Monday, August 29th

Bernard's excited bark jolted me awake, and my hand flew defensively to my throbbing forehead. A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes. I was still hot and drenched in sweat, remnants of the fever clinging to my skin. As I opened my eyes, Bernard bounded onto the bed, his big brown eyes full of joy and oblivious to my suffering.

"Hey, Bernie," I rasped, my voice barely a cracked whisper. A surge of nausea threatened to overtake me, and I closed my eyes again, letting my head sink back into the pillow.

Suddenly, the bedroom door squeaked open and a sliver of light pierced the comforting darkness. Pops' voice, usually laced with playful teasing, held genuine worry as he took in my disheveled form. "Sloane Liliana, your alarm went off over an hour ago..."

I could feel him beside the bed, the warmth of his presence enveloping me. The familiar scent of sandalwood and spice was somehow comforting, even with an underlying sharpness - the scent of worry clinging to him. His hand gently brushed against my cheek, and despite the fever, I shivered a little. My eyes fluttered open and saw the concern etched on his face. "What's wrong, honey?" he whispered.

That's when the dam broke. I buried my face in his chest and let loose a torrent of tears. His arms wrapped around me, a sanctuary in the chaos of my sickness. "I don't feel good, Pops," I sobbed, clutching his shirt.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he whispered, rubbing soothing circles on my back. "Maybe you caught a stomach bug. You'll be okay."

The noise of footsteps made me tense. Stetson walked in - backpack slung over his shoulder, twirling his keys in his hand. He was in full 'hurry-up-or-I'll-leave-you' mode, ready to launch into his usual snarky routine. But he froze in the doorway, the scene before him derailing his usual banter. His expression shifted from surprise to confusion. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice mirroring Pop's worry.

Pops looked at him and shook his head. "She won't be going to school today, Stetson," he said softly. "Can you let them know she's sick?"

Stetson nodded, and without another word, slowly backed out of the room. Pops sat on the bed and leaned back against the wall, pulling me onto his lap. ​​I snuggled deeper into his comforting embrace.

We were twins, Stetson and I. Bound by blood, yet as different as night and day. He, with his short, dirty-blonde spikes and tall, muscular frame, exuded a raw, athletic energy. His features were all angles and edges – a prominent nose, thin lips, and those captivating blue-gold flecked eyes that commanded attention. And then there was me. My ash-blonde hair fell to my waist, my curves a stark contrast to his lean lines. My features were softer – a small tilted nose, full lips, and eyes of shimmering green with flecks of gold that mirrored his own.

Stetson was a force of nature – captain of the soccer team, the outgoing extrovert with a sea of friends, and popularity that flowed as easily as his charm. He sailed through relationships, leaving broken hearts in his wake. Me, they said, was too afraid to let anyone truly in. I reveled in the quiet – I was the volleyball captain too, but my circle was small and intimate. Crowded parties weren't my scene. Boyfriends? They never seemed to stay, claiming I was too quiet, too boring, or too independent for them.

Yet, through all our differences, we were inseparable. Our bond ran deeper than blood. When life knocked the wind out of me, he was the one who knew when to push and when to simply sit in the silence. And despite the occasional bickering that came with being twins, his loyalty was unmatched, my fiercest defender. He might be three minutes older, but I was perfectly happy ignoring that small detail.

For now, tucked safely in Pops' arms, I let the exhaustion claim me once more. The rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft scent of his familiar aftershave lulled me back to a much-needed sleep.

When I woke again, the room was strangely quiet, the comforting weight of Pops no longer beside me. A sliver of afternoon sunlight cut through the closed curtains. With a soft sigh, I pushed myself up, a wave of grogginess still clinging to me. Opening the door, I stepped into the hallway, a faint hope nudging me forward.

Almost immediately, a familiar bark and the thud of excited paws echoed through the house. Bernard, our fluffy white Samoyed, dashed toward me, his tail a whirlwind of joy. He leaped, paws catching me just below the chest, and a flood of happy licks washed over my face.

A smile spread across my lips as I wrapped my arms around his thick fur. "Hey there, buddy," I whispered, scratching behind his ears. "Missed you too." Bernard was a sixteenth birthday gift, a surprise from Pops, and instantly became an irreplaceable part of our family.

He trailed behind me as I headed downstairs, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the kitchen. Pops was in the living room, a soft smile on his face as he watched a nature documentary, the sound barely audible. Our spacious living room was a familiar haven – the slate sofa and matching loveseats arranged around a glass-topped wooden table. The sofa faced the fireplace, the loveseats angled towards the flat-screen TV mounted over the mantel. Beige walls, warm hardwood floors, and pops of green from the potted travelers palm tree gave the room a cozy feel.

Pops glanced up, a smile spreading across his face as he waved me over. I snuggled up against him, resting my head on his shoulder. With a light touch to my forehead, Pops declared, "Seems like that fever's broken, sunshine. Feeling better?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Much better," I admitted. Pops stroked my hair lovingly and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"A little," I admitted, though the thought of food didn't hold much appeal right then.

Pops nodded, grabbing the remote and switching over to Friends, cranking up the volume just as Joey launched into a description of his latest escapade. A familiar wave of comfort washed over me as I laughed at the onscreen antics, Bernard hopping onto the couch to curl up beside me.

Just as the episode reached its peak, the back door slammed open, shattering the cozy scene. Stetson burst in, breathing hard, his backpack flailing. "Sorry, Sloane," he panted, thrusting a wrinkled stack of papers into my hand. "Forgot your homework."

With barely a word of goodbye, he tore up the stairs, his heavy footsteps announcing his rush to change. "Gotta get to work!" his voice floated down.

