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“How will you fit all of this in that tiny dorm room?” Mama asked as she lifted one of the cardboard boxes into the backseat, in the spot where I’d normally sit. There was just too much stuff and not enough room for four of us. Which meant I’d be the one left behind.

“I’ll make it work.”

“Really? Because I’m not even sure we can fit everything in the car,” Daddy said, slamming the Toyota’s trunk shut.

“Well, if you’d let me drive the Chevy and follow y’all up to campus …”

“Nice try,” Daddy said. “You’re not taking the car.”

“But it’s
my
car,” Gracie whined.

“And yet, we’re the ones paying for the gas. You don’t need a car on campus. Not as a freshman. End of story.”

Gracie huffed and stomped her foot, but the way I saw it, she had nothing to complain about. She’d just gotten a huge scholarship to the University of Kentucky. She was getting the hell out of Mursey—something hardly anybody did. Around here, you grew up, got married, and stayed put. Going to college, especially a good state school like UK, was a big deal. Even in my family.

We weren’t poor like a lot of people in Mursey. My great-granddaddy had opened a hardware store, Atwood & Son, way back when, and it had passed down to my daddy when Grandpa died, back when I was only three. Daddy owned the place now, and the business was doing well, so we weren’t hard off. Mama stayed at home with Gracie and me, sometimes selling Mary Kay on the side. We never got to go on fancy vacations or anything, but we never wanted for anything, either.

We weren’t well off enough that Daddy could pay for tuition at a state school, though. Lucky for my sister, she was one hell of a cheerleader—good enough to get the attention of UK, which had one of the best cheer programs in the country. Her tuition was covered. Which made her the first Atwood to go to college.

And it made me the bitter, jealous sister.

Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for Gracie, but she hardly acted like it was a big deal. Like everybody got to go to college for free. Like it was normal. But it wasn’t. Not in Mursey. I was decent in school and didn’t have an athletic bone in my body—and even if I did, our high school didn’t have any sports that a blind girl could play. The chances of me getting a scholarship were pretty much zero.

The chances of me leaving Mursey were pretty much zero.

I didn’t even get to ride along to drop her off.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Mama said before kissing me on the cheek. We’d gone back in the house so she could grab her purse. “Call your grandmother if you need anything. She can walk down here in about five minutes.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry you can’t come, sweetheart,” she said. “I know you were looking forward to it. I had no idea your sister would be packing so much. There’s just not enough room. Believe me. If I could replace one of those boxes with your butt in the backseat, I would. But Gracie—”

“Might kill you. I get it. It’s okay. I’ll see y’all tonight.”

“Okay.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Love you, Agnes.”

“Love you, too.”

Outside, Daddy honked the horn. Mama ran to the door and hurried out, hollering, “Lock it behind me,” over her shoulder.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. Lock the door? Mursey was hardly a dangerous town. My parents never even locked the garage door, so it wasn’t something they were real worried about before. I doubted there were kidnappers waiting out in the bushes to take a blind teenager. But I didn’t argue with her.

I never argued.

I tried to keep myself occupied once they’d gone. I turned on the TV, but there was nothing on besides sports, kids cartoons, and some bad movies from ten years ago. I got one of the braille books Mama had ordered for me last year, and tried to read, but I was rusty. I’d gotten so used to reading enlarged text or using magnifiers that it took me twice as long to understand the raised dots on the pages. My mind kept wandering, and I had to rescan each line, my fingers sliding slowly along the page. Ten pages in, and I wasn’t even sure what I’d been reading. I sighed and put the book back on the shelf.

Outside, I could hear a bobwhite whistling. I walked to the back door and pressed my face against the sun-warmed glass. Everything was washed in a blurry white haze. Like the brightness had been turned up way too high on the TV. I blinked a few times, trying to force my eyes to adjust. It was a pretty day, not cloudy at all, and with the summer fading fast, the temperature wasn’t too awful. Warm, but not humid like the last three months or so had been.

