“Why do we have to move?” I asked.
In my head, I can hear the tone of my voice. It’s hard to listen to. I’m actually whining.
“It’s not fair!” I screamed, and stormed out of the house. I grabbed my backpack from the station wagon and headed down the hill, across the field, and to the horse barn. I scrambled up the hay elevator and found a corner by the window. It was hot. The air was full of hay dust. It stung my eyes. I told myself that’s why they were wet.
It didn't matter much. I opened up my backpack and grabbed the book.