It was the third day of summer vacation. I had over eighty days to relax and enjoy my freedom before starting the eighth grade. I painted my toe tails with a glittery purple polish. I cleaned my room and threw out all my old school work. I had a fresh stack of books from the library waiting to be read. I had the house mostly to myself, if you didn’t count the cat and my dorky little sister. Life was about as good as it could get for a girl like me, and it lasted until I heard the garage door opener come to life.
“Hey Jay-Bird, are you in there?” I heard Dad holler into the house from the garage, “I need you to come out here and give me a hand.” My dad doesn’t particularly tolerate dawdling, so I tossed my book aside and headed to the garage.
At the sight of my dad’s truck I froze and my heart sank at a nauseating rate. The truck was parked in the driveway and the back was filled with empty apple boxes.
“Dad, does this mean what I think it means?”
“Do you think it means we’re moving?” he replied with a tinge of his usual sarcasm.
“Well, it’s the first thing that came to mind.” I sassed back.
“Then yes, oh Observant One, you are correct.”
Apple boxes. It’s always apple boxes. Occasionally a banana box finds its way home, but mostly apple.