Imagi Mark

Dear Diary,

Today started like any other—me waking up to the first rays of sunlight streaming through the window, feeling like the star of my own action movie. I mean, how could it not feel epic? Mornings at the Jones household are always legendary. (Yes, I know I'm dramatic. It runs in the family. Blame Dad's stories.)

I rolled out of bed, stretched like a superhero gearing up for a mission, and threw on my running gear. But today wasn't just any day—today was Leo's first morning with the Jones family routine. Cue suspenseful music.

I tiptoed down the hallway like a ninja (okay, maybe a ninja with slightly creaky joints because this house is old). I peeked into Sterlin's room, and there he was, tying his sneakers with this intense, determined look. Classic Sterlin. He's all about focus and precision, even though he still hasn't figured out how to tie a bow tie without nearly choking himself. I gave him a thumbs-up, and he grinned like he was about to conquer the world—or at least the morning run.

Then came the fun part. I knocked on Leo's door and practically sang, "Leoooooo! Time to get up!" His groan from inside sounded like a zombie waking from a thousand-year nap.

"It's too early for this, Stella." he muttered through the door. Classic Leo.

"Come on!" I chirped. "Dad says you're a vampire with how late you sleep. We've got to run and spar before breakfast! You don't want to look bad on your first day, right?"

More grumbling. I swear I heard something like, "Crazy morning people." but I ignored it because we are crazy morning people, and I'm proud of it.

I practically skipped down the stairs, already smelling the fresh air waiting for me outside. Dad was in the backyard, doing his stretches and looking serene as ever. I swear, the man could be in one of those old kung fu movies where the wise master meditates on a mountaintop.

"Morning, Dad!" I said, starting my stretches too.

"Good morning, Stella." he said with that calm-but-slightly-teasing voice he uses when he's pretending not to be competitive. "Ready for another great run?"

"You bet!" I shot back, because obviously, I'm always ready.

Sterlin came out next, looking like he was born for this (even though we all know he's internally panicking about something, probably a math test next month). Then Leo stumbled out, hair a mess, eyes half-closed, looking like he'd been dragged out of bed by a wild animal.

We took off on our usual route—a winding path through the woods that feels like running through an enchanted forest (if enchanted forests smelled like wet leaves and dirt). Sterlin and I kept pace easily because, well, we've been doing this forever. Leo, on the other hand? Let's just say he lagged behind, muttering things like, "Humans weren't made for this," and "This is some cult initiation, isn't it?"

Leo's learning, Diary. He's learning.

After the run, it was time for sparring. (YESSS. My favorite!) Dad always says sparring builds discipline, but I think it's just an excuse for him to watch us beat each other up while pretending to "coach."

Sterlin was already stretching when we got to the dojo. He gave Leo this mischievous grin and said, "Ready for a good spar, Leo?"

Leo shot him a look that could've killed if looks were weapons. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope!" I chimed in, bouncing on my toes. "Welcome to the family, officially!"

Dad made his usual rounds, offering advice that always sounded cryptic but somehow worked. "Sterlin, your footwork is slipping." "Stella, don't get too cocky." (Me? Cocky? Never.) "Leo, keep your guard up. Don't let them get in your head."

Leo fought with this raw, scrappy style that was so different from Sterlin's precision and my, well, flair. He wasn't polished, but he was fierce. I could tell he was learning fast—like, scary fast. By the end of the session, we were all sweaty, grinning, and buzzing with that post-sparring energy. Even Leo was smiling, though he tried to hide it.

Back inside, it was my turn to cook breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon—the works. As the kitchen filled with the smell of butter and syrup, Leo stumbled in, looking like he was ready to pass out.

"How do you guys have so much energy in the morning?" he asked, rubbing his eyes like a grumpy cat.

Dad, of course, couldn't resist teasing him. "It's in the genes, Leo. Or maybe it's the nono broccoli I sneak into your dinners."

Leo scrunched his nose. "Ugh, that's what smells like feet!"

We all laughed, and I slid a plate of pancakes in front of him. "You'll get used to it. You're a Jones now, after all."

Sterlin, ever the opportunist, added, "Yeah, even if you do smell like nono broccoli."

Leo rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his smile. He's starting to fit in. I can feel it.

After breakfast, we packed our bags for school. Sterlin double-checked everything three times (of course), while Leo dragged his feet, muttering something about how he's still sore from sparring. I'm pretty sure he'll love Asphalt Academy once he gets used to it, though. It's way better than his old school, and now he has us to help him through it.

As we walked to school, I looked at them—Sterlin, all anxious and serious, and Leo, grumpy but trying—and I felt this rush of happiness. Life is messy and chaotic and full of surprises, but with them and Dad by my side, I feel like we can handle anything.

Every morning feels like a new chapter in one of Dad's stories—full of adventure, family, and just the right amount of chaos. And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Love,

Stella the Storyteller

(P.S. I need to write this in a book someday. Maybe I'll call it The Morning Chronicles. Too much?)