Shelby woke up and placed her feet on the wood floor beside her bed. She slid her feet back and forth on the grainy wood. The sunlight crackled her tight blonde curls. She put her palms over her ears and pulled her hair back into a bun.
The kitchen was quiet, and Shelby ate a bowl of cornflakes at the kitchen counter. She stood at the open window over the sink and the wet morning air lit upon her nose and forehead. The sky was gray. Dry leaves were crumbled in brown piles in the corners of the porch. The ceramic tiles were cool under her feet, and she ran her big toe against the sandy grout.
Shelby could hear the calves waking and moving in the yard. They lowed quietly. Her house was quiet. Her father had taken the truck somewhere. Her mother was outside. Her sisters were still asleep.
Shelby placed her bowl in the sink and turned on the faucet. The cloudy water poured over the sides of the bowl. The door swung behind Shelby’s thin mother. “You’re awake. Time to feed the calves. Bottles are on the fence.”