J E N N Y M A N Z E R
8
as well as the bad. We moved to our new house in
Redburn at the end of June, just after school ended,
making a clean break
, my mom said.
“Mom,” I said. “There’s nothing to
doooo
.” She
was busy unwrapping dishes, all that stuff we didn’t
use a lot, like the fancy bowls and plates my parents
got as wedding presents.
“You can help me unpack.”
“That’s boring.”
“Yes, it is, Caz,” she agreed, frowning. My dad
was working. At least he just did short little hops,
not overnight flights. He’d be home for dinner.
She seemed to be getting used to my new name.
Back home we’d gone to see a therapist named Miss
Linda. We’d talked all about “comfort zones” and
“next steps.” I had always preferred to wear Adidas
pants and hoodies and board shorts, and so I’d offi-
cially packed away the sundresses and barrettes for
good. Mom had helped me stuff everything into a
giant garbage bag, and then we’d dropped it off at
the Salvation Army. Sometimes people have to do
brave things.
Summers were cooler in Washington State than
at home in Ontario. I was also still getting used to the
green money. I worried that one day I would acciden-
tally give someone twenty bucks for a bag of chips.
