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A statement like this, made at Penhallow, is harmless flirting. A statement like this inside our community is practically a marriage proposal.

Shit. Tommy’s presence here never made much sense. New Hope was far closer to an international airport than Penhallow. So, is he actually here because of me?

I’ve always known that going to Bolivia will probably end with me married, but I’d seen it through some dreamy, distant lens until this moment—a mystical future point at which I was eager to be a bride and was marrying my soulmate.

Suddenly it’s a reality, and I’m not ready. I’m not ready now, and I won’t be ready in two years. I’m certainly not going to be ready to marry Tommy, no matter how handsome he is. Just watching him eagerly agreeing with every word out of my dad’s mouth took care of that.

We find the wildly unimpressive waterfall and stay at the park for far too long afterward. I can’t reply to any of Ford’s messages until we’ve run home to change for dinner.

ME

Sorry. I haven’t had an unmonitored minute all day. And now we’re about to leave for dinner at The Gilded Fork.

FORD

Damn. Pulling out all the stops for this guy. But I think I’d rather go without food than sit through a dinner with three old people.

Tommy’s only two years older than me, so it’s not really like that.

“Tommy”?

My mother enters the room before I can reply.

“So,” she says, picking up my hairbrush and pushing me into the chair, “Tommy’s very handsome, don’t you think?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

She runs the brush through my hair. “I think he’s interested in you.”

I stiffen. “He’ll be in a position of authority next year. So, his interest is a little inappropriate, is it not?”

She blinks, her brow furrowed, then forces her expression to smooth out. “That’s not how we view authority.”

I meet her gaze in the mirror. “Don’t you think they should, though? Tommy might be a nice guy, but what if he wasn’t? He’d have fifty younger girls there under his thumb, with little recourse if he abused his power.”

The color drains from my mother’s face. She puts the brush down. “You’ve spent too much time outside of New Hope. You don’t have to worry about people from within the community.”

I think of Mary Joyce screaming as her father and mine dragged her inside her house. I’m not sure she’d agree.

Tommy is waiting when I get downstairs, dressed politely in suit pants and a button-down, as is my father, but they look wrong somehow, as if they’re here from another decade—Tommy in particular.

I wince, then smile too widely at Tommy trying to cover it up. He blinks in surprise, then smiles back.

I think I’ve sent him the wrong message.

We are seated at the restaurant—Faith and my parents on one side of the table, me, Tommy, and Hope on the other. My phone, resting in my purse beside me, begs to be opened. I still haven’t responded to Ford’s text, and I probably should have.

I’ve never been inside any place this fancy before: candlelight gleans off the wine glasses our waiter hasn’t yet removed and everyone speaks in hushed voices, bending over their linen-clad tables to be heard. Entrees at The Gilded Fork start at forty dollars. I swallow down a lump in my throat and meet my mother’s gaze across the table. She gives me a small nod, one that means go on and order. It’s okay.

But how can this be okay when my five-dollar secret Santa exchange wasn’t? How can this be okay when my parents have spent our entire lives trying to shame us into wanting less?

And why would Tommy be impressed when Bright Covenant wants us to give up far smaller luxuries than this?

While our food is being delivered, my hand inches toward my purse, then returns to my lap. I can’t possibly get away with opening Calcul8 here, with Tommy beside me. But if Ford had just dropped something like that on me—that he was spending the day with some random girl his age—I’d want some more information.

I guess I’m lucky that Ford is so much more chill than I am.

A bell rings as the door opens...and Ford walks in.