A Soft Place to Land: Chapters 1–10

The moment it happened, when I first realized how magical movie scores can be, was around Christmas last year. Mom got two tickets through work for Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back in concert. She invited me to come with her. The New York Philharmonic orchestra performed the soundtrack live on stage, while the movie played on a huge screen above them.

The moment it happened, when I first realized how magical movie scores can be, was around Christmas last year. Mom got two tickets through work for Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back in concert. She invited me to come with her. The New York Philharmonic orchestra performed the soundtrack live on stage, while the movie played on a huge screen above them.

My mom calls it a galley kitchen because it’s a narrow room with the cabinets and appliances on either side.

My dad lost his job a few months ago, and they couldn’t afford the mortgage anymore.

Mom and Dad told me that foreclosures happen to a lot of families.

What I want is my old room back. It was perfect—my own private oasis.

But there’s one consolation. I point to the empty space next to the closet door. “But look, there’s still room over there to squeeze in a piano, especially if we move the bunk beds over a couple inches.”

Her voice goes up an octave, and she looks like she’s about to cry again.

I trudged through the still unshoveled sidewalks with the song energizing my every step.

In the picture on the screen, Elena’s wearing a blue-green fairy costume. It’s so elaborate, and her face was painted to match.

You get to run around and pretend to be characters, like it’s a play. But you’re improvising a lot, too.

I write the list down in the Notes app of my phone, and place movie reel emojis at the top.

To me she says, “I’m so sorry. Ziggy knew the previous tenants. There was a little boy, and Ziggy seems to think he still lives here.”

Once Malia sees that, she tentatively pets Ziggy, too, and she giggles when he licks her back.

“Well, I don’t want to impose for too long,” Mae says.
“It’s no problem,” Dad says.

“I used to live in a different building, where the people weren’t nearly as friendly. They were more standoffish, always sticking to themselves. Never smiling back at me in the elevator. But here, people care about each other.”

The dinner churns in my stomach.

Izzy reluctantly gets up from her cozy spot on the couch and follows her dad down the hallway.

Just the thought of my favorite crêpe—strawberry and banana with Nutella, powdered sugar, and whipped cream—makes my mouth water.

She says that as the waitress returns with a big round plate that has a delicately folded crêpe on top.

I want to spruce up our apartment, make it feel more like home.

For the first time in a while, I’m optimistic. Like I’m taking control of something, even if I don’t have it all figured out yet.

Maybe she can help me with my dog-walking dilemma.

“Actually, I have a proposition for you.”

While she rummages through a small bin on the bookshelf, I stare at the doodles on the wall next to me.