Chapter 1

Rule #1: Never go out after dark.

Rule #2: Never go into large bodies of water.

Rule #3: No social media.

"So, how strict is that rule?" Shea asked, tossing a French fry into her mouth.

My previously comfortable posture stiffened at the question, and I put down the burger I'd been about to bite into. "Which one?"

She sucked the oil and salt off her fingers. "The no-going-out-after-dark rule?"

I sighed, looking away at the other picnic tables outside the school cafeteria. "Pretty unbreakable."

These were the rules I'd lived by my entire life, rules put in place by my eccentric mother. If a friend ever threw a birthday party after five in the afternoon, I wasn't allowed to go. When all my friends were enjoying dips in the lake for summertime fun, I couldn't join them. And while every other kid my age had a smartphone, I was stuck with little more than a glorified pager.

"Why?" I asked, pretending this topic didn't bother me as much as it did.

Shea flipped her wavy brown hair over her shoulder. "There's a party tonight. I think we should go." Her fingers tapped an excited beat, betraying her casual tone.

"Someone in this town is actually throwing a party?" I asked, my piquing interest laced with the taint of jealousy.

Short Grove was a tiny town in Illinois. We're talking microscopic. It had one school and no mall of any kind. Probably the smallest town in my mother's decades-long tour of the U.S. We'd been here for three months now, and I knew it was only a matter of time before she got the itch to move us again.

Shea leaned forward, mischief burning in her green eyes. "And it's at Michael Guido's house."

She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, but when I only looked at her blankly, she rolled her eyes and added, "He's a football player. Family's got big money, at least for this shit hole. So you know it's going to be epic."

Shea was the first good friend I'd made in a long time. Maybe ever. She'd approached me on my first day at Short Grove High, and we'd been inseparable ever since. She was aware of the three insane rules, and rather than prying, she was usually content to just chill at my house after sunset.

Or, at least, she had been before today.

I dropped my shoulders and shook my head, disdain a foul taste in my mouth. "Shea, as much as I'd love to go, you know I can't."

Her nose crinkled, and she jammed a fry into the mound of ranch on her plate. "I was afraid you'd say that. Nothing fun ever happens in Shallow Grave," she whined, using her nickname for our lifeless town.

She leveled her gaze at me, an unspoken challenge there. "You're a teenager, Arya. When was the last time you ever did something you weren't supposed to?"

I snorted. "Um, never."

Well, that wasn't true. I'd at least attempted to sneak out a few times in the past, but my mom caught me just outside whatever door or window I'd used to escape every damn time. Like she had spidey senses or something.

"Exactly." Shea pointed her mashed and dripping fry right at me, clearly oblivious to how ridiculous the gesture looked as Ranch slopped down on the table. "A little rebellion is healthy—no, necessary. I refuse to let you skip this important teen rite of passage."

Angst and resentment built in my chest as I imagined telling Mom I wanted to go to a party and then the deathly stern look and lecture I'd get in return. I'd heard that lecture so many times, I had the damn thing memorized by now.

I opened my mouth to object, but Shea cut me off. "Robby Fletcher will be there."

She flared one eyebrow and smirked. She was using my pseudo-crush as a bribe, and it was kinda working.

"Robby doesn't know I exist," I argued, shrugging and rolling my eyes.

"So you get to be Cinderella. Wiggle that perfect little body of yours into a little black dress. Before you know it, you'll be sweeping him off his feet."

"Aren't guys supposed to do the sweeping?" I teased.

Shea scoffed. "This is the twenty-first century. Where's your sense of female empowerment?"

"Stuck in the twentieth century, with my dumb phone," I deadpanned, picking up my flip phone and waving it in the air.

"Your mom's weird," Shea commented. "No offense," she added quickly.

"None taken," I said with a long-suffering shrug. "You don't even know the half of it."

"I guess I can kinda understand the no-social-media thing," she said, dipping another fry into her ranch puddle with one hand as she tapped the screen of her phone with the other. "Kids our age really shouldn't spend so much time on their phones."

"You're literally on yours right now."

"That's my point!" She stuffed her phone into her pocket. "It's addictive and horrible for your social skills. Why do you think I'm so unpopular?" She leaned back in her chair, throwing her half-eaten fry onto her plate.

"You're not unpopular," I argued. "You're just…very blunt, and not everyone appreciates your unique brand of honesty."

In appearance, there was no reason Shea shouldn't be popular. She was a babe, not in a Barbie-doll sort of way, but in a real, authentic way that couldn't be faked or bought.

Her chocolate brown hair had a natural rockstar wave that required little maintenance. And her angular face was pretty enough on its own that she never needed makeup, which was more than half the girls on the cheerleading squad could say. If popularity was just a beauty contest, Shea would definitely be at the top of the food chain.

But this was a small town, and everyone in school had grown up together. Shea spoke her mind and didn't take crap from anyone. She wasn't some lemming others could push around or some bee looking to follow a queen. It meant our peers didn't mess with her, but it also meant they didn't include her.

She dismissed the issue with a flippant wave of her hand. "It's whatever. But we're talking about you and your rules right now."

