I knew what she was going to say before she pulled the manila envelope out of her laptop bag.

“A new mandate,” I said flatly. I should have known.

I remembered the first time I’d heard the word. My mom was a military contractor—not in the military, like she didn’t wear a uniform or anything, but she worked for them, doing administrative stuff in cities all over the country. Sometimes she had to scout a location for new offices and the job lasted a few months, and sometimes it would be more of a desk job she’d do from home, and we’d stay longer.

That day, I was nine years old, and we lived in Arizona. I’d cut my hand. When I came inside for a Band-Aid, my mom was on the phone.

“It’s not that I want to leave. I hate doing that to her,” she was saying, and I stopped to listen. “Of course because of the mandate. Why else?”

When she heard the door slam behind me, she hung up the phone.

“What’s a mandate?” I’d asked, and she’d reached in her purse and pulled out a large envelope, exactly like the one she was holding right now. It was her new set of orders, sending us to a new town, a new life. The word mandate had hung over our heads ever since.

I should have been relieved to see the envelope now. Especially in the last week, I’d let myself come dangerously close to liking Lakehaven.

The teakettle sputtered, then whistled, and my mom poured water into two mugs. She set the one with the Eiffel Tower on it in front of me and I wrapped my hands around it, even though it was too hot. “Where?”

“Maine. Our new house will be right by the water, and the summers are supposed to be beautiful!” she said, too brightly.

I dunked the tea bag. “When?”

My mom leaned on the counter. “I reserved the moving truck for Sunday.”

“Sunday?” I let the bag fall, and tea splashed over the side of the mug. Two days? “Mom! I’m not eight years old anymore. There are things I can’t leave that fast. Like . . . getting the records for my AP classes transferred. There’s no way a new school will let me into AP at the end of the year without paperwork. And checking the weather in Maine so I can put the right stuff in the right boxes. And—” I couldn’t stop thinking about that picture in my bag. Jack. “There are things.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Next time I’ll try to give you more warning, but right now, it is what it is.”

I pushed my mug across the table. If we were leaving in two days, maybe seeing Jack wouldn’t be violating The Plan. One night wasn’t getting involved; it was just letting myself live a tiny bit. “I think I’ll go to prom tonight, then.”

“No!”

I looked up sharply. The only time my mom ever raised her voice was when she burned dinner. Now she was frozen at the counter, eyes wide like I’d suggested skydiving.

“I have to go out of town for a couple of days, starting tonight,” she said quickly. “I’d rather you stayed home.”

She sometimes had to take care of things at the home office before the moves, but she never acted this weird about it. “A month ago you were forcing me to go dress shopping,” I said.

She picked up a sponge and swiped at the counter. “And you didn’t get one, because you said you didn’t want to go, remember?”

A month ago, I wasn’t about to move. A month ago, Jack didn’t live here. “I have that old lace dress. The purple one. I’ll wear that.”

My mom pursed her lips. “I don’t want to worry about you while I’m gone. There’ll be drunk teenagers on the road. And what if you lock yourself out?”

“I have literally never locked myself out in my life.” I ran both hands through my hair. “And prom’s at school. I can walk there in twenty minutes if you don’t want me to drive.”

She tossed the sponge into the sink. “Avery June West, promise me you’ll stay in tonight.”

I must have looked alarmed, because she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Pack. Relax. You can go to prom in Maine!” My mom only spoke in exclamation points when there wasn’t actually anything to be excited about. “You’ll be a senior then. Senior prom’s more fun anyway!”

I gathered up my stuff, ignoring her pleading eyes. “Fine.”

“Avery, I’m sorry—”

“No, seriously, it’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth. This was why I never let myself care. It always got ruined, one way or another. I stalked to my bedroom without another word.

CHAPTER 5

I threw myself onto my ruffled comforter. I wouldn’t go to prom in Maine. By next spring, we’d be in the next place. Always in the next place, in the future—that’s when I’d have a life. I rooted around in my bag and found the picture again, and next to it, the crumpled drawing of Jack’s tattoo. I smoothed out the crinkles.

The compass was vaguely familiar, like I’d seen it in a movie or something. Now I’d never know. I finished sketching the south and east points, pushing so hard with the pen, I tore a hole in the paper.

My phone dinged.

If you change your mind, I’m still going to prom. Hope to see you there.

Jack.

I stared at the message. He wasn’t upset. He cared enough to try again. One night. It was one night. Why was my mom being so unreasonable?

I want to say yes so much it hurts, I typed in, then erased it. I’m going to try not to picture EmmaBeth Porter’s tongue down your throat all night, I typed, then wrinkled my nose. Eww. Already unsuccessful. Kill me now, I typed, then tossed the phone at my headboard and watched it slither down between two pillows.

I flopped onto my back and stared at the mustard-yellow ceiling. The first couple of moves, redecorating is fun. Changing paint colors, unpacking all your knickknacks. By the twelfth, all the breakable stuff is left wrapped, and the puke color stays on the walls.

Who knows. Maybe my mom vetoing prom was a sign. Jack seemed nice, but carrying a vaguely stalkerish photo was weird. And that phone call was weird. The more I thought about it, the more it hadn’t sounded like he was talking to a sick relative at all.

But maybe if I had a family of my own, I’d understand not wanting to tell a virtual stranger all about them.

Maybe if my mom didn’t move us so much, I wouldn’t be such a reclusive weirdo who forced herself to think the worst about everybody.