The lighting crackles as Saylor pushes the window up, the rain splashing up on the roof into her room as she climbs out. She steps onto the roof and climbs up to the top, heading to the hammock her parents pretend to not know about.

She moves silently, knowing that her parents sleep with their window open just below hers, her mother habitually opening the window as she sees the clouds forming. It’s storming, but the summer kind of storm. Pattering rain, thunder rolling in the distance, flashes of lightning. The sky isn’t angry, it's simply releasing the water as it sometimes must.

Saylor feels at peace during storms like these, when the temperature feels no different from her own body. She stretches out in the hammock, surrounded by trees. Her home has always felt like a tree house, surrounded by giants, centuries old, that protect the family from those driving by on the way down to the beach. The rain sounds like dinner sizzling on the stove.

The lighting lights up the sky and she can see the leaves get heavy, watches at the drops roll down the roof into the gutter. If it wasn’t raining she could hear the waves hitting the beach, but the water running down the side of the house and into puddles in the grass lulls her just the same.