“I can’t believe they’re sending you away.” “Me neither.” It was the last day of June, and the two of them sat on the porch steps leaning against his dad’s old army duffel, waiting. “Promise House is going to suck without you,” she said. “It sucked with me.” Molly laughed. “You’re right. It did.” He shifted against some unidentified lump in the duffel. Bear mace? Snake bite kit? Who knew what Mom had packed in anticipation of his two-month sentence to the wilderness. She’d gone off her rocker at the army surplus store buying boots, rain gear, bug repellent, a flashlight, and even a sheath knife that looked more gang-banger than Boy Scout. “This is gonna be worse,” he said. “There’s nothing worse.” “Jacey,” Rakmen offered, raising one eyebrow. Molly elbowed him. “She’s not that bad.” Rakmen snorted. Jacey had called three times this morning to remind him to eat dinner early because they had to leave for the airport at six o’clock sharp.
