“Your time is up. Better run!” came the now-familiar voice from the phone. Me mom and dad were all huddled around the landline in the kitchen.

We had been eating dinner when the urgent ring came. Mom had quickly grabbed the phone and listen to the message being relayed.

It was the third time I had heard the voice now. I never liked what came next.

The three of us sprang into action. I knew the drill now.

“Honey, go pack your bags,” came mom. I ran to my room. What did I need?

I had to bring Teddy. Teddy had been with me my whole life. I slid under my bed and pulled out the worn, pink suitcase. In goes Teddy.

My memory box. Dad had made it for me for my fifth birthday. Then I painted it a mess of pinks and purples and decorated it with feathers and sequins. In it I collected little mementos from my different lives.

The most recent addition was a photo that was taken last week. It was of me and my two best friends from this school. We had been playing on the playground. Liv, they called me. Short for Olivia. I was only just getting used to the new name. Before I had been Margie.

In goes the memory box.

I heard rustling in the hallway. Mom and Dad racing to collect our things. I had to hurry.

Three long sleeve shirts, two short sleeve shirts, two pairs of pants and four skirts. I threw in two sweaters as well.

Then my books. The fairytale stories I had been given when I turned six. I needed my stories.

What else did I need? What would I miss?

I had my secret stash of birthday money hidden at the back of my closet. I never used the money, it was better to save up.

In goes Benny and Penny, my stuffed rabbits.

My colouring books. I need those.

The colouring books fit perfectly on top. I closed my worn bag and used all my might to zip my bag up. I was old enough to pack all by myself now. I looked at my handiwork feeling very proud of myself.

My winter jacket hung at the end of my bed. It wasn’t overly cold outside but I knew to bring it. It was grey with a fuzzy hood. I felt like a marshmallow after zipping it up.

My pink runners looked funny with my winter jacket.

I was ready. I have to be.

The garage door opened. That meant we were ready.

I took one last look at my room. None of it was me anymore. I had to be different. The only things that would ever stay with me were the things in my suitcase.

The posters were not mine anymore. I said goodbye to the little butterflies Dad painted on my walls last year. Each of them had a name.

Goodbye to the rest of my pretty clothes and nicknacks.

I dragged the heavy suitcase with all of my might to my doorway. Then I shut my door without looking inside my room again.

On my door was my name, my old name. Olivia. It stared back at me making me feel sad.

I was going to miss being Olivia.

“C’mon honey, let’s go,” Mom called, coming from her room behind me. She grabbed my hand and we walked to the back door where Dad had already loaded the rest of our things.

Bye trampoline. Bye bike. Bye big oak tree.

I jumped in the backseat and buckled.

“Here Kiddo,” Dad said, once he was buckled, handing me a little book with a paper inside.

I opened it and the car whirred on.

My picture was there, in my new passport.

Amelia Bruce.

Amelia.

I would have to get used to that.

Dad started driving and we pulled out of the back lane, heading far away from the place that was not-my-home.

Just as the lights from another car pulled up into the driveway.