We all had jobs to accomplish, and we had been working feverishly for three days. Thankfully, the end was in sight! My mom hollered at me from the kitchen where she was packing food for the week. “Nyla, how is it going? Is everything off your floor and put up as high as possible?”“One more thing and then I’m done, Mom,” I replied as I untangled the cords of my phone charger and desk lamp, the last two items of mine that would be arranged meticulously on top of my bed along with almost every other thing that I owned in this world except the few things that I was allowed to cram in our stuffed-to-the-brim minivan. My dad filled countless sandbags down at the community center where they had recently delivered a mountain of sand. Community workers doled out bright orange bags to fill. Dad’s arms quivered as he shoveled and filled yet another bag. He was carefully lining them in front of every door so that if the storm was as bad as they anticipated, the water would stay out of our house. If it didn’t, hopefully, it wouldn’t rise above my bed. My older brother was in charge of putting up the storm shutters that were designed to add a layer of protection over the fragile windows. We felt privileged to have these. They were easy to put up—unlike most of our neighbors that were covering their windows with plywood boards. Still, my brother complained. I wasn’t annoyed by his whining as I typically would be because my mind swirled with other anxieties. My grandpa sat at his post in the living room and did his job watching the weather forecast on the television. His face was beyond serious. Usually smiling and teasing me, he looked different today—like a stone statue. His furrowed brow unmoved, he hollered to everyone, “They are saying the hurricane is going to hit Florida tomorrow evening.”It was strange to think that we wouldn’t be home when the storm hit, and we wouldn’t know if damage had been done to our home. We would be safe at our friends’ house inland. I had lived here since I was three. The thought of something happening to the only home I knew made me uncomfortable. Just then, my big sister, who was normally quiet, spoke up. She had been doing exactly what I had, piling everything on her bed in her half of our room. I was surprised to hear her speak because we usually just mind our own business and try to stay out of each other’s way. Today, I expected that even more since we were all tired and nervous. It was as if she read my mind regarding my grandpa’s words and knew my mind was racing with all the questions about what might happen to our home.

She spoke in a calm, steady tone but had a half grin. “The good news is that if the house gets flooded, maybe they’ll rebuild, and we will get separate rooms.” It was her way of saying that no matter what happened, something positive would come out of even the worst situation, and I felt comforted knowing that I still annoyed her enough for her to want her own room. I smiled back. I think it might have been the first time that I was grateful to be sharing a room with her. She made me feel better by reminding me that we had each other and that was what was most important. We all had our jobs. We were all working together to make it through the storm. Even when Dad was tired, my brother was annoying, my grandpa was serious, and my sister was uncharacteristically kind to me, we could weather any storm—together. We would be fine either way, continuing to share a room or getting a new one if ours was flooded out. We had each other, and no storm could steal that away. Rewrite the following paragraph adding descriptive details and sensory language to better convey Nyla’s mother’s actions and emotions taking place in the kitchen. My mom hollered at me from the kitchen where she was packing food for the week. “Nyla, how is it going? Is everything off your floor and put up as high as possible?

”Rewrite the following paragraph adding descriptive details and sensory language to better convey Nyla’s mother’s actions and emotions taking place in the kitchen.