“Hey, check this out,” Sammy says, nudging me. “They have all the old schematics of the neighborhoods in Cedarville. Look, here’s Maplewood.”
I lean in and identify Maple Street, a line driving right into the park. Sometimes it pays to be the daughter of an architect. Dad had Sammy and me studying blueprints since we could walk.
“Look at all the old buildings that used to be there,” Sammy adds. “This big one . . . I think that’s that empty lot in front of the library.”
“Huh. You’re right,” I mumble. “Wonder what that was?”
A squealing mic brings the room to attention.
“Hello, everyone, welcome,” Irma sings from center stage. “Thank you all so much for coming. And special thanks to a few of our board members in attendance tonight: Eden Kruger, Richard Cummings, and Linda Russo. Let’s give them all a round of applause.”
The group standing next to Mom gently waves and nods, with glistening white smiles.
“Now I am pleased to introduce our founder and CEO of the Sterling Foundation, Mr. Robert Sterling.”
The room erupts as Mr. Sterling takes the stage. He hits up both corners, waving like he’s a rock star, which, judging by how hard everyone is cheering, he may just be.
“Thank you all for coming,” he says, taking the mic from Irma. “When my father first moved to Cedarville, he was thirteen, alone, with barely a dollar to his name.”
On the screen, a sepia-toned photo of a man who must be his father slides in.
“But he came here with hope,” he continues. “And made a life for himself, later providing for his wife and six children. Our family’s legacy is proof that any man can make a name for himself in Cedarville. We were once a booming industrial city, ripe with opportunities. Of course, things changed. Things that were . . . out of our control.”
More photos of the changing landscape, pictures of homeless people and crime statistics. The audience shifts uncomfortably as something occurs to me: I haven’t seen one homeless person since we moved here. Not on our block or walks to school. No panhandling at streetlights or outside grocery stores. The houses that they swore were filled with squatters all seem empty.
“But then my brother ran for office,” Mr. Sterling continues as another photo pops up. “He believed in this great city and set out to revitalize it. And we’re here to continue the work that he started.”
The crowd stirs, growing curious.
“We’ve made some significant progress over the years with our endeavors, including our newest program, the Grow Where You’re Planted Residency. In fact, we have our very first resident here with us tonight, Mrs. Raquel Anderson-Green.”
Mom shyly waves as Sammy and I scream, hoot, and holler.
“But here at the Sterling Foundation, we’re ready to pick up the pace. Over the years, we’ve taken it upon ourselves to buy investment properties in the hopes of a better tomorrow. And tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen, is on its way, sooner than you think.”
“Does he mean the future that’s happening in, like, three hours?” Sammy quips, checking his watch, and I bump his shoulder.
“That’s why I am pleased to announce the To the Future Campaign, a venture spearheaded by our foundation in conjunction with our esteemed investors, to bring Cedarville back to its former glory with a brand-new look.”
The giant black screen glows white before the “To the Future” logo pops up.
“Our housing development and newly designed light-rail systems will give our citizens hope for a brighter future.”
The screen zooms and flies into the “new” Cedarville animation rendering, featuring lush trees, deluxe townhomes, and happy animated citizens.
“Cedarville will be the prime location for start-up companies, tech firms, and alternative businesses that will guarantee a job growth rate of up to seventy-five percent. Groundbreaking will commence in three years’ time.”
There are oohs and aahs.
Dad makes these types of renderings for his clients. They’re computer-generated 3D images of the intended construction plans and finished product, which, in this case, is a brand-new mixed-use development, with office buildings, retail spaces, and a giant park.
Wait a minute. . . .
I nudge Sammy out of the way and zoom back in on the schematic, lining up the shape of the park with their proposed rendering, and gasp.
The map takes over the entire area of Maplewood. It means they plan to flatten the neighborhood within a few years. Where do they think all those people are going? Or better question . . . what do they plan to do with them?
Mr. Sterling raises his glass, his eyes meeting mine. “A toast, everyone. To the future!”
“To the future!” the crowd cheers back.
“Who left the lights on?” Mom asks as we pull into the driveway, the entire house glowing like a firefly.
“Don’t you mean, all the lights,” Sammy says curiously.
“Not me,” Piper chimes in.
As we climb the porch steps, Alec stops short, shooting his arm out to block us from moving forward.
“What?” Mom huffs.
He nods at the front door, cracked open. Through the screen, we can see a lamp knocked onto the floor. Mom gasps, throwing Alec a pleading look.
“Stay here,” he whispers, and tiptoes inside.
“Everyone, back in the car,” Mom whispers, shooing us down the stairs. “Now. Go!”
For ten minutes, we watch the front door from the back of the van, Mom standing at the steps, phone in hand.
“What’s Alec doing?” Sammy asks.
“Guess trying to see if anyone is still inside.”
Piper straightens, pressing both hands to the glass, her lips in a tight line.
Finally, Alec emerges and talks to Mom in a hushed voice. They both glance at the car before Mom dials 911.
There’s no other way to describe it: the house had been through a tornado. We gingerly make our way through the rubble, glass crunching under our shoes. I recognize the pattern—Mom’s wedding china blankets the floor leading up to the kitchen. Cookware, pots, and pans scattered about. My last terrarium, an anthill on the rug.
“They didn’t take the TV,” Sammy mumbles.
I’m surprised to see it still hanging unharmed while the rest of the house is in shambles.
“Weird,” I mumble, then hear a sniffle coming out of Mom’s office.
Mom stands on top of a pile of shredded papers, staring at her bashed desktop computer. Framed photos smashed, almost her entire collection of books ripped in pieces.
“My work,” Mom whimpers as Alec ropes her into a hug, kissing her temple.
Sammy and I glance at each other and take for the stairs.
“Guys, wait,” Mom calls with a sniff, but we’re already on the first landing.
What’s left of Sammy’s Xbox is in the hallway, his headset snapped in two, Legos like scattered ice cubes thrown everywhere.
On the floor in my room, my laptop is smashed into tiny fragments. Clothing snatched off their hangers. There wasn’t much to destroy; I didn’t have much to begin with.
But across the hall, Piper’s room is left untouched. Her lava lamp bubbles and glows blood red, illuminating her chilling satisfied smirk.
“Police are on their way,” Alec says as we camp out on the porch.