Butshe’s gone.
Again.
My stomach drops. “Harper?”
I scan the field, the bleachers, the stream of people heading toward the exits. Nothing.
“Did you see where Harper went?” I ask Sara.
She shakes her head, already being pulled away by Miles.
I check my phone. One new text.
HARPER: Went home with Marie. Saw her on the field. Spending the night at her house. Tell your mom I said thanks for tonight.
I stare at the message until the words blur.
Then I read it again. Count the words. Twenty-three words. Not a good number. Odd and not divisible by any number that makes sense. Read it again. Still twenty-three.
I press my thumb against the screen right where she signed off. Press three more times to make it four times total. That’s better.
She left. She has a friend—Marie, apparently—and left with her instead of coming home with us. Without saying goodbye. Without a second thought.
I check the timestamp. Sent four minutes ago. Four. That’s good. Even number. Divisible by two.
I read the text again. Count the words again. Still twenty-three. My thumb taps the screen: one, two, three, four, five, six. Stop. Start over. One, two, three, four.
I should be happy. This is exactly what I wanted—Harper making friends, fitting in, having reasonsto stay. Mom will be thrilled when I tell her Harper’s having a sleepover like a normal teenager.
This is good.
My hands are shaking. I shove them in my pockets. Pull them out. Touch my phone. Lock the screen. Wake it. Lock it. Wake it.
Rule #89: Let go of what you can’t control.
I wrote that rule, and I still don’t know how to follow it.
NINE
HARPER
“You sure you’re okay?”Marie asks for the third time, hovering in her front doorway like a worried mom. It is eleven at night, and I’m pretending to be homesick. Hilarious because I’ve never once had a home to be sick for. But, ya know, best to go with the classics.
“I’m fine. Thanks for letting me play with your kitties.” I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Just need some air. To clear my head on the walk home, you know?”
Playing with her cats made me think of Sox, obviously. Apparently, Marie begged her mom to let her keep Pansy after one of the neighbors took the other orange tomcat, and her mom agreed to talk her douchebag dad into it.
I think about Sox. All alone in my closet right now. Waiting for me to come back.
Except I’m not going back.
My stomach twists.
She’ll be fine. Caleb knows about her. He’ll take care of her when he realizes I’m gone. He’s good like that—responsible, reliable, the kind of person who keeps promises and shows up when it matters.
Unlike me.
I shove the thought down deep. Sox is just a cat. Cats are survivors. She survived being dumped in the school quad; she’ll survive me leaving.