Sometimes Amirah thinks she can sense the weight of the pyramid that entombs her house.  The huge limestone blocks seem to crush the air and squeeze light.  When she carries the table lamp onto the porch and holds it up to the blank stone, shadows ooze across the rough-cut inner face.  If she is in the right mood, they make cars and squirrels and flowers and Mom's face.

Time passes.

Amirah will never see the outside of her pyramid, but she likes to imagine different looks for it.   It's like trying on new jeans.   They said that the limestone would be cased in some kind of marble they called Rosa Portagallo.   She hopes it will be like Betty's Pyramid, red as sunset, glossy as her fingernails.  Are they setting it yet?  Amirah thinks not.  She can still hear the dull, distant chock as the believers lower each structural stone into place -- twenty a day.  Dust wisps from the cracks between the stones and settles through the thick air onto every horizontal surface of her house: the floor, Dad's desk, windowsills and the tops of the kitchen cabinets.  Amirah doesn't mind; she goes over the entire house periodically with vacuum and rag.  She wants to be ready when the meaning comes.

Time passes.

The only thing she really misses is the sun.  Well, that isn't true.  She misses her Mom and her Dad and her friends on the swim team, especially Janet.   She and Janet offered themselves to the meaning at Blessed Finger Sanctuary on Janet's twelfth birthday.  Neither of them expected to be chosen pyramid girl.  They thought maybe they would be throwing flowers off a float in the Monkey Day parade or collecting door to door for the Lost Brothers.  Janet shrieked with joy and hugged her when Mrs. Munro told them the news.  If her friend hadn't held her up, Amirah might have collapsed. 

Amirah keeps all the lights on, even when she goes to bed.  She knows this is a waste of electricity, but it's easier to be brave when the house is bright.  Besides, there is nobody to scold her now.

"Is there?" Amirah says, and then she walks into the kitchen to listen.  Sometimes the house makes whispery noises when she talks to it.  "Is there anyone here who cares what I do?"  Her voice sounds like the hinges of the basement door.    

Time passes.  

They took all the clocks, and she has lost track of day and night.  She sleeps when she is tired and eats when she is hungry.  That's all there is to do, except wait for the meaning to come.  Mom and Dad's bedroom is filled to the ceiling with cartons of Goody-goody Bars: Nut Raisin, Cherry Date, Chocolate Banana and Cinnamon Apple, which is not her favorite.  Mrs. Munro said there were enough to last her for years.  At first that was a comfort.  Now Amirah tries not to think about it.  

Time passes.