I run into my room and flop on my hard-as-a-rock mattress. I sob into a flat pillow.

Why am I even so upset that I'm moving?

What's so good about California, anyway?

The only thing I like about this place is Laura, and she's wrapped around Hunter's finger.

And I also like the weather.

And that nice breeze that always blows when Laura and I take walks.

And the beach that's within walking distance from camp.

And all the neat thrift stores and nick-knack shops that are on all the blocks.

All the things that make it feel like the country isn't being invaded by almost every first-world country in the world.

I just cry more and more.

I don't want to leave.

I don't want to go out and actually fight in a war.

I don't want to kill people who are probably in the same position as me, just with the name 'enemy' slapped on them.

I don't want to get killed.

I sigh and stand up. I need to tell Laura I'm leaving.

The walk from my bed to the curtain feels miles long. Finally, I open it.

"Hunter, I really think I should go talk to Morgan, it sounds like she's--"

"No, La La, don't go. Can you rub my shoulders? The-they're really achey."

"Oh, of course, Hun."

I shut the curtain and gasp.

I get it.