The next morning, I c***k open an eyelid as a beam of light hits my face, and then burrow deeper into my blanket cave. I"ve missed Taylor all summer, and I promised to practice running with her, so I crawl out of bed and throw on sweat shorts and a fitted white t-shirt. Put my hair in a messy bun on top of my head to get it off my neck.
Taylor lives in a different neighborhood nearby, so it’s a hike to walk but not far to bike. The homes get larger and newer as I enter her development. The Vance home is a larger property with an old remodeled farmhouse Taylor’s great-great-grandparents built.
She has no idea how much I love her, ringing the doorbell at six-thirty in the morning to run with her. The sparrows are singing. Why are they so happy?
"Morning, Gen," Mr. Vance warmly greets me
