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I’m going to be heartbroken because, of course, he’s taking someone else.

I wrap my arm around her. “Can you imagine Dad’s reaction if you asked to go out with an eighteen-year-old? He wouldn’t even let me go out with an eighteen-year-old.”

She smiles a little at this. “I just wouldn’t ask.”

I stiffen. Those are dangerous words. The sort of words Mary Joyce used to say. If my parents had any idea how much the experience of living outside the community is changing us all, they’d find a way to send us back.

My eyes dart to Ford.

I think I’d refuse to go.

15

On Saturday morning, I take Faith to the park. My mother has given me a long list of tasks I’ll need to accomplish in order to earn my trip to the mall with Kappy this afternoon. I agree to all of it, but already there’s a resentful voice in my head, arguing that no one else has to earn a few hours of leisure.

I guarantee Kappy isn’t scrubbing the trash cans and wiping down baseboards today in order to leave her home. I suppose my mother would argue that she isn’t taking off for the mall or indulging in leisure time herself, but she also only has me to spot her since my father is always holed up in his office all weekend.

It’s just after three when Kappy pulls into our driveway. Unfortunately, it’s the moment my father emerges from his study.

“Why is your friend here?” he asks, frowning out the window.

“We’re going to the mall,” I reply. “Mom said it was okay.”

He turns toward her. “I don’t recall being consulted.”

My mother’s gaze flicks to me, a look that warns me not to react. “I didn’t see any harm in it. Grace was given a list of tasks to accomplish, and they’ll only be gone for an hour or two.”

“I’d like to see this list,” my father says coolly.

I want to rage at him. He hasn’t done a thing since the day we moved into this house, but he’s going to threaten this outing after I spent a full day earning it. My mother was right to warn me, however—if I say a word of this aloud, I will definitely not be going.

I run upstairs and pull the list from the trash, texting Kappy an apology and a promise to be outside as soon as possible. My father then reads it over, stooping to run an index finger over the baseboard as if he’s the head butler to the King of England.

“Grace,” he finally says, “since your friend is here, I’ll allow you to go this once. But when I look at this list, I see nothing special about it. These are things your mother shouldn’t have to ask you to do.”

He wants me to apologize, and for what? I do ten times the amount of work he does here. He wants me to be grateful, but I’m tired of being told I should be when my life contains so much less than the lives of any of my friends here.

“Great, thanks,” I say, walking out the door.

I’ll pay for being flippant later, but I really don’t care.

Lauren meets us at the mall because she needs a homecoming dress. I’m living vicariously through her as we pull gowns off the rack for her to try on.

“So, who else is going?” I ask casually.

The question is far too vague, of course. The answers include lots of people and did you hear that Natalie is going with Jaden?

“Oh my God,” says Lauren. “Remember the thing with Georgia Williams last year?”

I look between them. Georgia Williams is a pretty girl who largely keeps to herself. Someone who could be a Kendall but chooses to stay on their periphery.

“What happened to Georgia Williams?” I ask.

Kappy leans in close, though the decibel level at the mall seems to provide enough cover for whatever she’s about to say.

“It’s the middle of homecoming and Kendall H starts screaming at her and says they all know she had a baby the summer before, and Georgia threw a Coke can at Kendall, and it exploded all over the place.”

My brows raise. “Did she have a baby?”