I HEAR LANA'S MUSIC, JUST the same as any morning, but I don't hear her feet on the floor, and she's not singing. I peel my eyes open, but she's not in the room either. Slipping out of bed, I throw a t-shirt on and head out to the kitchen.
Lana is sitting at the table, a cup of tea in front of her, steam wafting upward.
“Lana?" My throat's a little hoarse from sleep.
She doesn't react. Her eyes are big, and she's chewing on her lip the way she does when she's nervous. I love the way she does that.
“Lana," I say again. It's weird. She's not sitting at her window seat, or dancing around the house, or smiling. She always smiles. “Lana," I try again.
Finally, she snaps out of her thoughts, eyes still wide from being lost. “Huh?"
“What's wrong?"
There is something wrong, I know it. Sh
