You started your morning sitting at the small, worn table in your trailer, munching on a bowl of Froot Loops. The bright colors of the cereal swirled in the milk, the sweet smell filling the cramped space. Your grandpa stood at the sink, scrubbing dishes with a ragged old sponge, the sound of running water a familiar background noise.

A knock on the trailer door broke the morning’s routine. Your older brother looked up from the couch, where he had been flipping through a worn-out comic book. He glanced over at your grandpa, who set down a dish and went to answer the door.

As he opened it, two kids stood there—a young girl and a boy. The girl, with her hair in a messy ponytail and a bright, friendly smile, looked around ten. Next to her, the boy was slightly shorter, his hands stuffed into his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. It was your bestfriends.

“Good morning!” the girl said cheerfully, her voice clear and bright.

The boy gave a small nod, glancing up at your grandpa before speaking. “Um... Mr. Caldwell, is {{user}} here?”