“So, Derek, first you want to heat the pan to medium,” said the lady on the TV with the too-big hair. Simon watched through dull eyes as she plopped a large saucepan onto a stove and lit the flame. 

He pulled at the scratchy T-shirt his mom had given him to change into. Bright green and too big, he wondered if she dug it out of the garbage. He gave it a sniff. Yep. Definitely dirty. Simon grimaced.

His shorts weren’t much better. Too small, he couldn’t even see them under his billowing shirt when he stood up. Simon rested his forehead on the metal table in front of him. He turned his head, pressing his ear into the cool metal. From this position, he could see the crack in the wall that had drawn him out earlier.

His mom had shot off an impressive list of threats as she half-dragged him through the halls, soaking wet and trembling. She shoved him into the break room, hissing, “Don’t you move a goddamned muscle, Simon,” and shut him in with a slam.

She had returned soon enough with dry clothes and a Gatorade, which she slammed down on the table and renewed every threat again. No TV. No tablet. No sugar. Early bedtime. She even thought of weird things like time limits on showers.

She can’t keep me locked up in here all day, can she? Simon thought in sudden alarm. Was this room his home for the foreseeable future?

He lurched to his feet, unable to sit for one second longer. 

Lexi grunted in pain as her shin hit the cleaning cart. An expletive fought to get out, but she resisted and searched for the problem. A balled-up towel. She yanked the cleaning supplies back and kicked the towel to the side.

She wiped her hand across her forehead, smearing sweat, and gave the cart a violent shove forward. She could feel the heat radiating from the outer doors, so often opened and shut by eager beachgoers.

Window cleaner and bleach jostled and bounced as she pushed over the threshold at speed, sloshing some mop water onto the pebbled concrete. She grabbed her trash stick and started scanning the ground for litter.

Lexi’s stomach was a tight fist, squeezing and burning with anxiety. Simon was inside, but for how long? She knew better than to assume he would stay put. It was only a matter of time before someone caught him doing something, and then she’d lose her job.

She stabbed a snack-size Frito bag and shoved it into the billowing trash bag she held in her other hand. 

“Do you mind if I add this to the pile?”

Lexi jumped, searching out the source of the question. A broad-shouldered man towered over her, an easy grin painting his face. Lexi nodded, not returning his smile. 

“Thanks,” he said as he added the empty beer can to the flimsy plastic.

Simon’s father charged, unwelcome, into Lexi’s thoughts. He’d had a great smile too…

Lexi shook off the memory and turned away, hunting for trash again. She made her way around the pool and tried to ignore the worry that boiled in her midsection. What was she going to do with Simon?

She shifted her gaze to the dozens of glass balconies above her. The second floor seemed to throb in her vision as she found room 204. How bad would it be? Would glass shoot out at all these people? Doubt crept into her brain, slow-moving as molasses.

Ding! chirped the elevator merrily.

Simon gaped, transfixed, as two metal panels opened, revealing a small room of glass and metal. He could see straight through to the outside! He squinted down at the dark crack separating this room from the floor and gulped. With a squeal, the opening started to shut again.

Dismayed, Simon stared. After a moment, he glanced over at the button he had pushed a moment ago. An arrow. Or a hat? He pressed it and grinned when it shone bright orange.

The glass room once again came into view, and this time Simon leaped inside as soon as he could fit through the opening. Simon spun in slow circles, taking in every new mystery. He leaned in to study the neatly stacked circles, each with a different number and counted all the way up to twenty-five. 

Simon bit his lip, full of nervous excitement. He let his index finger hover over the twenty-five for a moment, and in a burst of recklessness, pushed down hard. This button glowed too! With a slight jolt, the doors started moving toward each other.

Simon gasped and moved an inch toward them, but then backed away until he bumped into the glass wall. Surprised, he whirled to see what he’d hit. The floor shuddered beneath him. His heart beat faster and faster, a runaway train in his chest. What had he done?

Esme laid her baby girl in the pack-n-play with a smooth, practiced motion. Apart from sucking on her pacifier a little harder, Isabella didn’t stir. Esme stood and gazed at her youngest as she slept. 

She had said “nap!” on their way into the room. That was a new one. As much as she loved watching her babies learn and grow, she always said a hesitant and melancholy goodbye to those sweet days when words were a mystery. Once humans learn words, they can use them to hurt. 

“Maaammaaaa!!” called Matty from the other room. 

Worried Bella might wake up, Esme jumped and power-tiptoed out of the darkened room, easing the door closed behind her.

“Matty,” she said, exasperated.

Her son looked up from the TV remote. “What?” he asked, oblivious.

