Prophecy

Chapter 1

It's been so long since I've had a real home. A real home being more than some old house. A home is the place you can look for when you need space.

I had slept in late today. I scan over a letter from my friend, Katrina, who promised to keep in touch even though I was moving. It just contains some basic questions like, What is Hawaii like? She probably barely had the time to put much thought into this, and a more in depth one is most likely already on its way.

"Robin! Can you help me with the boxes in the kitchen?" my sister, June, calls up to me.

"Okay!" I yell down. I get up from my bed slowly, reluctant to do anything today. I don't need to go to school for another month, luckily because that's when school is supposed to start, not because June and I just moved for the gazillionth time, so I want to be lazy like every other fifteen-year-old during summer. However, we've been moving around a lot, trying to find a job for June, so being lazy isn't an option. Especially since June claims that we're going to get to stay here for a while now that she's found herself someone to provide her with a steady paycheck.

I toss the letter and envelope onto my bed. Before I leave the comfort of my room, I run a comb through my straight red hair. I throw on a gray baseball cap, which is a considerably darker gray than my eyes, mind you, and my favorite black woven bracelet. I already have on a maroon hoodie over my t-shirt and faded jeans.

As I plod down the stairs to the living room, I wonder whether I can get a small job for myself and get us a little extra money. With mom and dad still missing after a year, we need everything we can get.

When I reach the kitchen, which actually happens to be pretty big, I am met with what has been becoming a familiar sight: boxes piled everywhere, and June standing in the middle, barely more than helpless. her red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she wears a light gray baggy t-shirt, which is the same shade as her eyes. She is only slightly taller than I am, even though she is a little more than three years older than I. She smiles and gestures to the mess around her.

"The faster this gets done, the faster we can start planning for your birthday dinner for tomorrow," she says playfully.

"Okay, okay. We're still going out for dessert, though, right? Like we always do?" We used to go get ice cream, but I have heard that the shave ice in Hawaii is really good, and I want to get a taste of it. June nods in reply, then begins unpacking a box marked, "Silverware." She brings out organized trays of forks, knives, and spoons, and places them carefully on the counter. She hands me the now empty box, which I carry outside and dump in the recycling bin. When I get back inside, she is lining up the trays in one of the kitchen drawers.

As I start unpacking a box full of condiments and spices for cooking, June says, "I have heard they have a dance program over here. Thought you might want to look into it." She points to a pale blue pamphlet on the dining room table, which is barely visible from where I am standing. "It's not that expensive, so we can go over the papers when we're done if you want." I smile and thank her. June knows me too well.

"Where do you want these?" I ask, holding up a container of basil and a salt grinder. She points to the cupboard above the stove.

"Just put 'em up there. I already have a few spices and things in it," she says with a nod.

"Okay," I reply quickly, and stand on tip-toe to reach the cupboard door. I open it carefully, and place the two items beside a currently empty spice rack. "Hey, can you put the spices box next to me? It'll speed things up," I ask June. She slides the box across the polished granite countertop, and it stops just next to me. I return to a normal stance, and look over my shoulder to smile at her. "Thanks." I reach into the box and retrieve a couple more spices, these ones belonging in the rack itself. I put them on the counter, realizing I'll struggle more to put these in the right spot. June chuckles, noticing my dilemma. She jerks her chin towards the fridge.