The very next day was all about unpacking boxes.
And lifting heavy things.
And moving those heavy things to just the right spot.
While Mom unpacked clothes and books, Dad and I moved furniture. Yeah, I was sweaty and tired, but I love putting things where they belong.
Dad and I saved the den for last. We had to lift giant chairs and a brand-new sofa, then set up the TV and sound system. When everything was in place, we collapsed on the sofa, breathing hard.
Dad declared, “It’s official. This house is our home. And to celebrate, we need my famous lemonade.”
Dad thinks his lemonade is the greatest thing in the world. And actually, it is.
He went into the kitchen. As I followed him, there was a loud crash behind me. I spun around, thinking something fell over, but what I saw was . . .
In the two seconds my back was turned, the entire room had changed! All the furniture was rearranged, and the sofa was now floating, like, way up in the air.
“Dad! Dad!” I raced into the kitchen. “You have to see this!”
I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the den. But the furniture was back exactly the way Dad and I had arranged it. You never would have known anything had been out of place.
“What do I have to see?” Dad asked, sounding confused.
I just stood there with my mouth open. “Um, nothing,” I mumbled. “I thought—forget it.”
I couldn’t tell Dad what had just happened. He would think I was losing my mind. Maybe I was losing my mind.
Dad shrugged. “Well, okay. Let’s go get that lemonade. I’ll bet you’re thirsty!” He laughed and put his arm around me as we walked.
Mom had already unpacked the kitchen. It was normal-boring and spotless, just the way I like it. I tried to relax. “Everything is going to be okay,” I told myself.
Dad was grabbing a pitcher from the cabinet when Mom called from upstairs. “Honey, can you give me a hand?”
“Okay,” Dad said. “Lemonade when I get back, Andres. I promise.”
I nodded and then closed my eyes. Maybe the den was just a weird daydream?
Then I opened my eyes and gasped. Every drawer and cabinet in the kitchen was open. Cups and plates were piled on top of the table and counter, and our silverware was scattered on the floor.
I went to scream, but before the sound came out, the forks, knives, and spoons all slowly moved around in a circle. It looked like a tornado. As they spun around, they started to form into something that looked . . . human. It was a . . .
That was all I needed to see, so I took off and ran out the front door. I didn’t even look where I was going. And as soon as I made it outside, I slammed into something—no, someone.
I ran smack into Desmond Cole.