Chapter 2

I'm not good.

I wake up on Casey's basement couch, and for a second, I forget. Then I remember. The party. The rules. Mom's blank face. The window.

I'm not good at all.

Upstairs, I hear footsteps. Voices. The smell of coffee drifts down.

I sit up. My duffel bag and the backpack are on the floor. The vintage handbag is next to my pillow. I must have been holding it when I fell asleep.

Casey's mom, Mrs. Martinez, comes down the stairs carrying a plate. Eggs and toast.

"Morning, sweetie," she says. She's this tiny Latina woman who's always been nice to me. "You hungry?"

I'm not. But I nod anyway.

She sits down on the coffee table across from me. Hands me the plate.

"Your mom called me," she says quietly. "The night of your party."

I stop mid-bite.

"What did she say?"

Mrs. Martinez looks uncomfortable. "She said 'please keep her safe.' That's it. Then she hung up."

Keep me safe from what? From Victor? From his stupid rules?

Or from herself?

"Did she say anything else?"

"No. Just that." Mrs. Martinez pats my knee. "But honey, you can't stay here long. Your stepdad could come looking for you. He could accuse us of harboring a runaway."

Right. Because I'm eighteen but technically still living at home. Or was.

"I'll figure something out," I say.

But I have no idea what.

Mrs. Martinez goes back upstairs. I eat the eggs. They taste like nothing.

I pull out the flip phone Mom gave me. It's already activated. Just Kit's number programmed in. And Casey's.

I stare at the phone.

Mom planned this. She had this phone ready. She called Mrs. Martinez before I even left.

She wanted me gone.

I throw the phone back in the backpack.

Casey comes downstairs, still in her pajamas. She sits next to me on the couch.

"You okay?"

"No."

She doesn't say anything. Just sits there. That's what I like about Casey. She doesn't try to fix things.

"I need to leave," I say. "I can't stay here. Your mom's right."

"Where will you go?"

I think. I have five hundred dollars. A duffel bag. A backpack. A handbag I don't even want.

And nobody.

Dad's gone. Mom kicked me out. Victor hates me. I don't have other family in New Jersey.

Except.

"My aunt," I say slowly. "My mom's sister. She lives in Boston."

"You talk to her?"

"Not really. Mom and her don't get along. Haven't for years."

Casey pulls out her phone. "What's her name?"

"Katherine Harrison. She's a lawyer."

Casey types. Finds her on LinkedIn. "Kit Harrison, Domestic Violence and Women's Rights Attorney. Boston."

That's her.

"You think she'd let you stay?"

"I don't know."

But I don't have other options.

I pick up the flip phone and dial.

It rings three times.

"Hello?" A woman's voice. Sharp. Professional.

"Aunt Kit? It's Sloane."

Silence.

Three seconds of complete silence.

"Sloane," she says finally. "What's wrong?"

I don't know where to start. The party? The rules? Mom shoving me out a window?

"I need help," I say.

"Where are you?"

"Clearwater. I'm at my friend's house."

"Are you safe?"

"Yeah. For now. But I can't stay here."

More silence.

"What happened?"

I give her the short version. The party. The rules. Mom agreeing. Mom kicking me out at midnight.

Kit doesn't interrupt. Just listens.

When I'm done, she says: "Come to Boston."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll text you the address. There's a Greyhound that leaves Port Authority every two hours. Get on the next one."

"Okay."

"Sloane." Her voice softens slightly. "You did the right thing. Calling me."

I don't know what to say to that.

She hangs up.

Casey drives me to Port Authority. The next bus to Boston leaves in forty minutes. Ticket costs thirty-eight dollars.

I buy it.

"Text me when you get there," Casey says. She hugs me. "You're gonna be okay."

I'm not sure about that.

But I get on the bus anyway.

The Greyhound smells like stale coffee and someone's tuna sandwich. I find a seat in the back, away from everyone. Put my bags on the seat next to me so no one sits there.

Four hours to Boston.

I press my forehead against the window and watch New Jersey blur past.

Somewhere back there is Clearwater. The house I grew up in. My room with the purple walls I painted when I was ten. The kitchen where Mom taught me to make Dad's pancakes after he died.

All of it gone.

Because she chose Victor.

Because she stood there in front of everyone and agreed with him. Said I had it easy. Said I needed to learn responsibility.

Then kicked me out.

I don't understand.

If she wanted to protect me from Victor's rules, she could have said no. She could have fought him. She could have divorced him.

Instead, she threw me out with five hundred dollars and a phone.

Mrs. Martinez said "keep her safe."

Safe from what?