Anything for Ty. I meant it. I still do. I have to, or it’ll have all been for nothing.

I glance at the window. We’re below the storm, but above the fog that blankets the city. Here and there, the top of a building pokes up beneath us, glittering a cold, wet blue in the flashes of lightning. Directly below is a radio antenna scored and dented with enormous teeth marks. The thick metal poles are frayed and jagged, snapped off at the top like matchsticks.

I close my eyes. A memory from last year seeps in.

Ty’s sideways smile. My arm hanging out the window of his ancient Camaro. Sunlight pouring over the day like a jar of upended honey, “Stand by Me” coming from the stereo.

We pass a radio antenna. I point at it. “We should totally climb that.” The urge tingles in my bones: to push myself, to conquer something just because I know I shouldn’t. To accept the universe’s dare.

Ty raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that illegal?”

I shrug. “Gotta fulfill my daily troublemaking quota somehow.”

He snorts, then shakes his head. “Sorry, your quota will have to go unfulfilled today. I told Aunt Irene we’d be there by five.”

I turn my head, pretending to watch out the window as we pass the antenna, but actually working hard to hide the unease that’s slithering through my stomach. Neither of us has met Aunt Irene in person yet, but she could be the coolest pseudo-guardian in the world, and I would still hate leaving my old home behind to move to some speck of an island surrounded by strangers.

But I could find a way to be okay with it if Ty were coming too.

He glances over, sees my expression. His smile fades and his brow goes all crinkled, the way it always does when he worries. “Look,” he says softly. “Let’s just try this, okay? I’ll stay with you a few weeks to get you settled in, and if you haven’t adjusted by then, I’ll call it off.”

And he would. He’d turn down his scholarship to study abroad, turn down a free year of living in London, to make sure I was all right. Ty is always making sacrifices for me that way. Like when he took a second side job delivering takeout so I could afford to see Dr. Washburne, my therapist, every week. If my OCD hadn’t improved enough for me to move to occasional phone check-ins instead of regular office visits, Ty wouldn’t even be considering this move. And even now, after his scholarship has been accepted and all the arrangements have been made, he would still stay behind if I asked him to.