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morning rising. Birdsong can be heard through my window, dawn light trickling in past the blinds and creating a halo upon the face of the one I love so much. At first I believe I’m dreaming, believe I’m in a sacred and secret wonderland in which Noah never has to leave, never has to go home. But then I realize that I’m awake, that it is very much the next day and that Noah is still here. I hate to wake him, but I must.
    “Noah,” I say, shaking him gently. “Noah, get up. We fell asleep.”
    He rouses, his eyelids drooping. He looks around my room in confusion, then at me, before wrapping his arm clumsily around me and pushing me back down into bed. “Rosie. Stay,” he grunts.
    “I have school, and you have work,” I say, pushing his arm off of me. “We have to get going. Come on.”
    He moans and then rolls over to face the wall. I give him an effective kick, which he ignores. I throw my arms up and say, “Whatever. I’m getting dressed.”
    I go to my dresser and start throwing some clothes on, not really caring what I look like. It’s community college and besides, I’m taken. I start brushing my hair, applying some mascara before turning back to witness the state of my boyfriend.
    He’s rolled back over to look at me, the blanket covering up half his face, his expression mischievous. He looks so darn cute. Too bad I have to ruin it. “Get up!” I shout, grabbing a pillow and whopping him in the face. “We’re both going to be late!”
    “I don’t care,” he whines, and he takes a pillow and pitches it back at me. It misses.“You’re terrible,” I tell him. “If you’re late, don’t blame me.” I hit him with a pillow again.
    He finally sits up with a loud yawn. “Can I take a shower?” he asks, running a hand through his rumpled hair. We’re both a mess in the morning. I sigh and say, “Yes, you can. Just don’t use all of Peter’s shampoo.”
    “I won’t use any of it. He’s likely to strangle me if he finds out I’ve been taking showers at your house.” Noah makes a choking motion with his hands and gets up, looking around. “Where are my pants?”
    I throw my old clothes in the hamper carelessly. “Why is that always the question?”
    “Sorry. I get hot during the night.” He stumbles out of my bedroom and I head downstairs to start making breakfast. I don’t ever make eggs unless Noah is here, because it’s too much work to do for myself. Peter and my mom are always gone by the time I get up. Unless Noah or one of my friends are with me, I spend most of my time here alone. It’s pleasant to have somebody actually be here in the morning for once.
    I pick at my breakfast while Noah inhales his. He’s got a long work day ahead of him as always, and if I don’t make sure he eats, he probably won’t. I don’t ask if his dad knows where he is.
    “Thanks Rosie,” he says when he’s done, putting the dishes in the dishwasher and then bending down to give me a kiss. “I hate to eat and run, but-”
    “Go,” I say. “You need this job.”
    He gives me a quick hug and then runs outside to his car, firing it up and racing down the driveway. His driving scares me sometimes. I shake my head as I take another sip of coffee. I’ll hear about Noah’s car still being here in the morning from Peter if I don’t work late tonight, which I probably will. At the diner, there’s always something to do. I get up and grab my bag, heading out the door to the crappy car Noah always has to fix for me. When I pull out of the driveway I run over the side of the ditch by the road. I’m not the best driver.
    I think about what happened yesterday and a little cloud of gloom seems to settle over my head. Yesterday of all days. But why did it have to be any day? Why did my uncle have to return and start something, why couldn’t he have left well enough alone?
    But it was never well enough with our family. The McGowan's had plenty of skeletons in their closet and were always insistent on