Icehot

1: A Burning Beginning

Truth be told, a flaming fanny pack from his long-lost grandpa wasn't on Oliver's birthday list.

The day started out normally enough. It was a sunny November morning and a fresh coating of colorful leaves decorated the sidewalk when he woke up, his bright blue eyes caked shut. He rolled over and rubbed his eyes until they cracked open, snatching his Pillow Pet™ from off of his bed, heading to the bathroom, and splashing a handful of water into his face.

He flattened his short blond hair down, spiking it up in the front with water, and then meandered downstairs.

Sitting on the oven was a plain but appetizing white cake, layered with strawberries and whipped cream and topped with a thin white frosting.

That was when Oliver remembered that it was his birthday; and, he had the day off from school.

He let a smile onto his face as he quickly grabbed his dad's car keys and walked through the living room, where five or six neatly folded presents lay on a table under a sign that said, "Happy Birthday Oliver!" It was the same sign that hung over that same table each year.

Oliver opened the door quietly and felt the fall breeze on his face as he walked towards the car. He unlocked the door and sat down in the driver's seat, running his hand along the leather of the steering wheel and imagining himself driving it in a few short weeks.

* * * * *

Naturally, it was the last present. By the time he got to the small cardboard box, he'd already managed to consume three of his dad's special birthday rice and gravy, and a portion of cake much larger than necessary, to say the least.

He had gotten, as presents, mostly what he expected: twenty dollars from Grandpa Turner, a new book called The King's Nephew from his dad, an iTunes gift card from Grandma Turner (who thought she was so much more up to date than her husband), a pair of race goggles from his Aunt Mary (Oliver had been swimming competitively for a few years), some t-shirts from Uncle Steve, and, most surprising of all, a new iPhone, also from his dad.

He thought that he had opened all of the presents on the table and started to stand up when his dad noticed one more box, resting near the edge of the table.

It was about the length of his arm and must have been less than a foot tall and wide. The box was solid cardboard except for one stripe of thick, sticky packaging tape-the kind that you try to rip off for a minute or so and then finally give up on and use scissors-running down the middle. Turning it over, his eyes caught hold of six words printed in large, bold, red text. They were: Grandpa Aston to Oliver. Important. Open.

Grandpa Aston? he immediately thought.

"Who's it from?" his dad questioned, holding up his phone to record the scene for future memories.

"Dunno," Oliver muttered, searching for any kind of identification. He paused and the said, "It says it's from Grandpa Aston, but..."

"What" his dad exclaimed, and he stood up, putting down his phone.

"Yeah, but that doesn't make any sense. Didn't Grandpa Aston..."

Leaving it at that, Oliver walked over to show his dad the box. He took it, his thick eyebrows furrowing, and walked into the other room, coming back with a pair of scissors.

"Probably someone playing a cruel joke, using Grandpa's name. I guess you might as well open it."

He handed the box back to Oliver, who cautiously snipped through the thick masking tape and then lifted the two cardboard flaps up.

Still, he wondered who could have sent it.

In the box, laying serenely at the bottom of the abundance of packaging peanuts, were two small, wrapped bundles of bubble wrap. His dad peered over his shoulder, mystified, as he removed the packages.