My mom stares at her barely touched food.

“We don’t know what’s going to happen next. I know that sounds scary, but that’s where we’re at right now. Mom and I will go to the bank tomorrow and talk about our options and what we can afford. A lot of this depends on whether one of the school libraries your mom applied to for the fall reaches out. If not, she’ll keep working part-time in the office with me, but money will be tight. We have to be patient. But whatever happens, we have each other. I know we all love this house, but it’s just a house. We can make our home anywhere.”

“Home is where the heart is,” Ivy says, all cheerful. I want to punch her in the face. I’ve never wanted to hurt her like that before. But I don’t want to go live in some strange place with no memories. That’s not what home is.

“We can’t just make any place feel like home,” I say.

“Sure we can!” Ivy says. “It’ll be an adventure!”

“No, we can’t!” I yell. I sound like a baby, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to go to a different school. I don’t want anything to change.

Tears start to run down my mom’s face.

“Well done, Rachel,” my dad says, disgusted. “Now you’ve upset your mother again. I need you to act your age, if you don’t mind.”

“Maybe if you acted your age and were responsible with money, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” I blurt out.

My dad looks stunned and hurt.

“Rachel!” my mom yells. “Go to your room.”

I glare at Ivy. “Gladly!”

I’ve never been sent to my room before. I’ve never gotten this angry before. Don’t all the stories my parents have told us over the years about finding this house and making it special mean anything to them? Why didn’t they try harder to stay?

“This is all your fault!” I yell at my mom. “You had to have this house you guys could never afford in the first place. But you made us all love it! You said you and Dad would grow old here and Ivy and I would visit when we had our own kids. And now we won’t have anything! Home is not where the stupid heart is. Home is here and you ruined it!”

Ivy starts to blubber, and as shameful as it is, I’m glad.

I turn and stomp over to the couch, grab Ivy’s stupid pillow, and rip the letters off it.

“No, Rachel!” Ivy cries.