“The baby is sleeping. You have to be quiet when Bella sleeps, mijo. I know I’ve told you that.”

Matty shrugged. “Can you turn on Spongebob?”

“Me escuchas?” Esme admonished.

“I hearrrrr yyyyouuu maaammaaa.”

“Okay,” Esme smirked and grabbed the remote from her son’s small outstretched hand. “You know, we didn’t come to the beach to watch TV all day…” she said noncommittally as she navigated to the right streaming service.

With the energetic theme song playing, Esme walked toward the kitchenette. “Are you hungry, Matty? Want some apple slices? An orange?”

“Chips!” 

Esme sighed. “Fine.” It was her vacation too, after all. She didn’t need to fight every battle. A small mountain of potato chips fell from the bag into a bowl. She trudged back to Matty and handed over the snack as she nestled in beside him. “Do you like it here?” she asked, stroking his brown hair from his eyes.

“Mmm hmm,” he replied around a mouthful of greasy carbs. “But ya know what, Mama?”

“What?”

“I like our home the bestest!”

Esme’s chest constricted painfully. His home was about to change forever. A sudden impending torrent of tears threatened to burst and Esme shot to her feet. She mumbled something about needing the bathroom and stumbled toward Matty’s room. Curled up on his bed, the tears came, hot and devastating, and she gave them room as she crumbled and melted under their weight.

The blazing late-summer sun baked the bright stucco facade of the Paradise. The glass elevator shaft gleamed with a refracted vein of light that climbed the building. On the 22nd-floor elevator balcony, a young woman in a floral mini-dress squinted against the glare next to her partner.

“Where should we eat tonight?” 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “What do you think?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Really? I always pick!” He slid his arm around her waist and squeezed. “Your turn.”

She exhaled a heavy sigh. “How about…Mexican?”

“Sounds great,” he said, pushing the down button next to the elevator. “And I know what I want for dessert…” he said, pulling her close and planting his mouth firmly on hers. 

She shrieked through the kiss, laughing, as the elevator opened.

“Oh!” she gasped, pushing the man away. She looked in the elevator and saw a little boy on the floor in the corner, knees drawn up to his face, arms wound like a vice over his shins.

“Are you okay?” the man asked. He stepped inside and squatted beside the tiny figure. The boy gave no response. He looked up at his girlfriend, whose bewilderment was etched across her face.

“Where are your mommy and daddy, sweetie?” she asked. Still, nothing. 

“What do we do?” the man murmured. 

“I’m not sure. Call the front desk?”

He pulled out his cellphone, unlocked the screen and opened his browser to search for the condo’s main number.

“What’s that?” the woman asked, alert.

The man frowned. He heard it too. Or did he feel it? Thunder? He craned his neck to peer out through the glass and saw a bright blue cloudless sky. 

Esme’s sobs rocked the small bed in a sad reprise from the night before. I need to call my mama, she thought. She would need her help. She should know what was coming, too. Her cries finally eased. She felt her stomach rumble. Funny, it felt like her whole body was shaking. Or was it the bed? 

Her brain refused to make sense of what she felt. She stood and moved around the bed with growing concern. She could now feel a strong, steady vibration through the floor. A vibration with increasing intensity. She heard Matty call for her, panic painting his voice.

Esme flung the bedroom door open and made it two steps before she felt the floor give way beneath her.  She reached for a handhold, but the Paradise gave her none. Concrete and furniture, debris, and dust plummeted toward the earth, pulling Esme with them into chaos.

Simon peeked over his knees. He heard the thunder, too, and now he felt it. The slow rolling vibration snaked through his bones. He heard the man say, “There’s no storm out there.” 

“Should we take the stairs?” the lady said. “Is the elevator safe?”

He could feel rather than hear the man’s response. Uncertainty had paved the way for outright fear. Something was coming. Something bad.

Simon hid his eyes again. Maybe the rumble would go away if he didn’t think about it.

“Is it an earthquake?” the lady shrieked.

“I don’t know, Katie! I don’t kn—”

Simon’s stomach hit his throat like a punch. He flailed his arms and legs out, looking everywhere for the source of this unfamiliar sensation. To his alarm, he saw he was no longer seated on the floor, but suspended in the air. Not for long.

His tailbone slammed into the tile, and he cried out in pain, curling into the fetal position. He could hear the woman’s screams nearby, hear the man’s shouts. Suddenly, his body had left the ground again. He knew more pain was coming. He could feel it before it hit. Simon screamed: one long unbroken note of panic that filled the air and cut through the dust like a siren until consciousness abandoned him.

Editor: Michelle Naragon