “So whaddaya think, J-dogg?”
I guess it was designed to be an offer I couldn’t
refuse, but I’d have rather spent the summer in a
Siberian labor camp than live with my uncle and his
spoiled kids. As for working at Smart Aid HQ, I knew
it was a probably inevitable part of my future, but I’d
been counting on at least a few more summers of
freedom and four years of college before I had to lock
myself in a corporate cage. I hesitated, trying to think
of a graceful way out. Instead what I said was, “I’m not
sure my psychiatrist would think it’s such a great idea
right now.”
His bushy eyebrows came together. Nodding
vaguely, he said, “Oh, well, sure, of course. We’ll just
play it by ear then, pal, how’s that sound?” And then
he walked off without waiting for an answer,
pretending to see someone across the room whose
elbow he needed to grab.
My mother announced that it was time to open
presents. She always insisted I do this in front of
everyone, which was a problem because, as I may
have mentioned already, I’m not a good liar. That also
means I’m not good at feigning gratitude for regifted
CDs of country Christmas music or subscriptions to
Field and Stream—for years Uncle Les had labored
under the baffling delusion that I am “outdoorsy”—but
for decorum’s sake I forced a smile and held up each
unwrapped trinket for all to admire until the pile of
presents left on the coffee table had shrunk to just
three.
I reached for the smallest one first. Inside was the
key to my parents’ four-year-old luxury sedan. They
were getting a new one, my mom explained, so I was
inheriting the old one. My first car! Everyone oohed
and aahed, but I felt my face go hot. It was too much