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My stomach pinches at the thought of lying to my mom. I’ve never liked hearing people lie, it’s just mean and nasty.

Nora pops out another text, clearly sensing I’m spiraling into guilt.

Nora: Tell her we’re getting breakfast at Coffee and Tell

A gulp plummets down my throat. After a few breaths in and out, I rehearse to myself in whispers.

“I just want to get to my shift early and eat breakfast at Coffee and Tell.”

“I just want to get to my shift early and eat breakfast at Coffee and Tell.” My voice shakes as I say these words, slow like I’m practicing lines for a play, pronouncing each word until I’m familiar with their shapes and order in the sentence.

“I just want to get to my shift early and eat breakfast at Coffee and Tell.” Not as shaky, but still slow.

I swallow down all nerves and guilt, exhale slowly, and, straightening my back, repeat, “I just want to get to my shift early and eat breakfast at Coffee and Tell.” The words, along with my voice, feel clearer than before. There’s barely a hint of uncertainty.

Me: We’re really going to Coffee and Tell, right?

Nora: You owe me a s’mores latte

Nerves clutter through my body, so I open my blinds and take in the scene outside. The sky is littered with thin clouds and layered with indigo, cerulean, and a streak of salmon pink illuminated by the sun. The houses and front yards, though faded, are visible enough I can see everyone’s doors, along with their shuttered windows and gardens, their flowers popping out in the shadows. A few cars zoom by, one blaring “Motion” by Saweetie—she’s a half-Filipina who makes my Pinay heart proud—from its stereo.

I bop my head along to the song as I gaze out my window. Craning my neck, I try to look past the paintbrushes of trees and the rows of roofs, but it’s only a struggle to look past them. Guess this is the farthest I can mentally escape.

Okay, I think, breathing in, then, slowly, slowly, I breathe out, let’s do this.

After changing into my volunteering clothes—a red polo shirt and khakis—I head toward the kitchen, the smell of scrambled eggs, spinach, and tuna warming into my nose. Each step I take my feet sink into the carpet. Inside my TXT tote bag is my camera, its weight sits heavy against my shoulder. The second my mom sets her food on the table, steam slithering from her plate, thinner than the clouds outside, she looks up. I fold my fingers over my palms as if I’m holding a note with my plan written across it. I shift my tote bag to my right arm so she won’t see even the tiniest outline of my encased camera.

“Morning, anak!” she says, looking surprised. “You’re up early.”

“Yup.” All right, Emilyn. Just as you rehearsed. “I wanted to get to my shift early.” A pause. She still looks at me, like she’s expecting more, a better reason. Crap. There’s one more thing I’m supposed to add. “And eat breakfast at Coffee and Tell.” What’s worse than my delayed addition is how I rush through the rest of the sentence, every word jumbling together.

“Coffee and Tell? I don’t think that’s filling enough. I was about to cook you some tortang tuna with spinach.” She presents this idea with a pan and a can of tuna.

While an eggplant omelet with tuna and spinach sounds delicious—masarap is the first word that comes to mind—I know my mom will take her time to cook it and cook it well. She’s so caring, it’s hard to say no.

“Salamat po, but Nora and I have plans to eat together.”

My mom considers this. “Huh? Nora’s up this early?”

“People change.”

“That’s quite a big change for her.”

“It is.” I fish out my phone and glance at the time. If I don’t hurry out now, the golden hour might end, and I won’t be able to capture the orange glows and it won’t feel like my vision of friendship. “Well, I better go. Mahal po kita!”

I close the door as my mom calls my name, and a pang of guilt strikes my chest.

****

We arrive at Star Lakes just as we slurp down the last of our s’mores lattes. A light breeze brushes against my skin, sprinkling a trail of goose bumps along my arms. What I like about Star Lakes is that it’s so chill and fun—it’s the perfect place to spend time with family and friends. The blades of grass are neatly trimmed, making it comfortable to sit down and have a picnic, and the bridge, its turquoise paint brighter in the golden hour, gives a pop to the park.

Never have I seen this place during sunrise, and, wow, is it beautiful. The sunlight bathes the grass to a green so bright I can’t help but smile. I can see every blade of grass, each varying in length, along with several patches of dirt. Upon a closer examination, there are spots of water freckled across each blade, a fresh scent dancing through my nose. Must be from the sprinklers. We pass by the river, its sides rimmed with giant boulders, which, beneath the light, are grey like diamonds. The sunlight paints the river gold, the trees and lampposts glowing in their reflections. Warmness dances through me, like the sun is shining inside my soul.

From a distance, I see two girls my age, one with a crimson ponytail swinging back and forth, the other a girl with thick waves hanging past her waist. They both have cameras strapped around their necks, and they’re walking towards the bridge. I was planning to take my photo there too, and, unfortunately, it looks like I may have to share or, what I dread more, ask if I can use the spot first.

Approaching closer, I immediately recognize their faces. Sandra (the crimson ponytail should’ve given her away) and Aaliyah (she’s always with Sandra, especially when they’re taking photos). All hope to capture the bridge without competitors falls when they step on the arched roadway. I should’ve known that other people would be here. Everyone in town knows that the most beautiful sunrise happens at this bridge. It takes Sandra a second glance to realize it’s me.

“Hey, Emilyn!” she greets a little too enthusiastically. “Funny seeing you here this early in the morning!”