Aage Llievang tried explaining to his mother, but she shook her head. “Now, Aage. Really. Your own car? A car? What would the other coop members think?” “Mom, this is a classic! 1952 MG-TD. It’s even—” “British Racing green yes, Aage. I know. Your father knows. Your grandmother knows. We all know about the car.” “But Mom, look.” He waved his Handy at her. The MG glowed on its small screen. “There’s one up for auction on and I’m too young to bid. You’ve got to help me.” “Aage!” She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Your age is not the problem. You can’t even.
