Early the next morning, Owen's internal clock woke him up as usual—right on the dot at 6:30 a.m. Even after a long day of flying and a deep night's sleep, his ingrained routine didn't waver.
He freshened up and headed downstairs, only to find that his mother and McCall were already up and ready. Dressed in casual gear, they greeted him before stepping out. Moments later, the sound of neighing horses echoed from outside—the two of them riding off into the distance.
"Enviable," Owen muttered to himself.
He stepped out as well. The morning air was crisp and invigorating—especially so in the countryside, where everything smelled of fresh grass. It made him feel completely at ease.
Owen jogged along the path through the woods. Morning runs were a habit he'd maintained for years; in his line of work, it was crucial to keep fit and in top condition.
The air was fresh, cool, and soothing as it filled his lungs. He wasn't sure exactly where the path led, but it was clearly more walkable than the surrounding grassy areas, where a misstep could easily twist an ankle.
As he jogged, he took in the scenery. Now and then, he caught the sound of hoofbeats nearby—his mother and McCall riding through the woods. The clatter of hooves would rise, fade, then vanish entirely.
Suddenly, he heard faint shouts—"Ha!"—from up ahead. Slowing down, Owen craned his neck and realized he had somehow ended up near Brock's house. The path must have connected their properties.
In the yard, Brock and his daughter Mandy were practicing punches in front of two hanging punching bags—one large, one small. The shouts came from their workout. Both were dressed in athletic gear, still wearing their signature baseball caps.
"Hi, Steve!"
"Hey, Mandy. Morning, Brock," Owen called back with a wave. Mandy had spotted him first, cheerfully greeting him. Brock, more reserved, gave a brief wave in return.
Owen waved again and continued on, though he was now more curious about Brock. Teaching his daughter to box—and from the brief glance he got, Mandy's form looked good, clean. She had clearly been training for a while. Brock was definitely putting serious effort into protecting his daughter.
When Owen returned home, his mother and McCall were still out. Who knew where they'd ridden off to? Checking the time, he saw it was about right to wake Amanda—they had plans for breakfast and then a visit to Park Elementary to discuss her volunteer work.
Upstairs, Amanda was sprawled across her bed, mumbling and refusing to open her eyes. She heard Owen calling her but had no intention of getting up.
Then came the cold.
A splash of something icy hit her body, and Amanda jumped up with a shriek—only to see Owen grinning mischievously.
"Steve! You're dead meat!"
Her furious scream echoed through the house. Owen was already racing downstairs—no way he'd stick around to become her punching bag.
Moments later, Amanda stormed down after him. From inside came the sounds of Owen groaning.
"If you hit me again, I'm calling the cops—ow! Okay, okay! Mom's back—stop hitting me!"
"You lied to me! You're still getting it!"
"AAAHH—!"
Outside the front door, their mother and McCall had just returned from their ride. Hearing the chaos inside, both smiled. It had been a long time since the siblings roughhoused like that. It brought back memories. Clearly, they'd come back at the wrong time. With a tug on the reins, the horses turned again and trotted off down the trail.
Back in the house, Amanda finally stopped when she got tired of hitting him. Fortunately, Owen was built tough—any average guy, like that quarterback from school, wouldn't have survived her flurry.
"Alright, I'll take you to breakfast," Owen said at last.
Seeing that their mom hadn't returned to cook, and nothing was ready in the kitchen, it was clear the two of them were on their own for breakfast. Owen decided to take Amanda out.
Not long after, they drove into town. After circling around a bit, they found only one place offering breakfast: a café called "Leem's."
Apparently, the people in this town weren't used to eating out in the mornings. For a town this size to have only one breakfast-serving café was quite surprising.
They parked and walked in. The café already had several customers. The siblings found an open table. Amanda ordered toast with jam and milk; Owen chose hash browns and coffee. Both meals were relatively high in calories—but that was typical. Don't think Americans eat light in the morning. Plenty of them start the day with steak, and pancakes or hash browns are fried, often topped with syrup or other rich sauces. The calorie count was no joke.
There were about a dozen people inside, mostly in small groups. Everyone seemed to know each other but stuck to their own familiar company.
Owen noticed one young man sitting alone. No one seemed willing to share a table with him—probably not very well-liked. When the guy noticed Owen looking, he stared right back, his gaze unfriendly.
"Out-of-towner?" the lone man suddenly asked. His voice was loud enough to draw glances from a few nearby tables.
Owen didn't respond verbally—he simply nodded. He didn't want trouble. The safest thing for his mom and sister was to keep a low profile. But if this guy pushed it, Owen wouldn't hesitate to teach him a lesson—just like Brock had with those punks at the gas station.
But the man didn't escalate. Instead, he flashed a sly smile, raised his coffee mug, and said, "Welcome to Revell," before walking out.
Since the guy didn't press further, Owen let it go. Still, he was starting to get a sense of the town's character. Some of the people here were old-fashioned—unfriendly toward strangers, slow to offer kindness, maybe even a little xenophobic. Owen had only been back two days, and he'd already witnessed two cases of outsiders being hassled—one of them himself.
After breakfast, they drove over to Revell Park Elementary. Amanda had scheduled a meeting with the principal in advance, and they'd timed things just right.
Amanda went in alone, and Owen waited in the car. In less than half an hour, she came out smiling from ear to ear.
"How'd it go?" Owen asked.
"All good! The principal said I can start anytime. I'll be working as Miss Tracy's assistant, helping her manage the kids."
The school's efficiency surprised Owen. But once Amanda explained, it made sense. The principal was thrilled to have a volunteer from a top-tier university. After all, Columbia University—Amanda's school—was one of the most prestigious in New York.
Revell Park Elementary was just an ordinary school—the only one in town. Having a volunteer from an elite university was a rare treat. From the principal's perspective, it was a stroke of luck.
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