Bree didn't talk to me much in the car. She was probably angry with me or confused.
Finally, she spoke,
"How long are you going to be sick for"
she asked that as if I was actually sick.
"Uh...a few days?"
"Are you asking me or telling me,"
"Telling you....?"
"It sounds like you're asking me," Bree laughed as we pulled in the driveway.
I jumped out of the car and dragged my backpack to my room.
Mom and dad died in a car crash last year, right before my 15th birthday. Bree was 21 then and moved away to college. I lived with Grandma for a little bit and then she moved me in with Bree when she finished college.
Bree has a small house with two small bedrooms. My bedroom is like Harry's bedroom, in Harry Potter, (which I am obsessed with!!) when Harry has a bedroom under the stairs in a cupboard.
Bree's golden retriever, Daisy, came and jumped on me.
As I was unpacking my backpack, it started raining. Hard. Like, really hard.
Then I heard a thud. I ran to Bree, who was petrified. In the middle of the kitchen and living room, separating me from Bree, was a gigantic oak tree, lying across the floor and covering everything.
