Chapter 1 — Waves of Change
Kennedy
The air smelled different here, heavier somehow, as if weighed down by the salt and the faint metallic tang of rusted boats somewhere in the distance. A far-off crash of waves filtered through the stillness, but it wasn’t soothing. California wasn’t supposed to feel like this, I thought. It wasn’t supposed to feel so foreign. My flip-flops slapped softly against the concrete as I climbed out of the car, the sound impossibly loud against the awkward silence hanging thick between my family. The moving truck rumbled ahead of us, up the narrow driveway of the beige rental house that was supposed to be "our fresh start."
I glanced back at Sage. His sandy blond hair stuck out in every direction, his headphones clamped over his ears like a neon “Do Not Disturb” sign. He was staring at his phone, thumb scrolling furiously. Anything to avoid being here, I supposed. Couldn’t blame him. None of us wanted to be here.
“Let’s get unpacked,” Mum said, breaking the silence. Her voice strained for optimism, but it cracked, betraying her exhaustion. She reached for the moving truck keys with one hand, the other gripping the strap of her bag tightly, her knuckles pale. Her eyes flickered toward the house and then away, like she couldn’t bear to look too long.
I adjusted the strap of my backpack, the shark tooth necklace beneath my tank top pressing lightly—no, digging—into my chest. A reminder. A weight. “I’ll take Dad inside,” I offered, my tone clipped. The sooner I got moving, the sooner I’d stop feeling like I was suffocating in this stale air.
Mum nodded quickly, too quickly, as though relieved that I’d taken charge. She handed me the keys without meeting my eyes. “Alright. I’ll start with the boxes. Sage, help me with your stuff.”
Sage’s thumb paused mid-scroll, and he glanced up just long enough to shoot her a look—a mix of frustration and disbelief—before his gaze dropped back to the screen. “Whatever,” he muttered, yanking his headphones off and tossing them onto the seat. His movements were sharp, almost defiant, but there was something in the way his shoulders sagged that made my chest tighten.
Ignoring the growing pressure in my chest, I rounded the car to where Dad sat, his wheelchair folded and strapped in the trunk. He was staring out the window, his face unreadable. I tried not to wince at the sight of him—at the sight of what the accident had done. His once broad shoulders slumped now, his hands resting lifelessly in his lap. His silence was a hollow echo, loud in its emptiness. He was like a ghost of himself.
“Alright, Dad, let’s get you inside,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, even cheerful. He gave me the smallest of nods but didn’t look at me. My stomach twisted.
The wheelchair clicked and unfolded smoothly, its sound too cheerful, too functional, too… normal. I helped him into it without a word. There was no point in pretending we’d chat about the drive or the new house. His words had dried up months ago, leaving behind only hollow nods and vacant stares.
The ramp to the front door was one of the few accommodations the house had, but even it looked out of place against the chipped paint and overgrown bushes by the porch. As I pushed Dad inside, the air shifted again—colder this time, with an undercurrent of mildew. The walls were yellowed, the carpet worn thin in places. This wasn’t a home. This was four walls and a roof we were squatting under until we figured out how to keep from falling apart completely.
I hesitated for a moment, taking in the faint smell of salt that clung to the walls, as if even the house itself couldn’t escape the ocean. “Hey, Dad,” I tried again, my voice quieter now, “you alright here for a sec?” He didn’t respond. His gaze flitted somewhere over my shoulder, locked on nothing in particular. For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—frustration? Sadness? But it vanished before I could be sure.
The silence stretched so taut it felt like it might snap. I exhaled through my nose and stood. Fine, then. I left him there, the weight of responsibility pressing harder into my spine as I joined Mum outside by the truck. She was sorting through boxes, her movements sharp and efficient, as though staying busy could keep her head above water.
“Why don’t you take a break?” I said, leaning against the truck. “I’ve got this.”
She paused, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she pushed a stray hair out of her face. “Kennedy, I—”
“I said I’ve got it,” I snapped. The sharpness in my tone surprised even me. Regret hit almost instantly, but I didn’t take the words back. I couldn’t. Mum blinked, her lips parting as if to argue, but then she simply nodded, her shoulders slumping as she disappeared through the doorway.
I was left alone with the boxes. The crash of a distant wave barely reached my ears, but it was enough. Enough to remind me of what I’d left behind. Of what we’d left behind. The weight of the shark tooth against my skin grew heavier, and for a second, I thought about tearing it off. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I yanked open a box labeled “KITCHEN” and began hauling it toward the front door, my muscles burning with the effort of keeping my mind blank. Each step made the air heavier, the silence louder, the weight on my chest sharper. The thought skittered across my mind before I could shove it away: this wasn’t a fresh start. It was a bandage over a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.
*
By the time the sun set, the house looked like a storage unit with walls. Boxes were stacked against every surface, their contents untouched. No one had the energy to unpack. Sage had vanished into his room hours ago, headphones back on, and Mum lingered in the kitchen, pretending to organize silverware but not actually doing much of anything.
I sank into a corner of the living room, my knees pulled to my chest. My eyes burned, but I refused to let the tears spill over. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t bring back the life we’d had in Australia, the life that had once seemed so untouchable. Unbreakable.
The shark tooth brushed against my fingers, and I clutched it tightly, its sharp edge biting into my palm. Eve’s laugh echoed in my memory, uninvited but impossible to ignore. I released the necklace and folded my arms tightly across my knees, forcing myself to focus on the here and now. On this house that wasn’t a home. On this life that didn’t feel like mine.
“You alright?” Sage’s voice broke the silence. I looked up, startled. He stood in the doorway, his skateboard clutched tightly in one hand, his face unreadable in the dim light.
“What do you think?” I shot back.
He shrugged, stepping into the room and plopping down onto the floor across from me. “It doesn’t feel like home,” he said quietly, his voice so uncharacteristically vulnerable that I almost didn’t believe it had come from him.
The weight in my chest shifted, cracked slightly. “Me too,” I admitted.
And there it was. The first real thing either of us had said in weeks. Sage scratched at a loose thread on his hoodie, his head bowed, and for a brief moment, I thought about reaching out. About saying something more. I opened my mouth, my grip tightening on the shark tooth, but the words caught in my throat.
“I’m gonna go skate,” Sage said abruptly, standing and heading toward the door before I could respond. The moment fractured, and I was left alone again, the silence settling back over me like a second skin.
I leaned my head back against the wall, the shark tooth necklace pressing into my collarbone. Somewhere outside, the waves continued their relentless rhythm, a sound I couldn’t escape no matter how far I ran. And for the first time since we’d landed in this small California town, I allowed myself to wonder if maybe coming here wasn’t just about starting over.
Maybe it was about sinking.
