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There are tears in my eyes as I lean into the passenger window, but I'm smiling. "I can't believe you drove all the way here."

"You sounded upset," he says. "And then you wouldn't reply. Get in."

There is nothing I'd love more than to get in his car, but I can't. "At some point, my parents are going to hear that I've left, and then they'll check my location."

"Fine," he says, a challenge in his eyes. "We'll just follow your bus home then."

I climb in and our fingers twine. He tugs me close, his lips finding mine. It's a bad idea...anyone from New Hope could be here watching me, but with everything my parents are guilty of, I refuse to let it stop me.

Something settles inside me. I feel safe for the first time since I last saw him.

On the ride, I tell him about the fight with Ann and then, haltingly, about my conversation with Mrs. Humboldt and Kelly Maguire.

His jaw grinds, but he doesn't look surprised.

"You knew, didn't you?" I ask softly.

"There were rumors," he says, swallowing. "Whether every last thing you've heard is true or not, Grace...your dad is still a bad guy."

"I know," I whisper.

"I'm not saying this out of self-interest," he says, "but I don't think you should go to Bolivia. Once you're there, you're entirely under their thumb."

I suck in a long, slow breath. "I’m not. I'm not going."

The air eases out of me, as if I didn't know my own plan until now.

I guess it's been in my head for a while—especially last night. For months, I've thought I could just play along during that time, then go to college and figure it out from there. Now there's simply too much doubt. My father appears to have gotten away with a lot of things he shouldn't have, which means he has people in his court. I don't trust any of these men to make sure I return from Bolivia in two years safely.

"So, what will you do?" he asks.

I shake my head, staring out the window. "I don't know. There are still schools I could apply to, and probably schools I could get into without SATs. But I do need to graduate high school.”

“And even asking for your grades to be sent somewhere could alert your dad,” he says.

I consider this, staring at the water to my left—flowing freely toward the dam on the other side of the bridge we’re crossing. It’s as if every solution leads to some new trap.

"I think I've got to stay the course until I graduate. Then I can start sending out college applications. If I don't get in, I'll get a job and I'll live⁠—"

I really have no idea where I'll live. I won't be allowed to stay at my parents' house, but I wouldn't want to anyway.

Ford squeezes my hand. "We'll figure it out. You've still got six weeks."

My mother calls as we near Penhallow, and I let it go to voicemail. I'm not risking a single conversation with them until I'm safely home.

I have Ford take me to the bus station, just in case my parents are watching. "I'll walk from here," I tell him.

"Grace—"

I smile. "I've got to do everything right, just for a few more weeks. Any second now, my dad is going to hear that I left, and I have to be exactly where I've claimed to be when it happens."

"I'm staying at my mom's until I know you're okay," he says.

The bus station is only about five miles from my parents' house. It's dusk by the time I arrive and my father is calling, right on schedule.

"Where are you?" he demands. "Your mother says you left the Hoffmans' house?"

“Ann and I argued⁠—"