Jake and his older sister Zoey had basically mastered the outside life. Living in a small city just on the edge of Los Angeles, they were always on the move—walking from corner stores to parks, hitting up taco trucks, or just wandering through the streets like they owned them. It wasn’t that they didn’t have a home to chill in—it’s just that their parents weren’t really around or paying much attention, so outside became their comfort zone.

Zoey, an 8th grader with a sharp tongue and a good sense of direction, usually led the way. She wore her hoodie half-zipped and earbuds in, always blasting something chill while Jake followed beside her, hands in his pockets, asking a million questions or pointing out random stuff like, “That cloud looks like a dragon.”

They knew the area better than anyone. The guy who gave out free candy at the corner store? Zoey had him wrapped around her finger. The little hill behind the basketball court? That was their secret thinking spot. People in the neighborhood recognized them too—two siblings always out, always talking, always laughing or play-fighting about who had the better outfit.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was their life. No curfews, no lectures. Just two kids finding their way around the city, one block at a time.