“Bethel’s been declared an evacuation zone, Iris. Everyone is being ordered to evacuate, and I, for one, am taking myself down there and making sure each and every one of those bums loafing around there knows it and gets out.” Mom murmurs something probably intended to calm him down. Evacuation zone, really? Does that mean the whole thing is over? Is everybody gone? I stare at my clock. It’s seven in the morning. I get up and dress quickly; definitely no white dress this time, I think, as I glare at the culprit still damp and hanging from my chair. I find a pair of denim shorts and a light orange, short-sleeved button-down shirt. I button it most of the way down and then take the bottom ends and tie them together. I quickly braid my hair and pin it into a crown around my head and slip into a pair of brown sandals. I glance at the mirror. Definitely more hip than yesterday. And also less likely to flash a million and a half people if it rains again.
