I don't pay much attention to the subject we're discussing. All I know is that Mom is planning for us to move to China. She can't wait, because she really loves Chinese culture. I love it too, I suppose, but I'd prefer America any day. Not only that I wouldn't have much friend, they also live very differently there, as far as I know from the last time I went with Mom and Clara.

            I shift my gaze to Clara, to ask whether she's against it or not. She stares back at me, and her scary expression makes my skin tingle. It feels like she's more likely to kick me in the groin rather than reply to my question. But the fact that she's putting that face means she's liking the idea as much as I love broccoli.

            The meeting turns out one-sided. Mom's the only one doing the talking, and she doesn't ask Clara's opinion or mine. Even Dad can only smile; a sign he's given up on talking a little sense into Mom. I hope we're not going to move to China for real. At this rate, though, it seems possible.

            While Mom is still talking about moving, I decide I can't stand looking at the bag in my hand anymore. I stand up, leave for the kitchen, and then put the broccoli on the kitchen counter.

            At the time I'm going back, the phone in the kitchen rings loudly. Usually, Mom's the one who picks it up, but the family meeting is still going on in the living room. I shrug, and go for it.

            Suddenly, I have a feeling that whoever is calling isn't bringing good news. Realizing this too late, I put the receiver close to my ear. "The Randerfields speaking."

            The voice on the other end of the line is heavy, like the type of voice my Dad can do if he's heavily drowsed with tea. The person seems to be a little nervous upon hearing me, but is steeling himself to deliver the words, "We'd like to confirm that this is the family of Joseph Randerfield."

            There's a weight in my shoulders, irrational and getting heavier. "Um, yes, it is."

            "This is a branch of the Cornsham Police Department, matching identity records found on the victim of today's incident. We're very sorry to inform you that Joseph Randerfield passed away after being stabbed–"

            The weight goes strangely lighter. Suddenly I feel lightheaded. I experience a moment of unexplainable silence; like my lungs are collapsing slowly and I'm trying desperately to stop it, though I know I can't. The person on the other side keeps talking, explaining details. Josh was heading home. He tried to stop a group of people from bullying a freshman. The main suspect is one of his own classmates.

            "Right." My voice doesn't sound like mine. What should I do now? It seems silly that, even though I'm being taught a lot of things at school, processing the news of someone's death isn't one of them.

            I put the phone off and return to the living room in a daze. Clara sees me and turns to me. "Who called just now?"

            I still don't know what to do. I remain speechless, staring at the carpeted floor.

            "Sean, is something wrong?" Mom asks, her face filled with concern. "You look like you'd just seen a ghost."

            Worse, I think to myself.

            "Tell us, Son," my father prods.

            It doesn't come out smooth, because I can't get the words out and my voice cracks, but especially because of my family's reaction. They don't believe me. Mom and Dad start to laugh.

           "Really, Sean?" Clara shakes her head. "You can at least do a better joke, because it isn't funny at all. And also, don't joke about Josh that way."

            "No!" I raise my voice. They're paying more attention to me now, startled. Don't make this any harder, I plead silently. I take another shaky breath. "Josh is gone."