It was a waste to stay inside on a day like this. I grabbed my cane and stepped onto the back porch. I stood on the top step for a long moment, shielding my eyes from the sunlight with my free hand. I wished I could’ve worn sunglasses, but I’d never found a pair that wasn’t too dark for me to see through. Too much light was easier on my eyes than too little.

I wasn’t even sure what to do now. Christy would tell me to lay out and get a tan while I still could, but my skin just burned and peeled anytime I was in the sun too long. Mursey was pretty rural, so there was nowhere to go besides the old woods behind the house. And Mama had always made me stay out of those woods. She said all the trails were grown over and it was too easy to get lost.

It was an old rule. One she’d made when Gracie and me were in elementary school and liked to play pretend in the backyard. Gracie was always the princess, and I was always the servant girl. If Mama hadn’t warned us, I’m sure my sister would’ve sent me out into the woods to fetch her something she needed to save the castle, better known as our garage.

But today, staring out at the trees, that old rule seemed awful silly. I was sixteen now, and I could walk in the woods if I wanted. Didn’t matter that there was nothing back there but deer stands and old dirt-bike trails. If I couldn’t go to Lexington, get out of Mursey, I could at least get out of the house. Mama couldn’t be too mad about that.

And … I never had to tell her.

It was that thought that propelled me, cane in hand, down the back porch steps and out toward the woods. Under the cover of trees, my eyes adjusted a bit. My depth perception was still off and all the greens and browns bled together, but I was able to get my bearings and make out more than I had before. I managed to navigate through the thick brambles and high grass until I found one of the old paths that wasn’t too overgrown yet. It was wide, like it had been used for four-wheelers before. I moved along slowly, swishing my cane back and forth, making sure not to trip over any tree roots.

Around me, I could hear all sorts of birdcalls. In the distance, a woodpecker was hammering away at a tree. Squirrels squeaked and bees buzzed around wildflowers so bright even I could see them. And not too far off, I heard twigs cracking beneath feet that were too small and fast to be human. The smell of grass and bark and dirt filled my nose and I inhaled it, glad for the fresh air. Nothing about the woods was unexpected—I knew what I’d find back here—I just didn’t realize how peaceful or nice it would be.

I followed the trail for a while until it split into two narrower paths. I picked one at random and followed it until it split, too. I didn’t think much about which way I was going. I was too taken with all the sounds and smells. I’d never really thought of myself as an outdoorsy person, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was something to all those poems Mrs. Hartman made us read about the beauty of nature. I couldn’t see much of it, but I could experience it. I ran my hands along tree trunks and smelled all kinds of flowers, wandering my way down the different trails until, all of a sudden, the sun hit my eyes again, and I found myself in the middle of a large, grassy clearing.

The grass was unkempt, nearly up to my knees. I laughed and spun around in it for a minute, like a little girl in a movie, my hair swept up in the wind. It was silly, I guess. But I felt free. Like a dog who broke its chain. I was only in the woods behind my house. It was a small rebellion against a rule that hadn’t been spoken in years. But it still felt good. Maybe better than it should’ve. So I spun and spun until I was so dizzy I could hardly stand up.

But then something dawned on me.

“Oh no,” I muttered, blinking at the woods around me. Several paths fed into this clearing, and after spinning around like an idiot, I’d lost which one I’d come in on. And even if I found it, I’d forgotten which paths I’d taken to get there.

And, of course, I’d forgotten my phone. It might not have helped much—Mursey had awful cell phone reception, and most people in town couldn’t afford a cell phone anyway. My parents had bought me one for emergencies. Which seemed like a waste of money to me. I was always at home or with them. I’d never needed it.

But maybe I needed it now.

Because just like Mama had predicted all those years ago, I was lost.

My small rebellion didn’t feel so good anymore.

