I'm standing at the end of my driveway, barefoot on the cool concrete, wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and shorts. I couldn't sleep. Again. The house behind me is still quiet, my parents and Lily tucked away in their new rooms, dreaming in a place that doesn't feel like home yet.

The street is empty. Just rows of houses with their wide porches and manicured lawns, all of them still wrapped in that pale pre-dawn light. I should go back inside. I should try to sleep.

But something makes me look across the street.

The house with the peeling blue shutters. The garden that's gone a little wild—roses climbing over the fence, weeds pushing through the gravel walkway. And sitting on the front steps, elbows on his knees, is a boy.

He's watching me.

Not like he's surprised to see me. More like he's been waiting.

He stands up, stretching lazily, and I can see even from here that he's tall. Broad shoulders under a black t-shirt. Dark hair that falls in messy waves, like he just rolled out of bed and didn't bother to fix it.