“It is the second semester of your senior year, Hen! What even is school?” Fitz asks.

“A calc exam, a physics lab, and a Hemingway essay,” Henry says. “Sorry, or I would.”

I mean, Henry breaking the rules is always a long shot, but I didn’t want to not include him.

“If we leave now, we’ll make it back in time for rehearsal,” I say, directing back to Fitz.

“I’ve always wanted to go Albany, you know,” she says. I can hear the smile in her voice.

“I’ll hold down the rehearsal,” Henry says.

“I love you both,” I say, hanging up the phone before Fitz can change her mind.

She texts that she’ll pick me up in ten and I run upstairs in a whirlwind, gathering everything I need for the day. Pack backpack now. Deal with my parents and the consequences of skipping school later. By the time they even know I’m gone, we’ll have crossed state lines. It’s three hours to Albany. If all goes well, we’ll be back by last period.

The chances this will work are slim. I know that.

The chances I get in even more trouble are guaranteed.

But there’s a chance that it will work. A small chance, but a chance.

And I’m taking it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As it turns out, the Albany Institute isn’t in Albany.

It’s in this tiny town outside of Albany. Important distinction. I tap my fingers against my thighs, staccato. Glance at the dashboard. It’s almost ten-thirty. I should be in Chemistry, next to Reid. Lab reports were due today. Or are they due tomorrow? I don’t know. Deadlines that aren’t Melted- related don’t stick in my brain anymore—and in my rush to leave this morning, I left my planner on the kitchen table.

The texts from my parents started an hour ago.

Dad

Why did I get an email that you’re absent?

8:54 AM

I saw you leave with Fitz this morning. Fitz is also marked absent.

8:57 AM

Dad Voicemail

8:58 AM

Dad (2) Voicemail

9:01 AM

Mom

Natalie Louise—where are you? Where is Fitz? Are you together?

9:04 AM

Dad

Henry’s not talking. Reid says he doesn’t know either.

9:05 AM

we’re in springfield. at the moment.

9:06 AM

a little over an hour away from the albany institute.

9:07 AM

Dad’s typing bubble disappears and reappears for ten whole minutes, I swear.

Dad

Natalie, I understand you feel bad, but please just come home.

9:17 AM

Mom

We’ve never had a kid flee the state before. How does THAT punishment work?

9:18 AM

Dad

I’m sure we’ll think of something.

9:19 AM