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“He would,” I whisper. “He definitely would.”

“You really ought to think about that, Grace,” he says softly. “I’m not sure anyone who’d do that to you really has your best interests at heart.”

“Why does it matter?” I ask. “Come on. It’s not as if you like me.”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, then shuts.

“You seem very sure of yourself,” he says under his breath, walking away.

I sink back into my locker.

You seem very sure of yourself.

If everyone wasn’t watching, I’d burst into tears. I don’t think there’s anything I’d want more in the world than to be liked by Ford James.

At lunch, everyone is discussing their college admissions. Most of them got deferred or denied by their early decision picks, but Alex got into Northwestern early decision and Kappy got into Brown early action. I knew they’d all be leaving, and that I’d be leaving too, but for some reason the news hits me hard, as if I never actually believed it would happen. It should make my looming departure easier, but it doesn’t. I think I’d rather be planning on a new life in Rhode Island than I would a new life in Bolivia.

There’s a school assembly in lieu of journalism that afternoon. Ford’s gaze holds mine as I enter the room and I ache to fix this, to ask him what he meant, to tell him how I feel. I text Abby during the assembly to tell her I can’t tutor today. She no-shows half the time anyway, often without warning, and I’m not in the mood to do anything my father has asked of me right now.

I go to the art room instead. Miss Pender has open hours after school for any students who want to work on a project or get extra credit or even just hang out. I’ve wanted to attend since the day school began and haven’t allowed myself, but...if my father is going to take everything away from me, if he’s going to make everything I do wrong, I might as well do what I want.

“There’s my perfectionist,” says Miss Pender with a smile when I walk in. “I figured you’d be down here eventually.”

“I was hoping I might finish my current project today so I can start something new after break.”

She maintains her smile, but her eyes are troubled. “Grace, you never need an excuse to paint. Most artists will tell you that they are lost without their craft. It’s vital for them.”

“I’m not an artist,” I say, so quickly I sound breathless. “It’s just for fun.”

She rises and walks over to my painting, which shows a man’s hands tugging at his collar, the tie askew. “Look at what you’ve created,” she says. “You’re an artist, whether you want to admit it or not. And actually, I was wondering if you’d ever given any thought to art school? You have a natural gift very few students have.”

I’m flooded with joy for a moment, floating on a wave of it. But only for a moment. That wave recedes as fast as it came in, and my smile fades. “I’m leaving to do missionary work for two years after I graduate. But art school is just...That’s not something my church would even consider.”

She starts to walk away, then turns suddenly. “Between us,” she says quietly, “I think you should consider it anyway. I’m happy to write you a recommendation.”

My mouth opens to object, but she rests a hand on my forearm to stop me.

“Just think about it. No one needs to know.” She leaves me to paint.

My heart is racing, and I don’t know if it’s from excitement or fear.

Is it true? Could I apply to college without anyone knowing?

What would happen to me if I did?

When I get home, I look up the college boards. It appears that if I register myself without listing my school, the results will only go to me. Except...I’d need a credit card to pay, an excuse to be out of the house, a ride to the testing center, and an address to which I could send the scores.

The barriers seem impossibly, ridiculously high. I’d definitely get caught, and that I’m even daydreaming about doing this behind my parents’ backs seems like the surest sign that I’m doing something wrong.

But I hear Ford’s voice in my head again. I’m not sure anyone who’d do that to you really has your best interests at heart.

Even if I’m doing something very, very wrong...my parents are too.

18

Christmas in New Hope was magical. Every family placed luminarias along the path to their homes, a sign that others were welcome. We had cookie-exchange parties and neighbors were constantly dropping by. My friends and I did a secret Santa thing with a five-dollar limit, and the limit only made the gifts more fun. I got a chipmunk that sang “Kung Fu Fighting” from Jessa Mae last year. We laughed over it for hours.

It’s not like that in Penhallow, obviously. There are no luminarias and no visitors. Zoe says her parents are mildly drunk from December twenty-third until January second, and Lauren’s family is going to some super-fancy resort in the Caribbean in lieu of celebrating at all.