Nevada in January was even worse than Nevada in the summer, I decided. In the summer, Gramps had his mini swimming pool inflated, and we could lounge around with lemonade and library books.

In the winter where Gramps lived, it never snowed. It almost never rained, but it was still cold enough to wear jackets outside.

It was miserable. Gramps—a high school History teacher—had the summer off to fish and hang out, but in the middle of January he was busy. He was reluctant to take me in the middle of winter, but my mother begged him.

“Please, Dad,” I heard her say on the phone, one night when I was supposed to be asleep. “She needs to be away from these people that she calls her friends. They’re a horrible influence.”

I couldn’t hear Gramps on the other end of the line, but Mom gave a relieved sigh. I backed into the shadows and headed to my room. I was beyond angry. I was fuming. That night, I jumped out my window to go see Jeff. That night, I made the mistake that permanently banished me to Nevada.