Mia hadn’t realized how much she missed the mountains. The countryside rolling past her car window was greener than anything in Boston. She loved the moose-crossing signs and the little villages that felt so sleepy and peaceful. June was in-between season in New England, but in another week, the roads would be humming with campers and fancy cars full of New York City people who stopped to take selfies with cows. For now, Mia loved watching the quiet landscapes drift by. Packing the moving truck the day after school ended had been a hassle, but she really was glad to be moving back to Vermont.
When she drifts off, I lie there for ages, trying to get comfortable and failing. There’s a feeling of definite un-safety. Not exactly danger. Just un-safety. Something’s here, clicking through the pipes. It’s lurking in my temples, in my fingers. I can feel my shoulders start to tense, my joints engage. I’m used to this, I know what it means.