I was still trying to decide which path to take back when I heard a shout and something coming up—fast—behind me. I turned just in time to see a huge gray blur speeding toward me. I didn’t even have time to scream before it was on top of me, knocking me down and pinning me to the ground with its big paws. I yelped as a slobbery tongue began to lap at my cheeks.

“Utah!” a girl’s voice hollered. “Utah, get back here. Bad dog!”

The monster, which I now realized was a dog, backed off me with a whine and hurried back to its owner.

“You all right?” the girl asked.

I sat up, wiping doggy drool off my face. “I think so.”

There was a pause before the girl said, “Agnes?”

I blinked and tried to make my eyes adjust. I’d been too shaken to recognize the voice, but now, with my vision coming into focus, I saw the girl standing a few yards away. At least, I saw her red-gold hair.

Bo Dickinson.

I scrambled to my feet, embarrassed all of a sudden.

“What’re you doing back here?” Bo asked.

“Just … taking a walk,” I said, trying to sound casual. That’s when I realized I wasn’t holding my cane anymore. I looked down, but the grass was too high for me to see anything on the ground. “Crap.” I knelt down and started feeling around for it.

“What’s wrong?”

“My cane.”

“Oh.”

Then she was next to me, her hands bumping mine as they searched. With the added bonus of some sight, though, she had better luck finding it.

“Here.” She put the cane in my hands, and we both stood up. “Sorry about Utah. She just likes people a whole lot.”

As if to illustrate this, Utah began rubbing against my legs, her tail wagging hard enough that I thought she might bruise my calves.

“It’s okay,” I said, stepping back from the dog. “She just startled me. I’m not real used to dogs. We’ve never had one, and big ones make me nervous.” I didn’t know why I was telling her all that. Bo Dickinson probably didn’t give a damn about my anxiety around dogs.

“All right,” Bo said. “Well, Utah and me oughta be heading back, so …”

“Okay,” I said. “See you at school, I guess.” I looked back at the woods and swallowed. Now I was really embarrassed. “Actually, Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you … Can you help me?” I tried to smile. “I took the path less traveled and didn’t fare quite as well as Robert Frost.” Bo was quiet for a long moment, and I realized she might not know what I was saying. “I’m lost,” I admitted. “I can’t remember how I got here, and—”

“Oh. Okay. You want me to walk you back to your house?”

“You … know where my house is?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time out here,” she said. “I know where all the paths go. Come on.”

I followed her out of the clearing and back into the trees, Utah the dog running along beside us. Part of me was paranoid she’d turn and jump on me again, and I wished Bo had her on a leash. I stared straight ahead, watching Bo’s wild hair as it wove between trees, guiding me like some sort of fairy in a children’s story.

Neither of us spoke for a while, then, out of nowhere, Bo broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?” I didn’t have time to answer before she went on and asked anyway. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“Um … well, I’m legally blind.”

“I know that. I ain’t stupid. I mean, why? Were you in some kind of accident as a kid or … ?”

“No. I was born this way,” I said. “It’s called Leber’s congenital amaurosis, but doctors usually call it LCA. It’s genetic. My parents carry the gene and just didn’t know it until they had me.”

“So they can’t fix it?”

“Nope. Not as far as we know.”

This was the part where people usually said something like “I’m so sorry” or “Wow, Agnes, you’re such a trouper.” But Bo didn’t say a word. She just kept walking, not bothering to warn me about tree roots or uneven ground. She didn’t need to, that’s what my cane was for, but most people still did.

We didn’t say anything else until we reached the end of a path, and Bo stopped, letting me catch up to her. “That’s it,” she said. “Straight ahead is your backyard.”

“Thanks,” I said. “It would’ve taken me forever to get back.”

“No problem. Come on, Utah.” She turned and started walking away, down the wide path, but I called after her.

“Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“How come you were in the woods behind my house?”

“Because,” she said. And I thought she might laugh. “They’re the woods behind my house, too.”