I roll over on my side and look at all the photos taped to my wall. When Micah and I first got our phones, we took a million stupid selfies together and printed them at his house. Then we cut them out and made collages, adding to them every time we did something new. A year’s worth of Micah selfies stare back at me. We’re smiling or laughing or making funny faces in every single one. Most of them are taken in my room or in the backyard. There are some with Rainbow, who doesn’t look amused. I realize with a horrible jolt that if we have to leave here, we’ll have to find a place for him. If we have to leave here, where will we go? I get up and pull a picture of Rainbow off the door and start crying all over again. What will happen to him? What will happen to us?

I find my phone and text Micah.

I have to talk to you. This is really important.

I wait until I see that he’s read the message. No response.

Micah, this is serious.

I wait again.

We’re . . . I pause. If I text the words, they’ll be true. This won’t be some dream or misunderstanding. This will really be happening.

I delete We’re.

The bank foreclosed on our house.

I stare at the words before I press the send button.

They seem so formal. So awful. So real.

I press.

My phone rings seconds after.

“What are you talking about?” Micah asks.

“We got the letter today.”

“But what does it mean?”

“It means the bank is taking the house away from us. We have to move.”

He’s quiet, but I can hear him breathing. His breaths get faster as the truth sinks in.

“But . . . that . . . are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“But . . . it’s not fair. There has to be a way.”

“I don’t think so,” I say. “I think my parents have run out of ways.”

“Can I come over?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

The phone goes quiet. I press the picture of Rainbow to my heart.

I let it all out.

And I’m right.

I don’t feel any better. I just feel the hurt even more.

Chapter Eighteen

“When something terrible happens, people say they wish they could go back in time to prevent it. But how can you know what really caused it in the first place?” Micah says this without looking at me. His hair hasn’t been washed. I can tell because it has sleep dents in it and it seems a little greasy. His hair always takes on a sheen when he waits too long to wash it. It almost looks wet. I bet it smells.