North

North
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  • Breakfast time. we're siting at the kitchen table. Dad looks up from his toast. "Mum and I have finally decided," he says. "We're moving."
  • That day at school, I do maths, start a report about volcanoes, and add a possum moustache to Mr Percival, my papier mache puppet. But it's like I'm not there. "Are you coming"? asks Nitya at lunchtime. "No". I think she gives me a funny look, but I'm really not sure. I still feel like I'm somewhere else. It's the same the next day-and the day after that. 
  • Mum finally notices how quiet I am. "Trust us, Jess. We're doing what's best." I'm about to say something, But Mum spoils things. "Here," she says. "This box is yours. You need to decide what to take and what to throw away. It's a good chance to have a sort out." But I'm not ready to start, and the box- big, brown, and empty- sits waiting in my room. Waiting to hold my life.
  • My parents want a fresh start. "Your father's tired," Mum explains. I know what she means. He doesn't  laugh properly at my jokes, and he hasn't  whistled once since he was made redundant. I think about Dad, and I think about me. Maybe if I throw out stuff, I can start again, too. I begin by sorting through my books. 
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