She said gently as if she didn't want to be offensive, "Morning, hope I haven't woken you up too early."

"I would've had to get up soon anyway…" Reagan Lucas rubbed the sleep from her eyes, pressing her phone closely to her ear. "What do you want?"

"To talk."

There was nothing to talk about Reagan decided. Impatience tinged her tired tone, "Mom, I have to get ready for school. I don't have time for this. Anything you wanted to say should've been said before you dumped Lee and me with Aunt Aggie."

Softly, her mother sighed a tiny huff of resignation. "Okay, I'm waiting for my flight to Chicago and the first day of the conference will be done by eight 'o clock. You can call me then."

But I don't want to, Reagan omitted. "Okay, I'm hanging up now."

"Honey, no matter what happens between your dad and I, just know we both love you."

Without a word, Reagan pressed End Call and swung her short legs over the edge of her bed. Her tiny feet shuffled along the floor as she entered the bathroom. Reagan stretched and massaged the kinks out of her back as she allowed the steam of hot water cloak her body. After washing her hair, Reagan thought of her predicament as she worked her loofah over her chest, dreading the idea of assimilation in a foreign environment. Technically, Reagan was born in the small town of Sweet Amoris, having lived there for eight years before her family uprooted themselves and settled in Merion, a few towns away. Eight years might as well have been one because Reagan recognized nothing of her hometown. Turning the knob to a colder temperature, she leaned against the warm tiles of her minuscule shower cubicle. Water glided over her body as Reagan grasped for a memory of Sweet Amoris, bathing in the now cool water. Nothing sparked her mind except for three faces, she knew them as "Cassie," "Amber," and "Nat." Cassie was her first crush, a sweet boy who made sandcastles with her in the sandbox and Amber was a close friend with whom Reagan played house. Then, there was Nat, a mean brat who pulled on Reagan's pigtails and kicked her sandcastles into oblivion; feisty, Reagan refused to let him victimize her and fought back, at one point she had scratched him up so bad that she had left a tiny scar on the bridge of his nose, imperceptibly small but present. She had always been curious as to how they turned out but barely remembered them; those faces belonged more to ideas than to actual persons. Turning off the shower, Reagan stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, diminishing further thoughts of those faces.

A pea-sized dollop of lotion and a swipe of mascara sufficed for Reagan's delicate features. Observing herself, Reagan knew if she put effort into her appearance, her looks would've been better for it and veiled admonitions from her facetious ex-boyfriends about makeup came to mind. Requisite to her morning routine, Reagan wiggled into her clothes in a hopping dance. She felt the velvet smooth fur of her cat, Clinton, rub against her leg and mewled in his tiny voice. Grinning, Reagan kissed the spot between his ears as he purred and she replaced his water. Sprinkling a couple treats atop his filled bowl, Reagan scratched behind Clint's ears and bid her farewell as the chubby kitten snacked. Entering the main room, Reagan hooked her backpack on the corner of her chair, alerting her brother of her presence.

Lee was a willow to Reagan's stump, although, he had her wide eyes and strong nose and sardonic humor. Being a year older, Reagan was often jealous of her brother's towering build, solely inherited from their mother, and frequently thought of as the younger sibling to her chagrin.

His voice was muffled with a warm veggie Hot Pocket, offering her one, "Hot Pocket?"

Accepting it, Reagan consumed the pastry voraciously and reached for another. The Lucases were a strictly vegetarian family with the exception of Scott, the eldest child, who bulked up on protein to make an effective presence on the football field.

Casually, Lee said, "I see you're rocking the hobo chic look."

"It's called grunge."

"And that's better?"

She couldn't help but snort as she admitted, "Hardly, I just figured if it had a name it'd be more legitimate than 'hobo chic.' Besides, you're one to talk, Mr. Hipster."

"If that's the best you got, I'd hate to imagine what didn't make the cut." Changing the subject, Lee said, "Aunt Aggie's already at work."

Their aunt, Agatha, worked for a pre-school, often donning a fairy princess outfit that looked more adult than child-friendly to rouse more excitement from the already giddy children. Her job required that she leave for work early, giving the brother and sister time alone in the morning. When Agatha's sister, their mother, dropped them off for the last few weeks of summer and then for the upcoming school year, Agatha accepted them graciously, happily enthusing that her want for children. Lee and Reagan haven't seen their aunt for seven years and knew nothing of her or her personal life but they felt grateful that she hadn't turned them away unlike their own parents who had gone MIA since the separation; although, Aunt Agatha's enthusiasm perturbed the cynical siblings who had never encountered genuine zeal, which discomfited them. Even with the awkward tension, Agatha and the siblings got along well enough, she was warm and welcoming, they were grateful.

