I had just finished stuffing the last of my stuff into a bag, when my mom shouted “Elle, come on! Time to go!”. Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I slid down the railing of the stairs one last time. I was used to moving, but I really liked this house. My dad was standing at the door of the house. He gave me that look, the look he always gave me when we moved, that apologetic look. I could tell he felt bad, but he didn’t have to make my mom and I move just because he needed to be closer to his clients for a few months, he could just travel back and forth.

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