My fingers pinch a piece of toast but my will to lift it from the plate to my mouth is wavering. I slouch at the counter and kick around my eggs with my fork instead, every so often biting and chewing single bits of scramble. Helena eyes me as she cleans up until she asks, "Did you get enough sleep, dear?"

"I think so."

"Is the bread too toasted? I can make-"

I take the toast and bite down, shaking my head, telling her it's just fine. She mumbles, "Well, alright," and resumes.

Truthfully, my appetite is nonexistent, but Jeremy told Helena that I'll be practicing with David, so she...