The car rocked back and forth in the tightly cramped, humid van where my mom, Dad and I sat with the loads of items we would need in South Carolina.

"It's so hot!" my mom complained, sticking her arm out the window while dad drove.

My grandpa died around a month ago, and in his will, he wrote that my mom would inherit his house since she was his only daughter. That's where we were moving, to Grandpa's house, at 4 Marigold Lane in South Carolina.

Grandpa and I had been very close, and I felt like he was one of the only people who listened to me. My mom always bosses me around, and my dad is so cowardly he doesn't stand up to her. My family used to visit him all the time. I missed our visits, but I had never been inside his house for my family had always stayed in a hotel. I always looked forward to visiting Grandpa each year, with his contagious laugh and positive personality. I gulped. I had convinced myself I was not upset about his death anymore; after all, there is no point to spend the rest of your life crying about something that you can't undo. I pulled at the lining in my shirt.

"Grandpa's gone, and there is nothing you can do about it," I murmured.

I sighed. I just wished he were still here.

Grandpa was buried at the graveyard near the beach, only a few blocks away from his house. I remember passing by that same graveyard in the old van whenever we visited him.

My family and I used to live in a one-room apartment up in Ohio near Cincinnati. It was a "nice" old apartment; I had a cot near one of the windows. With a sink as a kitchen, and booger colored walls the condo wasn't my idea of luxury. The one good thing was there was a nice garage at the bottom for the van. I shared the one-room apartment with my mom and Dad, so now I was eager to have my own bedroom at Grandpa's.

I used to be in seventh grade at Ridgefield Middle School. Ridgefield was only a few blocks down the road from my apartment. I will be going into eighth grade at the age of 13 at Seaside Middle School now that I live in South Carolina. Conveniently the school is only a couple of minutes away from Grandpa's house, and I will be starting after summer ends. Ridgefield had gotten out of school for summer break about five weeks ago (it is late summer now), so it was the perfect time to move, not missing any school. Ridgefield was a great school. The teachers would always wave in the mornings; I was grateful I had a lot of friends. All my friends back in Ohio were so lovely, and it was still so fun to hang out with them. I was sad to leave all my friends and that school, but I'm going to make the best of it. I would miss the hangouts, but as I said earlier, there is no point in spending the rest of your life crying about something you can't undo, or in this case something your parents won't let you undo.

"Live your life to the best of your abilities," Grandpa had once said. "Never give up, never give in, and live every day of your life like it's your last one."

After a long, boring, eight hour drive in the packed van, we arrived at Grandpa's. South Carolina was hot, and the sun was shining brightly that day. The house was not tiny, but tall and thin, slightly toppling over at the top.

"Ugh!" my mom rudely remarked, "it is horrider than I remember!"

Not many windows lined the walls of the house, but a few lamps hung off the sides of each story in the house. The house was four stories high; however, the house looked as if it was about to fall down out of misery. The roof sagged sadly; thus, the shingles leaned with an exhausted sort of look to them. The grass was not well kept; moreover, the "garden" in the front yard was filled with nothing but weeds. At the very top, as if it was almost the only reason the house was still standing there was a beautiful piano, the one that I inherited when Grandpa died.

"That piano is an old one," my grandpa told me once. "I got it from an antique shop. It must be at least three generations old."

My grandpa also died on the piano. He was found, lifeless on the stool in front of that piano. I shook my head trying to imagine Grandpa dead on that stool. The piano was a majestic sort of looking thing, right in front of the biggest window in the house. Like a king on his throne or a joystick that controlled the whole house. Although the house wasn't the best thing ever, I didn't complain to my parents as they walked out of the van. There was no point anyway. My mom would tell me to shut up, and my dad would follow along like he always does. I had heard stories from my grandpa that my mom was very happy before my grandma died, but I think it's because my grandma died when my mom was very little. All I have ever known is my mom being that bossy, cranky person, and my dad has always listened to her. My mom and dad both are sellers on Facebook. They got two computers out of the money they got from selling some stuff from our old apartment (Mom's idea), and ever since they have been addicted to their computers, selling stuff on their Facebook accounts. My mom has always been in charge of the little money we have. Before they both worked at the local grocery store, so we have never been the wealthiest. So, instead of complaining I graciously picked up one of the suitcases holding my stuff and walked inside.

The inside of the house wasn't much better than the outside. It was full of desks and tables in random places. I walked up the stairs to where I decided my room would be, an old bedroom with a queen-size bed frame, but a cot-size mattress. Right then, a feeling of warmth and eagerness flew through me.