I went home and worked on homework until around noon, finishing an essay for English class.

Then I went to the sandwich place that Dad had been talking about.

By the time I got there, it was about fifteen minutes until Dad told me to be there, but my parents were already sitting at a table, cups of coffee before them, talking.

I walked over to the table and sat down, and they both looked up at me, a bit startled to see me, but smiling.

“Josephine, your father and I want to talk to you about something,” my mom said, still smiling.

Now however, the smile seemed a little bit different. Excited, yes, as she traded a look with my father, but also nervous.

It reminded me of the last time they had to tell me something. When we moved.

Oh God, we were moving. I had the best friend possible, I’d spent much of the night before making out with a guy that seemed really nice, and things were working out.

And we were moving.

Why?