The grandfather clock chimed 5, its gentle melody signaling the end of the episode. Pops stretched, a wide yawn splitting his face, as the Friends credits rolled. "Alright, pizza time," he announced. "What sounds good, sunshine?"

"Buffalo chicken," I replied without hesitation. Pops dialed Domino's, placing an order for one buffalo chicken, one deluxe, and two orders of stuffed cheesy bread. After confirming the total and estimated delivery time, he hung up.

"One more episode?" I suggested. Pops nodded, grabbing the remote and pressing play as he settled back on the couch. He hummed along to the familiar theme song, and we were halfway through the episode when the doorbell rang.

Bernard bolted from the couch and sprinted into the kitchen, barking excitedly. "Sounds like someone else is home," Pops said, grinning as he got up to answer the door. Sure enough, Dad's familiar voice drifted in from the entryway, followed moments later by dad and Uncle Jake strolling into the living room.

"How's my girl feeling?" Dad asked, crossing over to give me a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

"Better," I smiled. Dad turned to greet Pops, who was balancing two large boxes of pizza and a bag overflowing with cheesy bread. The irresistible scent of melted cheese and warm marinara filled the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation. Dad gave Pops a quick hug and kiss, then carefully relieved him of the tempting cargo, placing it all on the coffee table.

"That smells amazing," I confessed, my mouth already watering.

Dad chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Hold your horses, kiddo. I need to change first, then we can dig in." He headed upstairs as Uncle Jake and Pops disappeared into the kitchen. Uncle Jake returned with three beers, Pops following with paper plates and napkins. Uncle Jake handed one to Pops and set his and Dad's on the coffee table. He scooped me up and settled onto the couch, wrapping his arms around me in a warm hug.

"Missed you, munchkin," he said.

Uncle Jake wasn't my real uncle, but he was Dad's best friend since they were fourteen. Living just four blocks away meant he and his son were over almost every other day.

Pops and Uncle Jake chatted about Uncle Jake's day off – apparently, he'd spent it fishing. Dad walked back downstairs, now in a navy blue t-shirt, khaki shorts, and blindingly white socks. He flicked off the TV and grabbed his beer. I snatched a slice of buffalo chicken and a cheesy bread, dipping them in ranch dressing before taking a giant bite.

Pops pulled Dad close, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "How was your day?" he asked.

Dad sighed, the lines on his face deepening. He told them about a case – a young man accused of robbery and assault. The guy swore he was innocent, but there was a prior record, a witness who identified him, and a DNA match. Five years behind bars was the verdict.

As the last greasy wedge vanished, Pops and Uncle Jake swooped in, a whirlwind of clearing plates and rustling napkins.

Dad's voice broke through my post-pizza daze. "Sloane, time to hit the books. Upstairs." Ugh, homework – the ultimate party pooper. A glance at the stack of worksheets confirmed my worst fears: Pre-Calculus, Physics, and Geography. The dreaded trio. I whined, a pitiful squeak hoping for a shred of sympathy, but Dad's eyes hardened.

"Upstairs. Now," he said, his tone steely, no room for debate.

Uncle Jake chuckled. "Guess it's my cue." He eased off the couch, squeezing my shoulder. "Thanks for the pizza, guys." He tossed out a wave of goodbyes and vanished out the door.

I trudged towards the stairs, a string of grumbles escaping my lips. Up in my room, the door shut behind me with a soft, final click.

My bedroom was an oasis of soft colors. The teal walls, the coral comforter on my queen-sized bed, even the gentle glow of my nightstand lamps—everything felt soothing. I sank onto the bed, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of my sheets mixed with the subtle vanilla of my candles and a lingering hint of perfume from my vanity. A navy beanbag chair and a cream-colored shag rug added a cozy touch. Volleyball decorations and pictures of friends and family were scattered around the walls.

I sighed, my gaze falling on the taunting homework packet. Might as well get started. With a groan, I began tackling Pre-Calculus.

Just as I started to decipher the first problem, my phone buzzed to life. Noelle's name flashed on the screen. I grinned and answered the video call.

Noelle, my best friend since kindergarten and my next-door neighbor, appeared on the screen. Her golden blonde hair fell around her face, framing sparkling sapphire blue eyes and those perfectly sculpted cheekbones.

"You could've just walked over," I teased.

A blush crept up her cheeks. "Yeah, but Stetson said you were sick, and I didn't want to disturb you." She tilted her head. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad," I admitted, "Just buried under a mountain of homework."

Noelle cringed in sympathy. "Glad I'm done with that nonsense for the night." Despite her bubbly personality and stereotypical 'dumb blonde' reputation, Noelle was brilliant — 4.0 GPA and honor society proved it.

For the next hour, she filled me in on all the juicy school gossip I'd missed. Her stories about the new boy and the dramatic happenings in class had me laughing despite my homework woes.

Just as we were fully engrossed, my bedroom door creaked open. Dad poked his head in. "It's getting late, kiddo. Wrap that up soon and finish your homework."

A familiar wave of annoyance washed over me, but I forced a smile. "Okay, Dad, I'll be done soon," I chirped, hoping he couldn't hear the underlying groan.

Reluctantly, I said goodbye to Noelle, her bubbly chatter fading away as I ended the call. With a defeated sigh, I dove back into the homework abyss. Pre-Calculus was a nightmare of numbers and equations that made my brain ache.

Time seemed to drag on endlessly. Every time I glanced at the clock, only a few minutes had passed. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I scribbled the answer to the last Pre-Calculus problem. A small victory, but I still had Physics to conquer.

As I delved into the complexities of motion and energy, my eyelids grew heavy. The numbers blurred, and my focus wavered. A glance at the clock startled me – 11 pm already! With renewed determination, I pushed through the exhaustion and tackled the last of the Geography questions.