“God.” My father rubbed his forehead. “If you’re going to cry about it, go to your room. I can’t deal with you like this.”

I turned sharply and ran to the stairs.

“You’re too hard on him,” said my mother.

I stopped on the top step and sat down by the railing.

“He has to grow up.”

“The twins are fifteen,” she stated.

“Almost sixteen,” my dad added. “If we don’t figure this out, he'll graduate high school, be in college and still cry whenever someone makes him mad. I thought boxing would help but I haven’t seen any difference.”

“I have,” said my mom. “All that pent up anger had to come out somehow. He’s gotten better at controlling it. I haven’t heard from the school since last year.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“He’s too old to be acting like this,” said my father.

They were silent again.

“Erika, how about you go practice?” said our mother. “Dinner will be done in twenty minutes.”

My sister groaned. “I already did. Zale is the one who skipped this morning.”

“That boy,” muttered my father. “Zale! Zale, get down here.”

I heard his footsteps and quickly stood. I stood by the railing. “Yeah?”

My father peered up at me. “Did you practice your piano this morning?”

I shook my head.

“You know the rules. Your mother didn’t waste her time teaching you when she could have been working on her own songs. Get down here, and do it now.”

Nodding, I shuffled around the corner. He waited at the bottom of the stairs for me.

“Go.”

Staring at my feet, I went into the study and sat down at the piano.

“Erika, go do your homework,” said my father.

My sister passed by soon after as I began my scales. My parents were talking in hushed voices. I hurried through the warmup sheets and opened my binder to see what my mom wanted me to do. They stopped talking in the kitchen until I started to play the song I was working on.

The pictures on the walls began to vibrate. I stopped playing as the ground trembled.

“Everyone moved to cover!”

I went to stand in the doorway. Something hit the floor in the kitchen. The quake passed. I peeked around the corner to see my parents under the table.

“Zale?” said my father.

“I’m fine.”

“Erika!”

“I’m okay, Dad.” She hurried down the stairs.

I walked into the kitchen to see what had fallen. The pitcher of water was on the floor.

“I’ll get a towel.” I went to find one in the upstairs closet. I came back down and helped my mother clean up the mess.

“That’s the second time this week,” she sighed. “I practically have to nail everything down.” My mother stood and took the damp cloth to the laundry room.

I put the plastic pitcher on the counter as the buzzer on the oven went off.

“Zale, can you get that out? I put a hot pad on the table already. Erika grabbed the plates for me.”

I pulled on the oven mitts that were sitting on the counter. Taking out the lasagna from the oven, I carried it over to the table.

“Thankfully, I hadn’t set out the dishes yet,” said my mother as she took out a salad and loaf of bread. “We’d be stuck with leftovers. Did anything fall upstairs?”

Erika shook her head as she spread out the plates. I went to get the silverware as Erika grabbed the cups. We sat down at the table.

“Finish your lesson after dinner, okay?” My mother squeezed my shoulder.

I nodded and dished myself some food.

“My friends say the quakes are happening because it’s only a matter of time before this place is underwater,” said Erika. “Their parents are thinking about moving.”

“Worried over nothing.” My father buttered a piece of bread. “The water levels are at a low. There are plenty of places that are lower than us.”

“That’s what I told them,” Erika said with a shrug.

“What would we do if the water started to rise?” I asked, poking at my lasagna.

“I’ll take care of it.” He clasped the back of my neck. “Don’t you worry.”