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“Five minutes, Cassia. Jeesh!”
I continue down the hall into my parents’ room. My mom is getting Sally dressed. My dad is gone, probably already at the office. Most of the time, I wake up well before my alarm and make it to the kitchen before he leaves. Miraculously, I almost made it to my alarm going off this morning.
“Maggie is in the bathroom,” I say by way of explanation as I duck into the en suite. I catch my mom’s sigh just before I shut the door behind me.
I run through my short morning routine and walk back into the bedroom. My mom and Sally are both gone. Likely downstairs, working on breakfast.
Predictably, the bathroom door is still shut when I pass it. “I’ll leave without you, Maggie,” I threaten before heading downstairs.
It’s chaos, like always. Sally is crying again. My mom is making coffee. The twins are fighting over a baseball mitt. Regan is coloring at the kitchen table. On the kitchen table, partially.
“Can you get the twins some cereal, please?” my mom asks, handing Sally a banana that temporarily stops the screaming.
I nod, filling two bowls with Cheerios and milk and setting them on the table. “Charlie! Chris! Come on, breakfast!”
The twins abandon their argument and come eat breakfast. I grab a bowl for Regan as well, confiscating the markers and paper before wiping off the table with a paper towel. My mom gives me a grateful smile as she hands me a toasted bagel and a thermos of coffee. I’m addicted to caffeine, same as her. Most days, I limit myself to one cup in the morning. I have enough trouble sleeping as it is.
“Tell Maggie I’ll be in the car, okay?”
She nods. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”
I grab my lunch off the counter and shove it into my backpack. Shrug on my raincoat and head out into the drizzle.
The soothing scent of rain fills my lungs as I inhale deeply, dodging the puddles that have formed along the front path. I pop the trunk and toss my backpack inside, allowing myself one glance over my shoulder.
Holden is gone. So is his truck.
I climb into the driver’s seat, my wet jacket squeaking against the leather. I turn on the car and some music.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder. A few seconds later, the passenger door opens and Sydney climbs in. Her blonde hair is soaked, small droplets flying everywhere as she drops her backpack in the footwell and looks over at me.
“Maggie running late?”
“Of course. I should leave her here.”
“You won’t.”
“I know.” I tap at the steering wheel, impatient.
“Graham Warner texted me last night.” The sentence bursts out in a rush, betraying the eagerness that’s also splashed across her expression.
“Really?” I ask.
“Uh-huh. Asking about a history assignment.”
“He’s president of the Honors Club.”
“Right? It’s an excuse, don’t you think?”
“Sounds like one to me.” I don’t have any other boy advice to offer.
Sydney—everyone—thinks I have no interest in a high school relationship. That I’m focused on nothing besides getting into the best college I can and pursuing my dream of becoming a veterinarian.
Iamfocused on that.
But the real truth behind my perceived disinterest? There’s only one guy whose actions I’m interested in analyzing, and they haven’t indicated any interest inmefor years.
That’s nothing I can admit to Sydney, though, since the guy in question happens to be her older brother.
