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this. I can’t see or help my friend, my boyfriend, because of something gross my
    father did.
    “This is nuts,” I mutter, throwing my blankets off and
    sitting up on the side of the bed. I can hardly contain the
    surprise tsunami of anger that floods me. “Where are you?”
    “In my room.”
“Do you want me to come over?” I cringe again, imagining the trouble I could get into, but the anger is bigger than that fear, and the boy across town is more important
    than the man in the next room.
“No. I mean yes, of course, obviously. But no. I’m
    okay now, and we don’t need any more trouble with the
    proprietors. I’m just glad . . .” He trails off for a moment,
    and his voice goes soft. “I’m just glad you answered. And
    that you’re there.”
I can hardly stand it. “I’m here. We’ll figure out
    something. I can’t take this either. I need more than a few
    minutes at my locker with you.” I don’t think I would have
    said that if it weren’t for the cover of darkness.
“Oh, God, Jules,” he says, and it sounds like he’s about
    to break down again. “I miss you like you have no idea. I
    know I sound like a basket case, and I’m sorry for—jeez,
    for slobbering all over—but this has been the longest
    week, and everything’s so . . . fucked-up. . . .”
“Yeah.”
“I need to tell you about it. There’s stuff I haven’t told
    you.”
I nod. “I want to hear it all. I want to help you. I will
    be there, helping you. Okay? I mean, do you know when
    it’s going to happen? Probably not . . .”
“No idea.”
I close my eyes, feeling defeat. “We’ll get it. I just need
    to figure out how to get out of here. I’m suffocating.”
“We both are.”
We’re quiet for a minute.
“Stay on the phone with me,” he says. “Please?”
“I will.” I climb back into bed and pull the blankets
    over me, keeping the phone to my ear. “I’ve never slept
    with a boy before,” I say.
He laughs a little and it makes me feel better for him.
    We whisper a little bit, and soon we’re quiet. My eyelids
    droop.
In an instant, it’s morning.
Nine
    “What happened to your face?” Rowan asks as
    we stand in the bathroom together, putting finishing
    touches on our makeup.
    I glare. “Nothing.” The imprint of the cell phone
    remains on my cheek, though it’s not nearly as pronounced
    as when I first got up.
    She narrows her eyes at me, suspicious. “You know,”
    she says, “I don’t mind picking up shifts for you in case
    you’re, like, feeling a little overtired . Or if you need to go
    to the library for a project or something. I like money.”

    I pause and look at her in the mirror.

    “Or maybe you want to, I don’t know.
    Volunteer somewhere on Saturday mornings.”
I set my can of hairspray down. “Hmm.”
“You need to get a little creative is all I’m saying. Don’t
    you want to join a club after school? Try out for a sport?”
    She blinks her lashes rapidly and smiles.
I snort. “Yeah,” I say, waving my cast. “Sports.”
“Well, I’m just trying to help.” She puts away her
    makeup and glances at one of the seventeen clocks—the
    top one, which actually works—that the hoarder decided
    would look great piled on the towel rack above the toilet.
    “Let’s go.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
As we grab our coats and backpacks, I ask her, “What
    do you do with all your money, anyway?”
“Save it.”
“For what?”
“My trip to New York. Spring break. I’m going to see
    Charlie.” She patters down the stairs.
My jaw drops, and I follow her. “You’re what?”
She shrugs. “I already have my plane ticket.”
“You—you—” I sputter. We climb into the running
    car, where Trey is waiting, tapping the steering wheel with
    an annoyed look on his face. “Mom and Dad are letting
    you go? I can’t believe it.”
“Letting her go where?” Trey asks. He takes off
    quickly down the alley and turns onto the street.
Rowan is quiet from the backseat. I turn and look at
    her,