"Morning, Dave!" she said, way too cheerfully.

". . . mornin' . . ."

"Have a seat! I'll fix you some breakfast."

". . . thanks . . ."

I flopped down onto a kitchen counter stool: the one furthest from Quinn. It wasn't that I didn't like her. It was just . . .

Okay, that's not exactly true. I don't particularly like Quinn. It's just the way she always seems to be in total control of everything and everyone. It just bugs me, like she has the whole world rapped around her pinky.

Tessa hummed absently as she poured some pancake mix onto a skillet. As the hiss...