I woke up on Friday morning with more than a spring in my step. After the week I'd just had, I was looking forward to the weekend in a huge way. I'd messaged Brett on Wednesday and told him about the party I wanted to have and my plans for involving his sister and their friends.

My muscles were seriously stiff from all the extra exercise I'd done that week and it felt good to shower in really hot water. I wrapped my towel around my waist and walked back into my room. It was surprisingly quiet this morning. I couldn't hear my parents rushing around getting ready for work. My parents are both psychologists, which is just about the worst thing imaginable. Trust me.

Nothing is ever just nothing. No matter how small or insignificant it is, it's always something. Everything is dissected and analysed and picked apart. They read into every word, every gesture and every tiny eye blink. They drive me utterly mental with their desire to psychoanalyze the smallest details of my existence. I wouldn't be surprised if they discussed my motivation for choosing a cheese sandwich over a turkey one.

On the upside, they've always allowed me a lot of freedom. They believe in a "young adult's ability to self-regulate"—Those are their words. They've never treated me like child and have always spoken very openly about things like sex, drugs and rock and roll. Sometimes they take it too far, though, like the time when I was thirteen, and my dad walked into my room and told me that because of the developmental phase I was currently going though, it was okay and perfectly normal to start "self-exploration." After it clicked what he was saying, I kicked him out of my room and couldn't look him in the eye for a week.

It's downright embarrassing. But I've taken a different path. Because they're always analyzing and looking for the deeper meaning in things, I choose not to. Instead, I take things at face value, never searching for hidden messages in situations or people. I don't even pay attention to people's gestures or the tone of their voice.

A few of my ex-girlfriends called me clueless and dense when I couldn't pick up on something they were hinting at. Apparently I can't take a hint. And they're right. That's because I don't look for hints and secret messages in everything everyone does.

That's what I love about Sadie: she's straight down the line. I don't have to look at her and wonder what she's really thinking. She always says exactly what she thinks, and has no deep, dark secrets.

After getting dressed for school, I packed my tennis stuff and went downstairs for breakfast. But when I got there, my parents were sitting at the table quietly, as if they'd been waiting for me to come down.

"What's up?" I asked when I saw they were both wearing an expression that I'd never seen before. I didn't need any psychoanalytic abilities to tell that something was very wrong.

"Sit down, Connor," my father said.

"Is it Gran?" I asked, feeling panicked. My grandmother had been sick lately and the whole family was worried about her.

My father shook his head. "No, gran is fine. it's about your mother and I." 

"What about you guys?" I asked. 

My dad put his hands in the table and laced his fingers together–was he nervous? "Your mother and I have something to tell you," he said, tightening his fingers together. "Sit," my father said again.

"Okay," I lowered myself into the chair tentatively, and when I did, my mother leaned in and looked at me. I looked from her, to my father and then it hit me. I smiled. "Am I about to become a big brother? It's okay. I'm not going to freak out and experience the psychological trauma of abandonment issues or anything like that."

My parents shot each other a look that told me that I was way, way off the mark.

"Connor." My mother was using her therapist voice now, I was starting to get really worried. "Your father and I have decided to get divorced."

"Sorry, what?" Clearly, I hadn't heard that correctly.

My dad leaned in and made a move for my hand, but I pulled it away quickly. "It hasn't been working for a while between your mother and I," he said and then looked over at my mom who nodded at him as if she was agreeing. What the hell was going on?

"Your father and I have come to the mutual decision, after much discussion and careful consideration, to go our separate ways," my mom said in an almost robotic fashion, as if she had rehearsed the sentence over and over again. 

I shook my head...hard—Still not fucking computing! "Sorry, what?" I said again. I could hear the words coming out of their mouths, but they were not making any sense. Nothing was making sense right now. Was it April 1st? Was that what was going on? Was this some psychological experiment they were conducting on me.... What?

My parents both leaned back in their chairs, as if synchronized.

"We'll give you some time to process." My mother looked at my father again and there was some more mutual nodding—They're always nodding at each other, they always seem to agree, they never fight. So why were they telling me they were getting a divorce?

"Just take your time, Connor," my father said, echoing my mother and something about the way he said it really pissed me off.

"Hey. I'm not one of your clients and this is not a therapy session; this is breakfast."

"It's okay to feel angry, son." My mother was looking at me as if she was about to write some notes down in her psychologist's notepad.

"Stay with those feelings," my dad added. "No matter how uncomfortable they are."

"Stay with the...what?" God, their psychobabble was not helping. At all! And I could feel something bubbling up inside me now. I'm not sure what it was, but it felt like it was out of my control, I couldn't reign it in and I could feel it wanting to explode out of me and–

"What. The. Hell?!" I yelled before I even I was doing it.

"That's right. Let it out, Connor." My father encouraged which just pissed me off even more.

"What do you mean you're getting divorced? You've been married for over 20 years. You're too old to get divorced. People like you don't get divorced. Happily married people do not get divorce."

"Your mother and I are not happy anymore, Connor," my dad said, still in an irritatingly calm voice. Why the hell were they so calm?

"Of course you are. I've never even seen, or heard you guys fight. You always agree with each other, you never argue, you...you..." I was loosing the words, as my mind raced a million miles an hour. 

"Your mother and I got married very young, and we both just feel that we've outgrown each other emotionally and that we've learned all we can from this relationship."

"Outgrown? What the hell does that even mean?!" I could hear my voice getting louder, but I couldn't stop it. This wasn't right. Surely parents can't just drop a bomb on you like this with breakfast. And surely, there should have been clues leading up to this? Divorces don't just come out of the blue, do they?

"This doesn't change the way we feel about you though." My mother uttered the ultimate cliché. That's the first thing they tell children of divorced parents, don't they. And it made me feel even angrier. 

"God, for psychologists you really picked a great time to tell me this. Friday morning before school. Right before the tournament. Great way to start the weekend!"

"There's never a good time to say something like this." My mother walked up to me now. I expected to see tears, but no emotion registered on her face. How was she so calm?

"Besides," my father said, "I start my new job next week and I'll be moving soon."

This news almost shocked me more than the news of the divorce. "Moving? New job? Wait...how long have you guys known about this? How long have you known you were getting divorced and you were moving out?" 

My mother and father eyed each other again before turning to me in unison. For two people getting divorced, they seemed to be in perfect sync.

"We've been talking about it for several months now," my mother quickly said.

"Several months! So you've been lying to me. This whole time. You've had this big fat secret and you decided not to tell me, until minutes before it actually happens?" My heart thumped in my chest. I felt furious and betrayed. "And what new job do you have dad?" I asked angrily. "I didn't even know you were looking for one."

"I was offered a research job at the university of Pretoria," he said it so matter-of-factly that I almost couldn't believe it. 

"Pretoria! That's an hour away from here," I said.  

"It's close enough to come to me every second weekend," he added quickly. 

"Every second....Wow!" I held my head in my hands and shook it. "You guys have already thought of everything, haven't you? Right down to planning all my future weekends out."

"Think of this as a chance to get to know another city," my mom said, "you've always said you wanted to travel, broaden your cultural horizons." 

"Travel?" I looked back up at my parents and that's when I thought of Sadie. Suddenly, the divorce flew out of my mind and all I could think about was how crap it would be if I couldn't spend every weekend with my best friend.  And I realized that my parents getting divorced was about to change my entire life.