I've been staring at my wall for several hours, at least. After my third attempt to sneak out of the house to see Jack, my mom locked me in my room with instructions to finish packing…or else. That's always her go-to threat: or else, like the fear of the unknown would motivate me. I glance at the alarm clock that's sitting on my very empty dresser. 11:47. I leave tomorrow morning at 7 o'clock. This is my last night in this house, at least for a while, and I'm spending it alone in my room with my memories. Well, I should probably start packing. You have to get up, Elsa.

I stand and walk over to my closet. Most of the clothes have already been removed, packed away in suitcases with all my other belongings, but there are still a few things that I left out. I walk inside and move toward the left corner, taking tiny baby steps until one of the floorboards creaks under me, then I get down on my hands and knees and open my secret compartment. Jack is the only other person who knows about what we call the "secret stash", and we swore an oath when we were eight that we would never tell another living soul…or else. I smile at the thought.

Inside the compartment, there's an old, faded shoe box turned on its side. Its contents rattle as I remove it from its hiding place. I've spent a long time thinking about this box, about whether to bring it to my new home and life to have something that's my own, or to leave it for Jack and Anna and whoever else might come looking to remember me by. That time probably could have been spent doing something else, like putting the finishing touches on my new identity, but I'm so tired of going over that information that if I think about it any more I might just give up on the whole thing as a ridiculous scheme that won't work anyway. After some consideration and several long talks with my parents, we decided that both my last and first name would change. My last name was easy; I would just take the name of the people I was staying with, friends of my parents who I've never met because they live too far away. I can't even remember their last name at the moment, but I'm pretty sure it starts with an R or a T or something. Robinson? Tarington?

Deciding on my first name was more difficult. There were just too many options to choose from. How do parents decide on names for their children? It's impossible, I think. In the end, we went with Clara. I think it has a nice ring to it. Clara.

I turn my attention from my name and back to the shoe box sitting in my lap. The objects inside don't look like much, but to me, they're everything. The first thing that I pull out is a small white rock. This was what Jack gave me the first time we met each other, or so my mother tells me. I don't actually remember the exchange, I was four at the time. When I was younger, I would ask her to tell me the story all the time, because the way she said it always made it sound so fateful and interesting. She would get a small smile on her face and begin with: "You've always been a fireball of energy, but when you were four, even that was an understatement. One day, you refused to do anything, even sit down at the table and eat, until we went to the park. You wanted to show Anna – who was one year old at the time – how close you could get to the birds before they would fly away. So I packed up our lunch and set out with Anna in a stroller and you bouncing along by my side. When we reached the park, I set up camp next to the playground, so you could play if you wanted and I could keep an eye on you easily. After about half an hour or playing, you came back and were pointing out things to Anna, who was listening with a very concentrated look for such a little thing, when a little boy with white hair came timidly over to where we were sitting. He didn't say anything, just stood there and watched us for about a minute, then placed this little rock on the ground next to you. You stopped talking, looked at the rock, and then looked up at him. Both your faces broke into smiles, and you ran off to the playground together hand in hand. The rest, as they say, is history. You and Jack were meant to be best friends, apparently. And all because of a pebble." She always ends the story with that line, "all because of a pebble," and laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. Who knows what we agreed on during our silent exchange, but it must've been important.

There's also a notebook in my box, that Jack and I used to create our own writing system so we could pass notes in code. We spent almost a week arguing about which symbol would stand for which letter, and in the end we couldn't keep the code going for more than a month, partly because Jack kept forgetting what certain things meant and partly because I lost my cheat sheet. I had forgotten that the paper was in my pocket when Jack dared me to jump into the pond near his house after school one day.

There are other things in the box as well; a ribbon that Anna gave me as a gift for my seventh birthday, the half-full package of rubber bands that Rapunzel and I used to make bracelets with, some obviously homemade arrowheads from that time that Merida had us all on an archery craze. There's that newspaper article from the time that Flynn convinced us that sneaking away from our class at the Burgess Museum of Natural History and staying there overnight was a good idea…and it was. The punishment we received the next day was nothing compared to the amount of fun we had playing Sardines in the dark in that museum. I also have some plans that Hiccup made for me. We were trying to create a communication system between all of our houses. It turned out to be too much work for twelve-year olds, but I kept the plans just in case we ever needed them again.

The last thing in the box is a photograph of all of us from last summer. Only Rapunzel and Hiccup are actually looking at the camera and smiling. Anna and Sophie were too captivated by a squirrel to pay attention, and Merida's hair was caught up in a gust of wind at the time. Flynn's making some kind of goofy face that involves raising an eyebrow and contorting his mouth, trying and failing to look cool, probably, and Jack's smiling at me while I try to balance a water balloon on my head. If I remember correctly, that water balloon ended up being smashed over his head after he stole my s'mores stick. So many memories.

As sad as I feel, I don't think that I can cry anymore. I'm tired of crying and feeling sorry for myself. I just want this to be over with. No one will ever see me cry again.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. I don't move.

"Elsa?" Anna's voice asks through the door. "Are you there?"

Yes, but I won't be, soon.

"Why won't you come outside?"

Her words fade into silence, but I know that she's still there, waiting for an answer. My parents told me that Anna can't know about our plan, and since I already cut and dyed my hair this afternoon, there's no way I can answer the door now. I want to, though. My feet itch to run over, fling the door open, and envelop my little sister in a giant bear hug. I want to tell her that everything's going to be okay, but I can't.

Anna knocks again. "Elsa? I'm not leaving until you open the door."

Yes, you will.

The silence continues. I don't dare move, just in case she hears me and tries to come in. I'm saved, however, by my dad, who swoops in just in time. "Anna, what are you doing out of bed?"

"I'm here to see Elsa," she says innocently.

"Elsa's asleep, sweetie. And she needs all the rest she can get, she has a long trip tomorrow." Nice, dad. Not only did he answer her question, but he also offhandedly told me to finish packing and go to bed.

"Where's she going?"

"Somewhere else."

"Will I ever see her again?"

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until now. Will I get to see my family and friends again? Will I see any of them? My dad is quiet, so he's probably thinking of a good response. Finally, he just says, "Yes, of course you will," but his tone of voice doesn't convey much confidence in his words.

"Now," he continues, "let's get you back to bed."

Anna protests. "But I wanna see her! I want to say goodbye!"

"You can say goodbye in the morning, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Mmmmhmmmm."

"Okay."

I'm surprised that worked. Anna's usually a stickler about promises, enforcing the rules that the person in question has to say the words "I promise" before she believes anything they say like she's a justice of the Supreme Court. She must really be tired if she fell for that.

Speaking of being tired…I yawn. I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight, but I think it's worth it to at least try. I keep the shoe box; after going through it, I think I want to take it with me after all. However, before I put the floorboard back over the secret stash opening, I put seven letters inside, one for each of my closest friends. Sophie. Flynn. Merida. Hiccup. Rapunzel. Anna. Jack. The last two are obviously the longest; there are so many things I have to say to them. The floorboard slides into place. Hopefully, Jack will think about looking here someday. I close the door to my closet and get into bed. Tomorrow, Elsa will be gone. Tomorrow, I'll be Clara. Tomorrow.