I chewed on my lip, really wishing she'd drop it. I liked talking about the rules as much as I liked having to follow them.

"I might even get the after-dark rule. Maybe your mom's afraid you'll get abducted or something. Orrr," she added, dragging out the word, "your mom's a spy. No–a superhero! That's it. All her enemies are out to get her, and she's afraid they'll snatch you for ransom or something. You said you guys move every few months, right?"

I shook my head as I picked sesame seeds off the bun of my neglected burger. "I've considered every scenario you can think of. My mom is too clumsy to be a spy and not nearly strong enough to be a superhero. I've wondered if she might be in the Witness Protection Program, but if she was, I'd know, right? It's not like we change our names on a regular basis."

"So you have no idea why you guys move around so much?" Shea pried, looking like a fox trying to lure out its prey.

"Nope," I sighed. "I stopped asking years ago because she never gives me a straight answer. For all I know, it's something stupid, like she owes someone money. She does have loads of it, even though I've never known her to hold a job."

"Really?" Shea's hazel eyes sparkled with intrigue.

I'd never told a friend this much about my personal life, and a strange sort of guilt twisted in my belly for betraying my mom's trust in such a way. But there was something about Shea that made me want to confide in her. I'd kept all this bottled up for so long, it felt freeing to finally share it with someone.

As if sensing my discomfort on the tangent we'd taken, Shea went back to posing theories. "She could be something else. Like a werewolf. Or a vampire."

I choked on my clearly ill-timed sip of soda and laughed. "Seriously?"

"Oh, right. You don't go out after dark. Werewolf it is."

"Yep, that must be it." I chuckled. The thought of my beautiful, dainty mother sprouting fur and howling at the moon was so ludicrous I had to push my can of soda away to avoid the risk of it coming out of my nose.

"So, tonight. You're going," Shea pushed.

I frowned, the weight of my mother's expectations dragging the corners of my mouth.

Of course, I wanted to go. I hadn't been to a party since elementary school, when everyone had their birthday parties at lunch time. A real high school party sounded like the event of a lifetime, which in itself was super pathetic. My chest burned with the desire to go. But Mom would never, ever, in a million years, let me leave the house after sunset.

"I really do want to," I began.

"I know there's a ‘but' coming, so save it," Shea interjected. "If your mom won't let you go, then I say you should sneak out."

"I've tried that. She always catches me in the act, like she's psychic."

Shea pushed her tongue into her cheek. "Then you're clearly doing it wrong. But, you've never had a partner in crime before. I could distract her while you creep out your bedroom window."

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to make this party happen. But how? Maybe I could reason with Mom. I wasn't a child anymore. I was seventeen, and in just a few months, I'd be a legal adult and wouldn't need her permission anyway.

Not to mention, I'd been feeling for some time now that I deserved an explanation for the crazy rules. A little bit of truth was long overdue.

"Okay," I decided, suddenly feeling brave. "I'll find a way to go. Meet me at my house at seven."

"Make it eight," Shea said. "Only losers go to a party on time. Or so I've heard."

"Eight it is." A bubble of excitement bounced in my chest, shadowed by a stab of doubt threatening to pop it.

***

"Dinner's ready," Mom called from the kitchen.

I'd been pacing in my room for close to an hour, trying to put together just the right words to make my case. It had been years since I pushed for any kind of leniency on the rules, accepting them as just a way of life.

For the most part, I hadn't really minded. I was fairly content to stay in with Mom every night and watch movies or play games. I was fine not being glued to my phone as most teens were—though, let's be real, I might be slightly addicted to streaming services. I was even okay with the fact that I'd never been swimming before. Not like I knew what I was missing.

But this party was a chance to have some real fun, to be normal for one precious night. Until Shea brought it up, I hadn't admitted to myself how desperately I wanted to be like everyone else. Moving around all the time was exhausting, and not having lasting friends was…lonely.

Mom owed me this one small exception to the rules.

I took one deep breath in front of the mirror, fixing my hair just right as if preparing for a speech in front of a large audience. I tried to steal some confidence from the bold blue strands that framed my face—thanks to a bottle of dye and Shea's goading.

You can do this, I told myself, then turned away from my reflection and headed for the kitchen.

Mom looked up as she was setting the table and smiled at me when I entered.

Her long pale blonde hair always seemed to waft around her, as if unbound by the laws of gravity, forever floating in a sea of its own imagination. I had no idea where I got my black-as-midnight hair, but I undoubtedly got my eyes from Mom, whose own cerulean irises were bright with happiness this evening.

I felt an extra twinge of guilt, knowing that I was about to snuff out their light with the words I'd prepared.

"I made your favorite," Mom said, placing a full plate on the table. "Pesto grilled salmon and fettuccine alfredo."

"Thanks, Mom," I said through the lump in my throat. I sat at the table and looked down at my plate, the delicious smell taunting me.

"How was school today?" she asked as she sat across the table and poked a fork into her food.

"It was alright." I looked out the window. The last bit of daylight was clinging lazily to the horizon, slowly dragging its glow across the late autumn sky.

