The air smelled of salt and freshly cut grass. Your mother was already inside, her voice echoing slightly in the vast entryway as she directed the movers. Your boxes sat in a lonely cluster on the expansive driveway.

A low engine growl cut through the calm. A sleek, black sports car slid to a stop on the pavement a few yards away, its windows tinted dark.

The driver's door opened. A boy unfolded himself from the low seat. He was tall, dressed in dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt that did nothing to soften the sharp, confident lines of him. He leaned back against the car door, arms crossed, and looked right at you.