I set aside my unwillingness to believe that I won't be missed around here when I see how miserable everyone is this morning. It's fitting, how overcast and grey and ready the sky looks to pour, like the faces of everyone holding back tears as they give me a hand in packing all the boxes into the social worker's car. Ms. Diaz's car.

I can't bring everything with me, though my room was almost bare when I stepped out of it and shut the door behind me slowly, letting it click gently. It looked more empty than it did when I first got here, but this time, instead of being inspired by the sight of a blank canvas of a room that I could fill up anyway I wanted, the sight is crushing.

I opened a plain white door on the second floor, not expecting anything extravagant at all. Boy, was I wrong. This guy went all out for me and then some. Firstly, the bed was huge. A queen size, I thought. The bedspread was black and white striped with a yellow accent pillow which matched the curtains. A fluffy black rug covered the floor, a desk sat in the corner, and there was a bookshelf. A floor to ceiling bookshelf.

"What the hell!?" Is all I could think to say upon seeing it all.

"Don't you like it?" Gerard asked, sounding slightly worried.

"I love it! This is, like, the best bedroom I've ever seen!"

The memory, one that I'd never even thought back to after the fact, came back to me, unforeseen, like a stab to the chest. I had the urge to let my knees give out, then, and slide onto the floor with my back against the door. It'd be useless. Someone would have carried me out if I refused to walk to the car myself.

Ms. Diaz looks at her wristwatch impatiently. Inconsiderately. "We've got to get on the road soon," she says. "It's going to be a long drive."

I scan my eyes around the group of people standing around me. Emerald glued to her mom's side, with tears steadily dripping down her face. Ray and Christa, Frank and Jamia, Gerard and Lindsey and the baby I won't be here to meet when it arrives.

Mikey is the first to step forward and give me a hug. This isn't a simple "see you later" hug. It's so much more than that. Longer and tighter, and harder to let go of.

"You're still a Way," he whispers. "Who cares what a fucking judge says?"

My goal was to hold in my tears until I got in the car, but I quickly realize that that's entirely unrealistic. "I- I know," I tell Mikey. "And I won't forget it."

"We won't either," he assures me.

Next, it's Ray. I've taken for granted how good his hugs are and how safe they make me feel. I won't be able to rely on him anymore to pick me up when I fall, literally or figuratively, or be endlessly encouraging and optimistic.

"You're gonna be fine, you know?" he says. "You always manage to get through shit and this won't be any different."

I find that hard to believe, but I force my smile all the same. "I couldn't do it without you," I say, looking up at him with blurry vision.

Frank seems to have given up trying to hold back his tears. If I've seen him cry before, I can't recall it, and the sight only makes me cry harder.

"I'm gonna miss you so much, Kid," he says.

"I'm gonna miss you, too, Frankie."

"Don't change who you are for anyone, alright? And—" he lowers his voice, "—please take care of yourself, Eve. If not for yourself, do it for me."

I nod. "I'm gonna try."

I hug Frank one last time and then look past him. Everyone else is suddenly very interested in kicking the ground at their feet, or gazing at the angry clouds above, when I practically fall into Gerard's arms.

"I'm scared, Dad."

"I know, Evie, but this isn't goodbye forever. You better believe we're gonna take this back to court, we're gonna keep fighting for you."

"I- I don't wanna leave, Dad, what if... she might still hate me! What if she hasn't really gotten better? What if she hates me, what if—"

"You just have to tell her, 'This is who I am,' okay? And if she doesn't like it, then that's her fucking problem. Just be yourself, Eve."

"You mean be the self that she fucking abandoned?"

"I'll still be here for you," I hear him say from where I've buried my face in his shoulder, his jacket protecting his shirt from my tears. He whispers, "Text me or call me, whatever time it is, if you ever feel like hurting yourself again, alright? Please."

"Okay," I whisper, thinking to myself, then I guess that means he'll never sleep again. This time, I think I'm telling the truth. I want to try to get better for him, and for Frank, and for everyone else. Maybe it's only so that I get to see them again. I'll never get to see them again if I've fucking killed myself before I get the chance, after all.

We stand, our arms around each other for a few minutes that feels like nothing more than a few seconds, until I'm forced to let go.

I've successfully avoided the word "goodbye" and even "see you later" because it makes it all feel too real.

I decide to shove my boxes over and sit in the backseat of the car, as far away from Ms. Diaz as I can get. I may not remember every other time she transferred me, but I'm sure I won't forget this one. It's hard to forget something that hurts this much.

Before I close the car door, avoiding everyone's faces but unable to see them through my blurred vision anyway, Em runs towards me. Her lips crash into mine and I melt into the long kiss like nobody is watching. Both of us are crying, both of us are already breathless, but neither of us want to pull away first. I wish now that the blanket she had given me wasn't at the bottom of a bag where I thought it'd be safe, because I realize how much I'd love to wrap myself up in her scent. Something to keep me sane during this car ride.

"I love you, Evie," she says. "I already can't wait to see you again. I'll come to Rhode Island if I have to spend my life savings to buy the car myself."

"I love you too Em," I say, then I add, just loud enough that she can hear. "You won't have to do that."

Like ripping off a bandaid, I slam the car door shut. I don't want to be all cliche and look out the back window, waving until the house has disappeared into the distance, tears dripping down my cheeks and off the end of my nose as I utter one last whispered, "Goodbye." So I don't. I stare straight ahead and cry hot, angry tears as Diaz drives off. She doesn't say anything, and I don't think I'd reply if she did.

She's the one I'm angry at right now, along with my mother and myself. I let myself get attached. I let myself believe that this was my forever family, that the curse had been broken, and that I'd never have to leave.

It was too good to be true.