She drops the squeegee and throws her arms around me. “I’ll visit. You’ll visit. We’ll FaceTime every day.”

I wrap my arms around her and press my face into her shoulder. “Don’t forget me,” I say so quietly that I almost hope she doesn’t hear.

“Impossible,” she squeaks.

I step back and take her hand. I can’t imagine who we would be without each other and I never want to know, but it’s time for us to take a few steps apart. Just enough space for us each to grow a little broader. A little stronger. A little brighter.

“Besides,” I say, “if anyone can survive being half a country apart, it’s us.”

She bites down on her lip, tears welling as she nods. “What will you do?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

A knock on the window startles us, and I let out an embarrassingly dramatic scream.

From inside, Hannah waves and sticks her tongue out.

I spray the spot over her face with window cleaner and blow a raspberry.

I still feel uncertain, and part of me might always think that this is Clem choosing Hannah over me, but no matter why she’s going or what I think, I have to let her go. I have to try.

Twenty-Three

“Can you please explain how exactly you got us all volunteering at a church?” Amanda asks Hannah as she slurps a hunk of cheese off the tip of her pizza. “Did Millie possess your body in your sleep?”

All seven of us sit on the steps of the chapel with two extra-large boxes of pizza and cups of lemonade like Sheila promised.

Hannah shrugs. “Me, Bekah, Tucker, and Waylon need the volunteer hours for prom court.”

“Well, sure,” I say, “but that doesn’t explain how exactly this happened. Honestly, I didn’t realize there were enough gay kids in Clover City for there to even be a need for some kind of parental support group.”

“You’d be surprised,” Hannah says, and bites down into her slice.

We all stare at her, waiting for her to finish that thought.

“Oh, fine,” she says as though it’s such a pain for her to say more than six words at a time. “Rich and Sheila took me in when ’Lita kicked me out.”

“What?” I ask, completely shocked. I’ve only met Hannah’s grandma once or twice, but she always seems so proud of Hannah.

“The summer before ninth grade,” she confirms.

“But your grandma is so cool,” Amanda says. “Why would she do that?”

Hannah looks to Clem, and I get the feeling this isn’t a story she freely shares often. “I never came out to my ’lita. She caught me kissing my cousin’s friend the summer before ninth grade. She went weeks without even making eye contact with me. When I tried to talk about it, she’d start praying, like directly at me, like I was some kind of demonic force. It was terrifying, in a way. I felt like somehow I’d become the monster in the story without even realizing it. Her pastor told her I was an abomination and she told me I had to go to church camp or get out.”

Clem grips Hannah’s knee. “I wouldn’t call that place church camp.”

My jaw drops. “Your grandma tried to send you to a pray-away-the-gay camp? Oh my God, Hannah, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t go.” Hannah laughs bitterly. “Rich and Sheila were always a little nosy. Honestly, it kind of annoyed me sometimes. These dopey-ass neighbors next door always in our business. But when Sheila saw me crying on the front porch, she invited me over for some lemonade and then that turned into an offer to let me stay in their guest room.”

“Wow,” says Bekah with a drawl, her bright-blue eyes round and wide. “That breaks my heart.”

“I only stayed with them for two weeks. I expected them to try and, like, ‘fix’ me or something. But it wasn’t me they were worried about fixing. Rich spent a lot of time going over to ’Lita’s and talking scripture with her. Speaking her language. I moved back in three days before the first day of school. It hasn’t been easy. She still doesn’t get a lot of things, but she left her church and has been the secretary for Grace Chapel ever since.” She looks around at us all, completely entranced by her story. “Ta-da?” she says. “The end? Can someone else talk please?”

“Willowdean!” someone yells from across the darkening parking lot.

Ellen, fresh off a dinner date with her boyfriend’s parents, sprints toward the chapel. “I saw him!”

“What?” Willowdean stands and rushes down the steps toward Ellen.

“Bo!” Ellen yells. “He was out to eat with these two old guys.”

“What?” She throws her arms up. “What are you even talking about?”

“Am I supposed to understand what’s happening?” I ask Clem under my breath.

She shakes her head. “I . . . think her boyfriend’s cheating on her with two older gentlemen?”

“I fully expect Wendy Williams to show up and tell us who the father is.”

“Wendy Williams doesn’t do paternity tests on her show,” Hannah clarifies.

Clem grips her knee. “Do you mean to tell me you’re a Wendy Williams fan?”

Hannah snarls but then pinches two fingers together. “A teensy fan.”

Tucker stands, stretching his arms wide so that the edge of his T-shirt rises over the top of his jeans an inch or two. “I’m going to get back to work.”

“I’ll join you,” says Bekah.

I watch the two of them walk through the patch of overgrown grass, bugs buzzing to life under the setting sun as Bekah’s soft laugh echoes.

My chest is tight and my throat feels dry. I wonder if I’ve simply made up the last few weeks of my life. If it’s all in my head.

Clem nudges me.

“They’d make a cute couple,” I say.

“Bekah would make a cute couple with a coatrack,” Hannah says.

I nod. She’s got that right.

“Come on,” says Clem. She stands and takes my hand, and the two of us, along with Hannah and Amanda, make our way back to the old building while Ellen and Willowdean stay in the parking lot, losing their shit over two old mystery men.

After a few more hours of cleaning, the room is ready to be painted and the floors sanded. Pastor Rich and Sheila cheerfully sign our community service forms and invite each of us to their first Sunday service in a few weeks.

The two of them sandwich Hannah in a hug, and when she starts to squirm, Sheila reaches for Clem. “Now, both of y’all need to come over one night with Miss Camile before you leave.”

“Oh, ’Lita is already planning a peach-themed going-away party.”

Bekah’s phone buzzes. “Oh, shoot, my sister’s here.” She turns to Tucker. “We could give you a ride.”

“I’m giving him a ride,” I say before Tucker has a chance to answer. “Prom court biz,” I add through gritted teeth.

Bekah smiles and her bright-blue eyes bounce from me to Tucker, who nods. “Well, I’ll see y’all later,” she says, excusing herself.

As we all head our separate ways, Tucker follows me to my truck. “You really don’t have to give me a ride.”