I climbed out of the basement, feeling refreshed. Erika was in the kitchen with my mother. I kept my eyes pointed at the floor and headed for the stairs.

"Hey," My sister eyed me. "I brought your bag. You forgot it by the basketball hoops."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"I heard you broke down again."

"I didn't," I snapped at her before leaving.

"Don't be rude," said our mother under her breath. "It's a sensitive issue, you know that."

Rolling my eyes, I took the stairs two at a time and went into the bathroom. I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower. I turned the water on lukewarm and stood with my head bowed. If only it was socially acceptable to beat in douchebags' faces. That would save me a lot of my problems. I scrubbed my head and washed off the black hairs from my hands.

Brown water ran down my arm. I jerked back, cursing under my breath. "You have to be kidding me." I turned off the water. "Mom!" Climbing out, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist. "Mom!" I opened the bathroom door. "Mom!"

"Yes?"

"The water has dirt in it again."

"Oh no. Get dressed and come down stairs."

I went to my room and put on some clothes. Rubbing a hand through my hair, I could feel the dirt. It was disgusting. Why was it always me that this happened to? Erika maybe had to deal with it once. Going downstairs, I went to the kitchen and hunched over the kitchen sink.

"Lean down a little lower," said my mother. She poured some of our reserved water over my head.

Erika was sitting at the bar and wouldn't stop smirking at me.

"Is there a reason you feel the need to watch?"

She shrugged. "Nope. You have horrible luck."

"Shut up."

"Be nice," said my mother as she scrubbed my hair.

"Do you think the grounds shifting?" asked Erika.

"We're high enough," replied our mom. "The water levels were lower than usual on the last report." She grabbed my ear. "Turn your head to the side."

The front door opened. "I'm home."

"We're in the kitchen," replied Erika.

Our father stopped in the entryway when he saw us. "Dirt in the waterline again."

"Yep," laughed Erika. "It's away Zale."

I glared at her.

"Turn the other way," said my mother.

I did so.

"That should do it. I don't feel anymore." She put the pitcher to the side and scrubbed my scalp. Taking a small hand towel, she ran it over my head.

My father loosened his tie and put his bag on the table.

"How was work?" asked my mother.

My dad shrugged. "The same." He kissed my sister's head. "How was school?"

"Fine. Nothing exciting happened. Some kids made Zale cry again though."

"Erika!" I stood up straight. "Keep your goddamn mouth shut."

My mother snatched my chin. "Do not speak that way in this house. Do you understand me?"

Nodding, I stepped back, fuming. I could feel my father's eyes on me, but I won't look at him. I was already struggling to keep it together.

"What else do I have to do, Zale?"

I shrugged.

"You can't be so emotionally sensitive."

I clenched my jaw.

"Ezekiel," breathed my mother. "He's trying." She touched my arm. "There's nothing wrong with crying."

"Over every little thing?" stated my father. "How can you expect someone working in the government crying everytime they don't get what they want?"

"I don't want to go into politics," I muttered.

He pointed at me. "We are not discussing this again. I'm not paying you tuition to get some deadbeat job and end up in the slums. Do you want a house like this?"

I swallowed hard.

"Do you want to provide for your family? Give them all these nice things. Food on the table every night. Clean water. I had dreams of doing other things as well." He pressed his finger into the counter. "But I made a choice to follow my father's advice and think about what I wanted for my family." He waved his hand through the air. "I bet none of your friends at school has a home as nice as ours. Let alone the extra activities."

Folding my arms, I felt my eyes start to burn. There was nothing wrong with wanting to do something else. There were other ways to make money.

"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 be graduate high school and in college still crying whenever someone makes him mad. I thought the 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."

They were silent again.

"Erika, who about you go practice. Dinner will be done in twenty minutes."

My sister groaned. "I already did. Zale is the one that 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."

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

The pictures on the walls started to shake. 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 past. 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 fell. 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 towel to the laundry room.

I stood 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 put on the oven mits that were sitting on the counter and took out the lasana from the oven. I carried it over to the table.

"Thankfully, I hadn't set the table yet," said my mother as she got 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 under water," said Erika. "Their parents are thinking about moving."

"Worried over nothing." My father took a big bite. "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."