Our house was right on the shore, where the new bay has now swallowed the land. The tree in our front yard is still sticking out of the water, but the branches are grey and twisted. It looks funny, like the hair of some Grandpa just getting out of bed. Except his bed would have to be under the sea, and that wouldn’t work, would it?
To see my old house, I climb up on the big rock behind the new house. It’s slippery and steep and I could slide and get hurt for real, my dad says. I’m mostly worried about breaking my dad’s binoculars. But when I’m bored and it isn’t raining, I can’t help myself. There isn’t much to do here, except watch my dad and wait for something to happen.
Sometimes I bring the Survival Book and my pencils and notebook. My dad is supposed to make me do schoolwork, but he never remembers. He’s got a lot on his mind, so I try to do it myself.
“If you’re not part of the solution, you may end up being dissolved in it,” I read from the book, then close it and try to write the same words. I write solution three times before I get it right.