Two weeks later, I was still thinking.
Friday evening, I was sitting on my bed, mindlessly scrolling through my Pinterest board. Sierra was out on a workout at the local gym. She’s decided she was going to get a gym card and attend sessions at least three times a week. She’d tried to tag me along but I firmly refused. I wasn’t a fan of sweating or moving in general, and my parents would most likely have a seizure if they discovered I’ve decided to attend the gym. They’d have me on a plane and back in England in record time.
They had Sierra watching me like a hawk, making sure I ate three square meals a day. She even took photos of me eating and sent them to my parents with a detailed description of what I was eating. Most of them presented me with my tongue out or making a face.
When
