Zoe's life is turned upside down when a devastating house fire leaves her and her family homeless. Forced to move into a tiny one-bedroom apartment that is barely big enough for one person, let alone four, Zoe is certain that things couldn't possibl...
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I looked around me, fighting dismay.
"It's... uh," I struggled to find words adequate enough to describe the dump in front of me.
"Small, and dirty, and horrible," my little brother, Asher, supplied, having no such trouble. He looked around the apartment, eyes wide on his chubby little face.
"It won't be forever," Mom said, with a brave smile that didn't quite hide the worry lines on her forehead. She nudged us further inside, a large brown box clutched to her chest that contained clothes we'd just gotten from a donation center downtown. If a kind nurse with a link to the charity hadn't come across us, we'd have been left with just the clothes on our backs – and they had only been pyjamas. In my own hands were several plastic bags containing toiletries, bed sheets and some cleaning supplies we'd picked up from Walmart on the way here.
The measly belongings we carried with us were all we had now. Well, them and each other.
I was glad that we were all safe and unhurt, but my stomach churned just thinking about all we'd lost.
I placed the bags on the worn carpet floor, rubbing at the small red grooves their weight had left behind on my fingers. The elevator downstairs had been out of commission, forcing us to carry our luggage up five sets of stairs. It wasn't the greatest of starts, and I took the broken-down elevator as an omen; things were about to get worse.
"I don't wanna stay here," my little sister, Alice, whimpered, as I opened the closest door.
It was a tiny, dull space with a small window on the far side of the room. There was green wallpaper on the walls, peeling badly. A double and single bed were squashed side-by-side, and there was no other furniture in the room. A light bulb dangled from the ceiling and when I tried to switch it on, it flickered on and off for a second before completely fizzling out.
We couldn't live here. No way. This depressing, run-down dump was not fit for human habitation.
I stepped into the living room as Mom came out of another door, shutting it firmly behind her. "The bathroom." She grimaced.
There were no other doors in the apartment, which meant–
"There's only one bedroom."
I looked at Mom. This was a mistake. This had to be a mistake.
Maybe we had the wrong apartment. Maybe our real apartment was miles away, and it was clean and well-furnished, and actually inhabitable.
"Well, I thought that you and the twins could take the bedroom," Mom said, not quite meeting my eyes. "I'll be fine on the couch."
Or just maybe this was what we were stuck with.
I looked at the sagging monstrosity in the middle of the room. It had to be decades old. "You can't be serious."
