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Sebastian turns on his side. The alarm clock’s bleeding red numbers assault his vision. 3:36 a.m.Crap. He needs to sleep and to stop silly thoughts of saving someone else’s ass when he’s still not sure how to save himself.

5

“Are you happy?” Sebastian askshis phone when the alarm screams at him. He aches like twice-run-over roadkill, but that’s okay. The sky has cracked open for an epic sunrise, and that means one glorious thing: Time for a morning jog.

“You’re annoying,” Sebastian tells his phone. He groans when his phone responds by going back to sleep mode. After a yawn and stretch, Sebastian makes quick work of pulling on a comfy hoodie and a pair of loose shorts. He steals Willie’s iPod from the desk between their beds.

Willie’s snoring away, dead to the world.

“Lucky you,” Sebastian grumbles, and Willie answers by snuffling his pillow.

Sebastian grabs his sneakers. He runs to the pantry for bottled water before hitting the hiking trail.

Bloomington is pretty cool, but Oakville is a different version of awesome. It’s the nature vibe he likes: glittery dew on green leaves, heady, clean air, everything gold and ivy instead of gray and dull.

He jogs around the edge of camp, down by the lake, following a winding dirt path that leads to town. None of the other guys want any part of waking up before the ass-crack-of-dawn to join him. Mornings are his private sanctuary.

“Hello, Mr. Walsh!” Sebastian shouts when he’s passing an auto shop in town. The owner, a husky man, stands in the parking lot surveying his muscle cars and used tires.

Mr. Walsh waves back, grinning in his gruff, kind way. “Back for another summer, Bastian?”

“Always!”

Sebastian likes checking out the small shops. Their “SALE” signs are hung in the windows and the owners sweep the sidewalks in front of their doors, preparing for another day of boring small-town life. Never slowing, he nods at all of them. He likes to run a few miles in under an hour, keeping pace to Willie’s trulysuckplaylists. How many acoustic covers can one person download?

Daft Punk comes on, and Sebastian says, “Finally,” before sprinting back to camp for breakfast.

Mason grunts, then says, “Youstink,” when Sebastian flops into a chair at their table. Mason’s useless without caffeine in the morning. He’s already sipping coffee from a paper cup.

“Good morning, Mace,” Sebastian says in a singsong voice rather than flipping him off.

A tray of food is pushed toward him. “The usual?” Willie offers. His mellowness in the morning reminds Sebastian that life is good.

On the tray is everything Sebastian loves: wheat toast slathered in Nutella, fresh fruit, chopped bananas in Greek yogurt. These are three reasons Willie is lightyears ahead of Mason in the friendship department.

“Wicked. Thanks, Willster.”

Waving as if it’s nothing, Willie turns pink and ducks his head. But Sebastian is curious.When has Willie ever been bashful?

“Kiss-ass.” Mason pokes Willie with a plastic spoon. “You never get me breakfast.”

Willie replies, indignant, “Because you don’t eat breakfast.”

“Coffee—”

“Isnotbreakfast,” Willie tells him.

Mason sips loudly at his coffee in rebuttal. Willie rolls his eyes and digs into his bowl of Cheerios.

One day, Sebastian is going to let them go all Thunderdome on each other and congratulate the winner. Of course, he’ll be short one best friend, but that’s bound to happen eventually.

“I hate you two,” Mason grumbles to the lip of his cup. “You’re like an awful bromance.”

“Hey!” Willie protests. “You wanted to marry me yesterday.”

“I was mistaken.”

“Whatever.”