BooksBarbecue
Back Spells for Lost Things
Chapters (42)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. – 1 – Willow
  6. – 2 – Mason
  7. – 3 – Willow
  8. – 4 – Mason
  9. – 5 – Willow
  10. – 6 – Mason
  11. – 7 – Willow
  12. – 8 – Mason
  13. – 9 – Willow
  14. – 10 – Mason
  15. – 11 – Willow
  16. – 12 – Mason
  17. – 13 – Willow
  18. – 14 – Mason
  19. – 15 – Willow
  20. – 16 – Mason
  21. – 17 – Willow
  22. – 18 – Mason
  23. – 19 – Willow
  24. – 20 – Mason
  25. – 21 – Willow
  26. – 22 – Mason
  27. – 23 – Willow
  28. – 24 – Mason
  29. – 25 – Willow
  30. – 26 – Mason
  31. – 27 – Willow
  32. – 28 – Mason
  33. – 29 – Willow
  34. – 30 – Mason
  35. – 31 – Willow
  36. – 32 – Mason
  37. – 33 – Willow
  38. – 34 – Mason
  39. Acknowledgments
  40. More from the Author
  41. About the Author
  42. ALSO BY JENNA EVANS WELCH

This time it isn’t running away. Running away means leaving your home, but I’m running to my home. It’s completely different.

I start by putting my things in my backpack. My notebook and books, every bill and coin I have, my toothbrush, most of my clothes. I even find an old water bottle that I don’t think anyone will miss and fill it up just in case. I debate taking the phone and charger, but they’ll probably be able to track me with it, and besides, I don’t want to take more from the Morgans than I have to.

After that, there’s nothing to do but wait.

If I was in NASA preparing for a launch mission I’d be doing final safety checks. But I’m not an astronaut. I’m a seventeen-year-old in what I overheard my first foster mom call “a difficult situation,” which is like saying that a goldfish has a water problem. I’m not the problem; everything else is. My life hasn’t been difficult; it’s been stupid. It hasn’t made sense. Until now. So long as I don’t think about Willow, I’m fine.

Of course, I don’t sleep at all. Instead, I sit propped up on my bed, watching the clock change and listening to the sound of one of the girls snoring in the next room. They are going to be so upset about the play. I know that my running away is going to be hard on the Morgans. The girls will probably be confused and worried, and there will be a lot of questions from the foster care system and Kate/Kaitlin, but once all of that dies down and I’m officially gone for long enough, I hope that their lives will go back to normal. Nova will even get her room back, and I’m sure the littles will find someone new to cast in their tragedy.

I don’t mean to do it, but as I sit there, my brain insists on spitting out memory after memory of my time with the Morgans that no matter how hard I try, I can’t quite spin as bad. Simon’s endless invitations, all the dance rehearsals, the beach with Nova, Emma slipping me coffee.

In a completely different set of circumstances, the Morgans might have made me a great home. But no matter how many positive things happened, they can’t be my home. My mom might be a million things I wish she weren’t, but she’s my sun. She’s what I orbit, what I depend on to be me. Without its star, the Earth would be a lifeless ball of ice and rock. Without my mom, I’m spinning into oblivion.

It’s Willow I really can’t think about.