A boy about your age leaned against the rusted mailbox at the edge of your driveway. He had dirty-blond hair tucked under a paperboy cap, a scatter of freckles across his nose, and the kind of sharp, impatient look that said he'd rather be anywhere else.

A girl with dark curls and a familiar Denver Broncos jacket skidded to a stop beside him. She grinned at you like she'd known you forever.