Page 79

I’ve tried to get over what he said in the car, but I can’t quite forget it.

“I can’t go to the dock today,” I whisper to Ford in English while the class is still shuffling in. “My mother is on a tear while we get ready for a guest this weekend.”

“Someone you knew back in New Hope?”

I hitch a shoulder. “I never knew him all that well because he’s older, but yeah. My mom is pulling out all the stops. We’re even eating in a restaurant.”

His jaw clenches. “That really sucks. I mean...Grace, how many weeks do we even have left?”

Why does it matter, Ford? You’re still waiting for the real thing.

When I get home from the playground with Faith on Saturday, my mother is packing a picnic basket. We’re apparently driving to the park for the afternoon and going out to dinner in town on the way home.

“Grace, go change,” she says, frowning at me.

I’m wearing jeans and a long-sleeved cotton sweater. “What’s wrong with this?”

“The sweater is just a little shapeless,” she says. “Go get the pink cardigan out of my closet. It’ll be more flattering.”

Never once in my life has my mother worried about whether or not my clothes are flattering. Never once has she suggested I borrow something of hers. I stare at her for an extra moment.

“Grace,” she says, clicking her tongue. “Hurry up. And brush your hair.”

Tommy arrives right around noon. He’s as handsome as I remember—olive skin, green eyes, curly hair, a wide smile. After eight months around the boys from Penhallow, though, I no longer find him intimidating in the least. He seems, like all the New Hope boys, obedient. If he had a tail, it would be wagging right now, or tucked between his legs.

Obedient no longer appeals to me. If anything, I feel like I’m the older of the two of us.

As we sit on a picnic blanket at the park, most of the small talk is led by my father. He asks after Tommy’s family, then asks such probing questions about this past year’s cohort in Bolivia that my mother finally puts her hand on his arm to stop him.

“Robert, the poor boy only has another twenty-four hours in the US,” she says gently. “Perhaps he’d rather discuss other things.”

My father startles for a moment—it’s incredibly rare for my mother to intervene—and then looks at me. “Grace, why don’t you show Tommy around the park? I believe there’s a waterfall down the path.”

I stiffen. It’s not as if we’ve ever been to this park. How am I supposed to play tour guide?

It’s also somewhat alarming to be told to walk off alone with a boy after hearing how dangerous it is for all my preceding years—my parents used to intervene the moment Sam Larkin tried to speak to me after church. But there’s a note in my father’s voice that I know better than to argue with.

“Of course,” I say, climbing to my feet.

Tommy and I are quiet as we cross the park to the sign marking the start of the path. “I’ve never been here before,” I warn, “so please don’t count on me for directions.”

He elbows me, smiling. “I think we can figure it out.”

I guess this is my big opportunity to learn about the country I’ll be in for the next two years. I should have a thousand questions but for some reason, none come to mind. “So, how do you like Bolivia?”

I’m just making conversation, and stupid conversation at that. He’ll say it’s wonderful because he has to, I know. Complaints aren’t welcome in our community, unless we’re complaining about the world outside us.

“It’s amazing,” he says, as I knew he would. “I came back a different person than I left.”

I don’t want to be a different person. At least, not different in the way the mission will make me. “Was it hard to be away from your family for so long?”

He startles at the question and quickly recovers. “No. I mean...yes. But your cohort becomes your new family.”

“I guess you must have liked it,” I say, carefully watching his face, “since you volunteered to stay.”

His face is unreadable at the word volunteer. No eager agreement, but no argument either. I want to ask if I’d be permitted to leave early if I didn’t like the program, but I already know the answer to that one.

He smiles at me. “I’ve heard the incoming cohort has the most beautiful girls we’ve had in two decades,” he says. “Seemed like I ought to stick around.”