The Neighbor

There wasn't much to say when it came to my parents' deciding to move.
If I thought to say something against their decision, they'd probably tell me to go to my room, because it "wasn't mine to decide on the matter". They didn't care if I wanted to move or not. I obviously didn't want to move. I had just settled down into a new home, with new friends, when all of a sudden we had to move again. I'm not really sure why we keep on moving. All I know is that it's "for my own safety". Why would I be in danger of something? I always think to myself whenever I ask why we're moving. . . again. No one ever answers any of my questions when it comes to moving. My older brother, Jace, always looks away whenever I ask him, like it hurts him not to tell me. After awhile of continuous moving and constant questions, I decided to stop asking. If no one would answer, why ask? I started to not make that many friends (or no friends at all), because I moved all the time and wouldn't see them again. Sometimes we stay at one house for a year, others for a few months, and, very rarely, we stay for two years.
This time, it was different.
This time, we stayed for four years.
And many things happened in these four years.
You might be wondering what happened. If you're not, well, I'm going to tell you anyways.
It all started with a phone call, a new neighbor, and a dog.

My name is Skylar Ravenson, and this is my story.