“You know what? Fine,” I say, grabbing my phone. I leave the kitchen and head for the door.

“Where are you going?” Mom demands.

I don’t answer.

“Lyra, don’t you dare leave this apartment.”

I’m out the door.

“Lyra!”

I slam the door in her face.

Once outside, I send Chase a text, asking him to meet me at the park. As I walk, my eyes blur with tears. It was too good to be true to think I could trust Mom with the truth. Chase had warned me. He’d said that she would never believe me. That no one would. He had been right.

What am I supposed to do now? When I go home, will Mom have already looked up therapists or psychiatric hospitals? I don’t want to be put on medication.

As I approach the park, Chase is leaning against his car, parked near a streetlamp. The light pours over his body. He looks harsh under it, but I run to him anyway. He wraps his arms around me, and I cry into his chest. He doesn’t say anything. He waits for me, and when I’m ready, I tell him everything—about my fight with Mom and her threat to commit me. I tell him things I’ve never told him before, about the coins and how I make them with a thread that comes out of my palm.

He wipes my tears away. “I told you she’ll never understand. She can’t. She doesn’t see what you see.”

“I know.”

“But I understand. I see what you see.”

“What am I going to do?” I ask, not expecting him to answer, but he does.

“Leave with me,” he says.

“What?” I pull away and meet his gaze.

“Leave with me,” he says again, and his arms tighten around me.

“I…I can’t.”

I might be mad at Mom and scared that she will stay true to her threat, but I can’t leave her. Poppa just died. She would be all alone, and besides, as much as running away would make me feel better right now, in the long run, I’d only feel guilty. I need Mom just as much as she needs me.

“Lyra,” Chase says, taking my hands. “Your mom will never understand you. She’ll never believe you.”

I tear away from him. He’s no longer helping me feel better. He’s just making me mad.

“Shut up!”

He moves toward me. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m only using your words, Lyra.”

I feel like he’s slapped me, and I flinch.

“You know what? Never mind.”

I start to turn, but he grabs my arm. His fingers dig into my skin. He’s never touched me this way, and it has warning bells going off in my head. “Where are you going?” he demands.

“Home!” I try to pull away, but he won’t let go.