I stood around the corner, listening to the conversation in the next room. My mother was sitting at the table, talking on the phone with my dad. I hadn’t heard what the school was going to do about me hitting Thomas yet.

“I guess that’s all we can do.” She rubbed her forehead. “Yeah. Have a good day at work. I’ll tell Zale.” She nodded. “Love you too, bye.” Hanging up, she ran her hand down her face.

I didn’t move and simply waited for her to say something.

“Zale.”

Inching forward, I made eye contact.

“Come here and talk with me for a bit.” She pulled out a chair.

I shuffled over and sat down. “Did they kick me out?”

“No.” She propped her elbow on the table and turned to me. “Some other students saw what happened and told the headmaster that Thomas started it and provoked you. But—” She held up a finger. “That doesn’t make what you did okay.”

Bowing my head, I stared at the table.

She peered off across the kitchen. “The headmaster wants you to meet with the school counselor once a week. You’ve also been suspended for three days. Today counts as one. Thomas was suspended for bullying as well.”

I scoffed at the comment and slumped into my seat. “It wasn’t bullying. Everyone is going to think I’m even more of a fucking cry baby now.”

My mother pinched my leg hard, making me jump. “I’ve warned you.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Watch your mouth.”

“Sorry.” I rubbed the stop.

We sat there quietly for a moment.

“That sounded really nice.”

“Hmm…” I glanced at her.

“The way you play.” She rested her chin on her palm. “I wish there was a concert hall around here. You’d make a better pianist than a government worker. I’m sure I could call some old friends and get you an audition. You’d have to move inland, though.”

I scratched my arm. “I don’t want to play professionally.”

“Why?” She turned to me. “You’ve loved playing ever since you were little. You begged me to teach you, while Erika would cry and cry when I forced her. You’d wake up early to practice, spend all your time teaching yourself new songs.” She reached over and pushed back my hair from my face. “It wasn’t until lately that you’ve stopped wanting anything to do with it.”

I shrugged. “I don’t like it anymore.”

“You don’t play like you don’t like it anymore.” She tapped her finger on the table. “I love listening to you. I hate how you rush through your lessons because I want to listen to you all day.” She smiled to herself. “Do what you love, Zale. One day high school will end, and all the people you went to school with will go their separate ways. Most likely, you won’t see half of them ever again.”

“Maybe,” I muttered.

Taking a deep breath, she stood. “I have some laundry to do.” She kissed the top of my head as she passed.

With a sigh, I peered out the window. I was tired of being labeled the wimp and being a pianist wasn’t helping. I could fight better than anyone at school but that didn’t matter to them. My mother started humming to herself. Rising to my feet, I went to the study and sat down at the piano. I found the song she was humming. I took a moment to compose myself before starting to play. I took it slow for once, not increasing the tempo to get through it as quickly as possible.

My mother appeared in the walkway, folding a towel. She stood there quietly until I finished the page.

I put my hands in my lap. “Dad said I had to do extra practice as part of being grounded.”

She smiled and went back to the laundry room. I waited a few seconds before spreading out the music sheets and starting from the beginning.

***

I tapped my foot as the counselor stared at me.

“You can’t think of any reason why you might resort to violence?”

I shook my head. “It just happens.”

“Walking away is always an option.”

“I do. They follow.” I chewed on my fingernail and stared out the window. After twenty minutes of being asked stupid questions, I was ready to leave.

“You’ve hurt a lot of people, Zale.”

“They weren’t innocent victims,” I muttered. “They came after me.”

Mr. Daw sat up straight and let out a sigh. “Your father mentioned that you have trouble keeping your emotions in control. It’s a common thing among young men as they go through puberty.”

I arched a brow. I was sixteen in two weeks. Puberty happened three years ago, and I hated people well before then.

“I know it’s hard to open up. But there’s nothing wrong with expressing your emotions as long as it’s done in a healthy, non-violent manner.”

Not replying, I watched the man. Was he serious?

Mr. Daw smiled at me, though it seemed forced. “I think we made progress today. I’d like you to go home and over the weekend start thinking about why you feel the need to strike out at others.”

“Because they’re assholes.”

His eyes grew wide, and I sucked in my lips. I didn’t mean for that to slip out.

Standing, I grabbed my bag. “I will. Sorry. I’ll think about it more. Thanks.” I nodded at him and headed for the door.

For the rest of the school year, I had to meet with him once a week and I didn’t doubt that every time would be like this. I didn’t know why I responded with violence. It was just the way I had been since I was little. I hurried outside and started for home. Hopefully, playing the piano or listening to music would help clear my head. Maybe I’d go downstairs and let out some steam first and then practice a bit before dinner.

A gurgling noise came from beneath my feet. I walked to the edge of the sidewalk and saw water rise up from the storm drain. It ran down the slight incline. Swallowing hard, I continued on. A crowd had gathered around a low lying area that had more water rising out from the drainage system.

“I think it’s best to get out now,” whispered a woman. “I heard some land to the south has lifted out of the water.”

“How on earth is moving there safe?” snapped an older woman. “It could sink again at any moment.”

“There was an earthquake and the ground rose. It has a higher elevation than here.”

“Probably why the water has been rising,” said a man.

I quickened my pace and noticed more water in the streets. This had happened before, but it was usually after big rainstorms. It hadn’t rained in weeks. Arriving at the house, I jogged up the steps and hurried inside.

“Mom?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Mom”—I dropped my things by the door—“Mom, water is coming up in the streets.”

She was standing over the sink, watching the brown water run from the tap. “I know. I saw it earlier.”

There were footsteps overhead, and Erika came down from upstairs to join us. We sat at the bar.

“Did you tell dad?” asked my sister.

“He knows,” our mother replied. “He called to tell me to stay inside. There were reports we might have more minor earthquakes.”

“Are we going to leave?” asked Erika. “A lot of my friends’ parents are looking to move inland.”

My mother shrugged. “I’ll talk to your father when he gets home. He’ll know if this is serious or not.”

“It looks serious to me,” muttered Erika.

My mom forced a smile. “I’m sure you both have homework. You better get it done.”

Erika begrudgingly stood and went upstairs. I stopped in the hallway and looked back. I could see the worry on my mother’s face. Going to the study, I sat down at the piano. We both needed something to help us forget about our awful days.