Beach day

Screeching sounds come to an end as the third jeep noisily parks in the garage next door. A loud slam from the car door causes me to grunt and roll over to my left side, reaching for my phone on the study table. I switch on my phone, struggling to lift my heavy eyes from just an hour of sleep, to find that it's 1:00 am. Bang! I quickly sit up, now wide awake and alert. I silently move to my window and press my face against the glass, hurting it in the process for the fifth time this week. It's quite dark outside, and the mist seems to have somehow crept into the street, giving the street a mysterious foggy look. The bin next door is lying horizontally next to the road with its contents scattered all over the place. I move around, trying to find a better spot where the window allows my eyes to wildly scan the perimeter for the noisy culprit who did this.

It's like whoever the person was sensed my presence the moment I moved to the window. I catch a swift movement on the right and quickly turn, but there's nothing. Our neighbor's door slams, and I'm left stunned. What just happened?

The next day, I wake to my annoying alarm and my noisy step-siblings' loud chatter downstairs. We have large breakfasts during weekends and fun days to cover up for the quick small breakfasts and the time we spend apart as a family throughout the week. Today's fun day is supposed to be spent at the beach, just my dilemma. I love the beach, but I hate the ocean and the long noisy trips.

The trip to the beach is so dreadful, with the car radio turned up and loud singing from 3-year-old Nitta and 6-year-old Henry, my step-siblings. 12-year-old August is at the back seat of the family van with his headphones on, while 16-year-old Sarah, who is two years younger than I, sits opposite me with a pained look as the both of us listen to them sing throughout the trip. Dad drives with a smile on his face as my step-mom sings along, taking pictures and videos of the trip. It's a relief for August, Sarah, and I when the van comes to a stop at the beach.

We carry the picnic baskets which Mom over-packed with food, towels, and extra clothing, while Nitta and Henry gather their toys for the beach. Dad takes out the umbrellas, and we start looking for a spot to settle. The beach isn't so packed this weekend that it's easier to pick a spot. Once we're settled in the middle of the beach, I take in and appreciate the scenario for the first time since we got here. There's a family settled on the left side of the beach, a couple lounging at the far left end. Some teenagers seem to be having fun playing beach volleyball on the right as they laugh at each other's clumsiness.

I decide not to be a fun sucker and join Nitta and Henry. We spend almost 10 minutes building sand castles before three black jeeps noisily park at the far right end of the beach. Suddenly, I feel a rush of adrenaline as curiosity spikes in. Could it be our neighbors? The same tall man I saw the first night our neighbors moved in steps out of the first jeep, taking out a big family-sized beach umbrella and starts looking for a spot to settle. The lady, which I still assume is his wife, gets off the second jeep, unloading baskets which probably contain supplies for the beach.

The third jeep's door opens up, and the little girl who I saw that night runs out, her face full of eagerness as she sees Nitta, Henry, and I building sand castles. The lady says something to her before she heads towards us. I can see her feet, but the owner of the third jeep does not attempt to move out, which somehow frustrates me. The little girl approaches us, and before she says anything, Nitta screams, "Hi, Shewald!" Henry and I stare at each other in shock. "You know each other?" Henry asks. "We do, we go to the same school," Nitta answers, mispronouncing some of her words. "Oh," Henry and I answer, still not convinced.

"Hi, I'm Sherald, I'm 5, and I live next door." "Hi, Sherald, I'm Henry, I'm 6, and this is my big sister Lorianda, and she's 18," Henry answers, seeing that I'm quiet all of a sudden. My eyes are glued to a brunette who just exited the third jeep. The familiar smell of hydrangea fills the entire beach, and my breathing starts to intensify as I try to gain my composure.

My siblings stare at me in shock and worry. "Mom, mom, Henry calls. Something's wrong with Lowry."

I quickly stand up and dash towards the far left end of the beach. I can hear my step-mom call after me, but I keep running. Once I reach the end of the beach, I climb a few rocks and make it to the top of a huge boulder. I need to figure out what's wrong with me. Something does not add up. Maybe I'm sick, I've been stressed lately, maybe I need a break.

I hear Dad's voice join in to the chorus of calls. "Lowry, Lowry, get down this instant," my Dad orders. "Lowry baby, please get down," my Mom pleads. "Mom, I think what she needs right now is space," Sarah voices in. "Trust me, I know, I'm a teenager," she adds.

Mom, Dad, and Sarah quietly discuss the matter, followed by a couple of nods amongst the three of them before they guide the kids back to our spot. Sarah looks back and calls up to me, "We'll be here when you're ready to come down, take your time."

I sit on the boulder, trying to process what's happening. The smell of hydrangea is still lingering in my mind, and I feel like I'm losing control. I've never experienced anything like this before. I try to calm myself down, taking deep breaths and focusing on the ocean view.

As I sit there, I notice a seagull flying overhead, its cries echoing through the air. The sun beats down on my skin, warming me up. I feel a sense of peace wash over me, and my breathing starts to slow down.

After what feels like an eternity, I decide it's time to head back to my family. I carefully make my way down the boulder and join them at our spot. They're all looking at me with concern, but I'm relieved to see that they're not pushing me to talk about what happened.

"Hey, kiddo, are you okay?" Dad asks, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I nod, trying to smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that."

Mom hands me a bottle of water, and I take a sip, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. We spend the rest of the day at the beach, trying to have fun and enjoy each other's company. But I'm still preoccupied with the strange feelings I've been having, and I can't shake off the sense that something is off.

As the day comes to a close, we pack up our things and head back home. I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally. I just want to go to bed and forget about the strange occurrences of the day.

But as I lie in bed that night, I can't shake off the feeling that something is coming, something that will change everything. And I'm not sure if I'm ready for it.