"So, what's new?"

"She left a note saying that she'll be late tonight, it's her friend's birthday. She gave us a twenty for takeout."

"As long as it's not leftover Pot Stew from Pot Stew Saturday I'll live."

Lee gagged involuntarily at the very image of the brown gruel their aunt had whipped up every weekend. Kindly, the siblings accepted each serving, pondering on the possibility of their aunt being a former prison chef in private. At one point, Reagan swore that the stew had life of its own, having seen a chunk of carrot move by itself in the thick gravy. What Agatha had in warmth she lacked in cooking, which was not a particularly terrible tradeoff but terrible for the siblings' tummies.

Finishing off her glass of water, Reagan wiped her lips and slipped her arms through her backpack straps. "C'mon, if we don't get going we'll be late for first period."

"Aw, you say that like that's a bad thing."

With a nervy edge, Reagan said, mildly threatening, "If you make me ruin my perfect attendance streak, something bad will happen."

Once the two were out of the apartment complex, Reagan unlocked her ancient bicycle with its graying mint handles and seat, swinging her leg over the seat and straddling it. Kicking up the stand, she turned to Lee who had just put away his lock, her feet resting on the pedals.

Calling over to him, Reagan asked, "Race me?"

Ever since they were children, Lee and Reagan raced to school on their bikes with the loser buying the winner soda or ice cream; their older brother, Scott, was seven years older, never being as present in Lee and Reagan's lives as they were to each other. Presently, Scott was finishing his training in a military academy in Virginia and vaguely aware of their parents' separation.

"If you want to eat my dust."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, punk." Without a warning, Reagan bolted off in a flash. She could hear Lee cursing at her as the wind brushed her hair off her face. A lovely rush pumped her blood as she raced down the empty road, her cheeks flush with adrenaline.

Sweet Amoris was a largely undeveloped community, foliage blooming freely—almost wildly—and Reagan, no stranger to nature, managed to find at least thirty different species of flora foreign to her during her summer hikes. The air had a bright, crisp quality that heightened Reagan's senses, everything smelled, tasted, felt, and sounded with clarity. The developments were grounded in the center of the land with just the basics, large farmhouses dotted around them; there were the schools—the primaries, secondary—dollar store, bank, diner, jewelry, and clothing shop. All were built with the same gray mortar and bricks, the only difference were the variances in color of the buildings, some robin's egg blue others creamsicle orange. The town was so sparse there wasn't even a city hall building; instead, it was conjoined with the bank in a frustrating labyrinth. Reagan found it to be a miracle that a town with only a mere nine-hundred people could survive for more than a century without excessive aid from the government, a fact Reagan's mother emphasized in pride. Unashamedly, Reagan's mother loved her hometown, although she rarely spoke of it, and made it known it was Reagan's father that disliked it, resenting him for uprooting the family. It was the place her mother and her mother's family, the Gladwells, were raised and stayed for generations; her mother was one of the three family members to leave town while the rest farmed or became teachers. The Gladwells were a beloved family in Sweet Amoris and it was obvious—the first week Lee and Reagan arrived, the neighbors showered them with gifts and filled their nights with homemade meals. Reagan knew it wasn't the home she felt comfortable in, but there was a chance that it could be some day.

The smell of burnt rubber laced the pavement as Reagan's bike screeched to a stop. There was another screech as Lee's stopped so abruptly that he was thrown onto the gravely ground with an oomph.

Off her bike, Reagan walked towards her brother and laughed as she helped him up. "What's it up to now? Twenty to ten?"

Lee corrected her, "Twenty to nine, braggart."

"Using fancy words aren't going to lessen the burn, you know." Reagan locked her bike to the bike rack by the stone stairwell leading to the entrance. Reagan felt a small nagging doubt. An air of nervousness thickened her voice as she said, "Lee, we'll be okay."

Dismissively, Lee said, without looking up, "Yeah, I know, genius. It's school not war."

She couldn't argue with that truth.