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Next chapter: Chapter 3
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... estnut waves and half-hearted attempts at tidiness.

My backpack, slumped by the door, seemed to sigh in anticipation of the day ahead. Hurriedly, I zipped it up, my phone clutched in my other hand. No new messages lit up the screen, so I shoved it into my pocket.

"Sweetheart, you’ll miss breakfast at this rate!" Mom’s voice, musical even in urgency, floated up from downstairs.

"Coming, Mom!" I hollered back, snagging my jacket and leaping down the stairs two at a time.

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