The Survivors (Book 1): Summer Read Free

the sarcasm, the way I always did.
    Dad bolted from his chair and grabbed me by the shoulders, a movement so sudden that it startled me right out of my cavalier mood.  "They did what?"
    " T-they talked about the thing happening in Africa."  I stared up at my father wide-eyed, shocked by his vehemence.  "We got a big lecture about hygiene and stuff in the final assembly today.  I don’t get it. It's just another SARS, it'll blow over soon enough."
    My confusion must have been written on my face, because his expression softened as he looked down at me.   Finally, he released me and turned away, rubbing the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb; a familiar anxious habit of his.
    " I don't think so, sweetheart.  This is different."  He glanced at me again; the look on his face was one I’d never seen before, and that scared me.  
    My heart skipped a beat.
    "Daddy?"
    " Go get out of your uniform, Sandy.  I'll make us some smoothies and then we'll talk.  Okay?"
    Dad always knew how to get my attention, and he knew I loved a good smoothie.
    "Okay," I agreed, happy to put the morbid conversation aside.  I left the office and crossed the hallway to my bedroom door, which stood ajar to reveal the mess within.  The sight struck me as strange, because my mother usually picked up after me while I was at school.  Perhaps the impending ‘talk’ I was about to get from my father was the one about how I was old enough to clean my own damn room.
    Blast, I'd been trying to delay that one as long as possible.
    The door closed with a soft click as I pushed it shut behind me.  I sat myself down in front of my vanity and unlaced my shoes.  When the laces came free, I kicked them off and leaned down to yank off my sticky socks as well.  My clothing was sweaty and repulsive, so I stripped off my skirt and polo shirt and tossed them into the laundry basket by the door.  Silently cursing the humidity, I stood flapping my arms like a demented duck for a few seconds to cool off.  My mother often joked that you needed gills to survive an Auckland summer, and as far as I was concerned she was very, very right.
    My household was just an ordinary, average Kiwi family.  Mum, dad, two kids and a fat old cat, living in a fairly nice house in an upper-middle class area of Auckland’s North Shore.  The house was big enough that my little sister and I each got our own rooms, but it wasn’t huge.  We went to good schools and our parents were always happy to help with our homework.  It was true that we never went on amazing, globe-trotting family holidays, but our grandparents were well-off and owned a holiday house at the beach.  My little sister and I were happy to spend our summers playing in the sun, swimming and building sandcastles on the beach.
    Dad was an accountant, and Mum had been an office manager until she got pregnant with me.  After I was born, she decided to become a stay-at-home mum instead.  We were financially stable but not rich, and we survived comfortably on Dad’s income alone.    I both loved and respected my parents beyond words.
    When I cooled down enough to feel human again, I pulled on a pair of shorts and that baby doll tee Dad hated because it showed a little sliver of my belly.  I enjoyed teasing him about it, and saying that he was just jealous because he couldn’t pull off the look.  He always laughed, but I doubted he’d see the humour today.
    My hairbrush sat waiting for me, so I grabbed it and turned to face the mirror.  A pretty little pixie-face looked back at me, with large blue eyes framed by long lashes, but all I saw were flaws:  my breasts weren’t big enough, my thighs were too fat, and there was a zit on the side of my nose that looked like Mount Vesuvius.
    Of course, I knew full well that the flaws weren’t half as bad as they seemed – Harry chided me all the time for being self-conscious.  It was a girl thing, though.  I figured I’d grow out of it when it was