CHAPTER 2
Isaac sat on the front porch of the new house and looked around the yard. Or what there was of it anyway.
Unlike his old house, which had been surrounded by open space, the new house sat right on the street. There was no front yard to play in — just a tiny porch and the sidewalk. Mom had set up a few potted plants in front of the window, but they didn’t make the house feel more like home.
Down the street, Isaac could see the top of a little sand dune on the far side of a narrow boardwalk. He could hear seagulls cawing as they circled overhead. Barges and steamships sounded horns and bells as they sailed into the harbor.
Above all the other noises, Isaac could hear voices shouting and laughing. They sounded like boys his age.
“Mom!” Isaac called through the open front window. “I’m going to walk down to the beach.”
“Don’t be gone too long,” his mom called back. “The moving truck will be here soon. I’m going to need your help with the unloading and unpacking.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Isaac muttered as he stood up and headed for the beach.
Isaac strolled down the street. The rest of their new block was filled with rows of tiny houses. They were all brightly colored and crammed tightly together like books on a bookshelf. Some were red, others were bright blue or yellow.
There were a few houses painted a dismal deep gray, or a soft slate gray. The colors reminded Isaac of the sky over the mountain back home right before a winter storm rolled in.
Back home, Isaac thought miserably. Not home anymore.
Isaac walked across the boardwalk and stood on the far edge, staring down at the water below. From there, he could see north to where the harbor opened up into the Pacific Ocean. That’s where the voices had come from.
Isaac shielded his eyes. He could see the boys he’d heard from his porch. They were walking toward the real beach, where ten-foot high waves crashed onto the sand. On their heads and under their arms, the boys toted boards with fins. Not snowboards, of course — surfboards.