My first waking thought is that the air mattress must have a slow leak, because my tailbone is pressed into the floor. It’s still dark in the room. How early must it be? I haven’t woken up before the sun in a long time. The silhouette of an arm sneaks out from underneath the covers on Jackson’s bed, and the alarm is abruptly silenced. A second later, the lamp on his nightstand flares to life, and I toss the sheet over my head with a groan. “Rise and shine, brother,” Jackson says. “What time is it?” My voice is scratchy. “Six. Full day ahead of us.” Peeking out from underneath the blanket, I ask, “What are you talking about?” Pulling on a pair of basketball shorts, he leans over to look in the mirror on his dresser and run a hand through his hair. “We’re helping Dad at the greenhouse, remember?” Oh, right. “You want to shower first or second?” “Go ahead,” I grumble, taking advantage of another few minutes’ rest. Eventually I hear the bathroom door open just before Jackson yells down the hall, “Done in the shower!”
