36 - sunday

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"Do you think time travel is real?"

"Jellybean, you've asked this—"

"Yes or no!"

"Yes, fine. But only if you don't mess with the past. That's what they say."

"I'd go back and tell myself to stop eating that gross yogurt last week."

"You'd waste time travel on yogurt?"

"Fox, it was really gross."

chris

Oh, what a morning for lazy beauty and soft birdsong.

The sunrise spills. Spills everywhere and anywhere. Warm and golden, but shy. It peeks in to kiss our faces, but not too much—just enough to feel it. I pull my mug of mint tea closer, inhaling the steam, letting it curl up into the air.

Cam's sitting cross-legged on the floor with me, her crooked nose scrunched up as she glares at the notepad. "Is perro butt?"

I blink.

She's dead serious, brows furrowed. "I swear one of these words means butt."

I choke on my tea, spluttering, "Pardon?"

"No, not pardon. Perro."

I burst into a laugh, wiping my chin. "Perro is dog. Culo is butt."

"I thought Cujo was dog."

"That's a story!" I laugh.

Cam's eyes narrow. "Okay. I knew that. I was actually testing you."

"Right," I say, nodding slowly.

We're both still in our pyjamas—her in an oversized AC/DC band shirt and me in a soft white cotton set with tiny suns embroidered on the sleeves—Whitney's handiwork.

Cam tosses the notepad up on the coffee table, looking very pleased. "Enough literacy. I have a threshold. Somewhere around, like, fifteen minutes of attention span."

Her hair's all wild curls this morning, the kind that seems to catch the light and hold it hostage. I wonder what it feels like to glow like that.

"You're really beautiful," I murmur.

Cam's eyes widen, her tanned skin flushing cherry red. "Chris."

"What?"

She picks up her mug. "Halt the compliments."

I smile. "Why?"

"I'm gonna fall in love with you," she says, hiding behind her tea.

"What about Noah?" I giggle.

"You'll have to duel. Jousting, preferably."

And speaking of Noah, we hear footsteps creak softly. He comes down the stairs from the loft. He's half-asleep, dark hair sticking up in every direction, but he waves at us anyway, a sleepy smile on his face that shifts the scar with it.

"Where's Charlie?" Cam asks, stretching her arms above her head. Her bones pop, and she groans like an old man, which makes me smile. Noah does that too.

"Still sleeping. He stole your spot again."

"Lazy buggar," Cam mumbles with a smile, pulling the notepad back onto her lap and tapping a pen against it.

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