My heart plummets, but I can’t let him see. “Daddy.” Sweat trails down the back of my neck, and my forehead feels cold. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“Good? You think you even know what that means?”

“I want to know what it means. That’s why I need you.”

His chest swells, like he’s proud I see him as a source of wisdom.

“You’re broken,” he says. “Until you admit that, you’ll never get better.”

“I know I am,” I murmur, I’m afraid too softly, but he must like what he hears. The quiet. The certainty. Because he’s right. I am broken. “That’s why I need you.”

He looks at my mom, and I can guess what he’s thinking. See? This is how we get Anna to behave. This is how we fix her.

“Please let me go to the dance,” I say. “Let me…prove myself to you.”

The words nearly choke in my throat, but now I’m thinking of everything I sacrificed to leave and everything I sacrificed to come back. I’m thinking of the dance. I’m thinking of Jackson.

After a long moment, I guess finally satisfied that we’ve been reminded who’s in control here—who has the power—he holds out the dress.

I close myself in my room. I put the dress back in its garment bag and shove it far under my bed.

I should feel terrified after what just happened, but instead I feel a quiet confidence. Maybe I learned a thing or two while I was away. Maybe now I know enough to get what I want and keep my father happy.

I pull out the book I’m reading for English. Jen gave me another one once I told her I couldn’t do the first, and I’ve finally found a bit of a rhythm. This one’s pretty interesting, anyway. It’s called The Catcher in the Rye, and it’s nothing like the kind of books I would have thought they’d have us read.

I’ve found that reading’s not as bad as I thought. At least it gets me out of my own head for a while. I probably should have done more of it in New York.

But not long after I pull out the book, something distracts me. There’s a strange tapping on my window. My heart pounds in my chest as I remember the last time.

Nothing happened then, but I do sort of wish I had Zara with me now. I take a deep breath and tiptoe to the window and peer out. A happy face peers back at me.

I blink and then slide open the window. “What the hell are you doing here, Jackson?”

His eyes are bright and alive, and I realize I’m very happy to see him. “I want to show you something,” he says.

“Normal people come to the door, you know?”

He shrugs. “You told me your parents were strict—figured this was the safe way.”

I shake my head. He’s crazy. And sneaking around my parents with a boy, even a boy as innocent as Jackson, probably isn’t the best idea in the world. Especially after what happened at dinner.

I narrow my eyes. “Is it important?”

He nods eagerly, and I sigh. Good thing I didn’t change out of my school clothes yet. Besides, the chances of my parents coming to my room are nonexistent. After that big speech, my dad will want to bask in his own glory while he gives me time to think over his “lesson.”

I grab a pair of tennis shoes from my closet, flick off the light so my parents think I’m sleeping, and climb out the window.

“Okay, what’s so important?”

He grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine, which makes my heart patter in a completely idiotic way. And then he runs, pulling me with him. I notice he’s wearing a backpack.

We run down the street and behind one of the houses, back to the field with the honeysuckles and my mini Central Park.

Then we stop.

The sky is a dark blue, but there’s still a little bit of light peeking out over the horizon. The field is right in front of us, with the little specks of lights flickering in the darkness.

“Fireflies,” I say.

Jackson turns to me, his eyes bright. “You are human!” he says with a sly smile that makes my stomach tumble. At least my cheeks don’t get hot. I do have some composure. “But they’re actually called lightning bugs.”

“What? You made that up.”

“Did not!”

I laugh, and we both grow quiet and watch the little specks of light in the dark field.

“My family used to go camping in the summer when I was little,” I say. “My mom and I caught fireflies together. But we haven’t done it since I was eight or so.”

“What happened after that?”

“I don’t know. My dad started working more, we stopped talking to our cousins and even my grandparents for some reason, and my parents got stricter and stricter.”

I shrug, wondering if that was actually the beginning of the end of my parents’ relationship, and I just hadn’t seen it. The same way they didn’t see the way those changes affected me. “That’s around the time that everything changed for me because they wouldn’t let me out to play with kids my age, and they stopped playing with me, too.” I’m telling him more than I’m supposed to.

“Loneliness sucks.”

I nod.

He takes off his backpack and pulls out a jar. “Maybe we can make her a present.”

“My mom? You don’t think she’ll say they’re too…you know…childish?”

He takes my hand. “Maybe. But maybe she needs to remember what it was like when things were good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just some things you’ve said… It sounds like you guys haven’t been happy in a long time.”

He’s right. It’s been a long time since we were happy. Not just me. My mom. My dad.

Then he tugs on my hand and brings me into the field, thankfully saving me from having to confirm or deny anything.

I wonder why they’re even still here, the fireflies. It’s September; aren’t they usually gone by now? There aren’t as many as there are in the spring and summer, but there’s enough for me to catch about ten in Jackson’s jar. When we’re finished, he pokes tiny holes in the lid of the jar and hands it to me.

We walk back to where he left his backpack, and I set my jar down.

“Is the night over?” he asks, his eyes alight with something else. Something very unchildish, and it kind of scares me.

My whole body feels alive. At his look, heat rises into my cheeks. Thankfully, it’s too dark for him to see. I don’t know what Jackson and I are, but I do know that I don’t want to go home. Not yet.

“I’m not ready to leave if you’re not.”

His smile lights me up from the inside. He rummages in his backpack again and pulls out an iPod and little speakers.

“Some music?” he asks.

I nod. Is this how real dates happen? I’ve seen movies about these things, but it’s safe to say I’ve never had anything close to a real date before.

He places the speakers down and lets the music play softly, enough for us to hear but not enough to bother the neighbors.

I don’t know any of the songs, but they’re kind of nice with their upbeat melody and acoustic guitars. Bugs chirp in the nearby woods, the tones mingling with our songs playing on his little speakers. We sit there in the field, just listening and watching the sky change.

But when a slow song comes on, Jackson stands and asks me if I want to dance.

“Seriously?”

“It’ll be like practice for homecoming.”

I raise my eyebrows. I hadn’t really thought about the dancing part of homecoming. Maybe dancing here, with him, is a good idea, because no one else will be around to see me look like an idiot. It’s just practice; at least, that’s what I tell myself.

I get up but then just stand there awkwardly.

He wraps his arms around my waist, and I place mine over his shoulders. I’m not sure if that’s right, but it feels right. He doesn’t say anything, so I guess it’s not completely wrong. We sway to the music. We’re close, closer now than we’ve ever been before, and my heart pounds.

It’s weird to like him. It’s strange how good it feels when his hand gently touches my arm and sends a shiver all the way down my body.