“Katelyn?”

“In my room!” I call, jumping up and pushing Aiden toward the window.

“Is this my answer?” There’s a teasing quality to his voice that I can appreciate only because he has the good sense to whisper.

“Know what happened to the last guy my mom found in my room?”

“He got invited to dinner?”

“He got a face full of pepper spray.” All because he was trying to decorate my room to invite me to a dance. Poor guy. And poor me, since Mom and I ended up moving right after—Mom says the two are unrelated, but I doubt it.

She calls it wanderlust, but I’m not sure that’s what it is. She’ll be fine one day, and the next I’ll come home from school to find that she’s quit her job and already has half our belongings in boxes—hence the unpacked ones stacked in my room. We’re closing in on a year in our current duplex, and I’m hoping to make it through graduation here, if nothing else. But that means getting Mom to make some ties in Bridgeton so she won’t want to leave the next time she gets an itch.

My greatest triumph of the past year was getting her to agree to start dating, something she hasn’t done since my dad died, despite the frequent offers she gets. She had me when she was only nineteen, so she’s still young and looks amazing—also thanks to the fact that we run together every morning. She has stunning green eyes and thick auburn hair that reaches halfway down her back. My eyes and hair are the same color as hers but not nearly as striking. The main difference between us is that my skin is more olive than her fair, sunburn-prone complexion, a gift from a man I barely remember.

Based on the way she still tears up on the rare occasions I get her to talk about my dad, I’m not expecting her to fall madly in love with one of the guys she dates, but a little flirting and fun would be good for her. And any reason to stay in one place long enough for it to feel like home is good enough for me.

If she found Aiden in my room, she’d have a moving truck in our driveway before he even made it out the window.

I push him again. “You have to go.”

“Meet me tomorrow.”

“I—” I start to object, since I have no idea how I’ll slip away from Mom, but he looks perfectly content—eager, even—to get caught. “Fine.”

“Promise?”

I almost grit my teeth, but I remember that he’s still waiting for my answer about whether he’s wasting his time with me. I know what I want the answer to be, but hearing Mom’s footsteps on the stairs, I give Aiden one last shove. “I promise.” He climbs out the window, only to dart back in the second I start to turn away—to kiss me one more time.