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and this guy, Sunday, who does not even know me, but who knew just what to do to make it better.
    Just call me an optimist. Always looking for that silver lining.

Chapter Seven
     

    The next morning I’m so disoriented , it takes me whole minutes to come to terms with the realization that I’m not in my own bed, that Rocky girl is talking to me, and Sunday is cooking something that smells delicious.
    “What?” I say, looking up at Rocky.
    “Your bruise,” she says, pointing to my face.
    I touch it and wince. “What about it?”
    “Do you want me to cover it?” She holds up a clear bag of makeup. “It’s not too bad.”
    “Done this before, huh?”
    She smiles with a shrug.
    “Sure.”
    I use the bathroom, smile back at Sunday when he smiles at me, and then plop down at the small kitchen table and look longingly at the food in front of me as Rocky makes me pretty.
    Sunday watches. I can’t figure out if I like that he’s watching or if I don’t.
    “Are you going to school today?” he asks.
    I check my face with a compact mirror and then hand it back to Rocky with a thank you. “I think I have to.”
    “Graduation and shit, right?” He has a great smile, I realize. Friendly. His hair is very dark, but he’s not Hispanic. Ditto for Rocky. They both have very dark eyes and when I look directly into Sunday’s, he’s staring at me.
    “Hey, are you two related?”
    “Twins,” they say together.
    “Obviously not identical,” Sunday says. “I’m so much better-looking.”
    Rocky halfheartedly punches him and then gets up to grab some more bacon from the counter before snatching her backpack from the coffee table and walking to the door. “I’ll see you there, Danny. Gotta meet Tim.”
    “Yeah, bye,” Sunday absently says. His eyes never leave mine. “You need a ride to school then? I live back there,” he says, thumbing behind his shoulder to indicate behind us.
    “Oh,” I say. “I was wondering where you got this shirt from.”
    “Phil’s my cousin,” he says. “Rocky and I have lived in the apartment above the garage since last summer when we turned eighteen.”
    I wince at the word.
    He stays silent for a long second. “I get it, you know.”
    “Get what?” I ask through a mouthful of bacon.
    “The bad day.”
    “Oh, that.” I chew and swallow. “Yeah, well, it’s behind me now, so bygones and all that good shit.”
    “You’re gonna go far with that attitude, Daydreams.”
    “Daydreams?” I ask.
    “You called me Sunday last night.”
    “I did not.”
    “You woke up about three am asking for water. And you said, Thanks, Sunday . And I said, Who the fuck is Sunday ? And you said, You, dumbass . And then you grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down, close to your face, and said—”
    “I did not do any of that,” I say, laughing.
    “Then how do I know you call me Sunday?”
    “I don’t… know.”
    He leans across the table, his face getting so close to mine I have a shock of fear that he might try to kiss me. And then he whispers, “Because you said it, Daydreams.”
    He leans back into his chair again and I just stare straight ahead for a few moments. All I can do is blink silently.
    “And I was gonna call you Elephant, but—” He shrugs.
    My smile is big. “I like Daydreams better.”
    “My favorite song by them,” he says. “ Cigarette Daydreams. ‘Youuuu were only seventeen. So sweet—with a mean streak.’”
    I laugh.
    “‘Nearly brought me to my knees.’”
    “Oh, my God.”
    He stops singing. “But you’re eighteen now. So fuck. I’m a day late, aren’t I?”
    I take a deep breath and let that little thrill wash over me. That thrill that says you might’ve just met someone special. “Nah, you’re right on time, Sunday.”
    He stands up and get his keys, then grabs my backpack off the floor. “Ready?”
    “Sure,” I say, grabbing Alesci’s leather jacket—thankful Sunday didn’t mention it again— and fall into step with him. We leave by