"Just alright?" Mom asked before popping a bite of herb-covered fish into her mouth.

The clock would be striking seven soon. Now is as good a time as any.

"Actually, something kinda cool did happen today," I hedged, picking at my food. "One of the football players is throwing a party tonight, and I was invited to go."

Her jaw froze mid-chew, and the light immediately vanished from her eyes.

"Shea will be there," I added quickly. "We won't stay long; just one hour would be enough. And I promise not to drink any—"

"Not tonight," Mom cut me off.

I'd expected this response. "Mom, I never get to go to social functions. I'm not asking for something outrageous here. Just one party, at which I promise to be on my best behavior."

"There will be other parties," she said, her casual tone masking whatever dark and heavy secret she was keeping.

"Parties that you still won't let me go to," I said, unable to keep a bit of sass out of my voice. "I don't get it. Every girl my age gets to go out after school. Everyone gets to hang out with friends and do things at night."

"But those girls aren't my daughters." Her tone warned me not to continue, but I wasn't going to heed it this time.

"I never ask for anything," I went on, my big speech rushing out and skipping over words I'd prepared. "I never complain when we have to pack all our things and rush out all of a sudden. I get straight A's in school and have never gotten in trouble. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a pretty good kid. All I'm asking for, just this once, is one tiny hour of freedom."

Mom stared down at her food, stoic. "I'm sorry, honey. The answer is no."

Anger bubbled up under the surface, an anger I was so used to shoving back down. Mom was basically my best friend, but she was also a very secretive person. I'd been conditioned not to pry, not to complain, but I deserved an explanation, and I was tired of following the status quo she'd set.

"Why is the answer no?" I tried to sound like an adult deserving of the respect I was asking for and not like the indignant teenager I felt bristling on the inside. "Why don't you ever let me even go into the backyard after sunset? What's so scary about the dark?"

"We're not having this discussion right now," Mom said flatly, continuing to eat her food as if our talk was over.

"Then when?" I demanded, slamming my hand on the table. "I'm seventeen years old. I'm not just some child you can cart around the country with you anymore. I'm almost an adult, and I need to know why. Why do you hop around from place to place? Why can't we do anything online? And what's the deal with water? What are you so afraid of?"

"That's enough, Arya!" she snapped.

The silence that ensued made me realize how loud my voice had gotten, making me feel very young and na?ve now. I hated feeling so small, so helpless to control anything in my life. I wasn't willing to just go with the flow anymore.

"Unless you can give me an explanation for your rules, I will no longer abide by them," I declared in a low but strong voice.

A spark of panic lit Mom's blue eyes, and there was a fear behind them that part of me believed had always been there, hiding.

"Did it ever occur to you that those rules exist to protect you?" A note of desperation raised the pitch of her voice.

"Protect me from what?"

I'd always suspected she was running from something, that something bad had happened to her that somehow related to night and water.

She stayed silent, looking at me with pleading eyes.

"If you have something to tell me, now would be the time," I said firmly. "Whatever it is, I'm ready to listen."

Her eyes fell to the floor, darting back and forth in deliberation. Anticipation sizzled in my chest like pop rocks in soda. Was I actually going to get to hear about Mom's mysterious past?

I knew nothing about her history, grandparents, or extended family. I didn't even know who my father was. Every time I asked, Mom always changed the subject. Was I finally going to get some clue, some missing piece of this almost empty puzzle?

Her eyes stopped their pacing and returned to meet my gaze, and I knew. She had decided to continue the secrecy.

I pushed away from the table and stood. "Then I'm going."

"No, you can't." Mom jumped out of her chair.

"I'll be back before midnight," I asserted, pushing my chair into the table and heading for the door.

"Arya Lynn Walker, you are not leaving this house!" she yelled in her well-practiced maternal tone.

Some young, skittish side of me wanted to do as she said, to please her and avoid repercussions. But my determination to make a stand was behind the wheel, and I had no intention of turning around. Maybe this one act of mutiny would finally get her to confess something, anything.

I strode for the door, but Mom ran ahead of me and gripped the knob.

"Let me out," I insisted, narrowing my eyes at her.

"I can't do that."

"Let me out!" I yelled. My voice sounded strangely musical, not my own.

Mom gasped and dropped her hand.

I was startled by the power of my own shout and ashamed that I had talked back so brazenly, enough to make her jump. But I had gone too far to give up now. Mom had released the door knob. I had to take my chance before the opportunity closed.

I rushed out, slamming the door behind me and running down the street. My pulse raced, my hands shaking as I pulled out my phone to dial Shea's number and put the phone to my ear.

"Hey, things didn't go so well. Can I come over before the party?" I asked.

"Of course, come on over," Shea's worried voice replied. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I'll see you in a few minutes." I hung up and stuck my hands in my pockets as I strode to Shea's house down the street.

I hated what happened back there, but it needed to happen, one way or another, and had needed to for some time. I'd had enough of secrets and changed subjects, enough of blindly complying with ridiculous requests.

Things were never going to be the same after tonight, and that was both exciting and terrifying.