Chapter One: Welcome to Far Away CHAPTER ONE Welcome to Far Away
Becca Soloway was sure that this would be the perfect summer. The summer of figuring her life out while lounging on a hot beach. But now she needed a road map, or a key, or a clue, because instead of perfect she’d landed in a hot mess.

Starting in the middle of seventh grade, Becca had been confronted with a swirl of ups and downs—things like her parents’ constant arguing, catching the attention of the popular girls at school, and the recent wedge between her and her bestie, Ameerah Nawaz.

The first surprise hit during spring break when Becca was at the mall and her mom bought her a plaid skirt and an olive-green sweater. The salesclerk said, “Honey, you’re adorable. Try some of this,” and handed her a tester of pale lipstick. Becca’s braces had just come off and her unruly red hair was magically sleek. Becca looked in the mirror and saw an entirely different person.

By May, Becca was no longer the object of teasing but a subject of interest, even from Kasie Newbank and her group of the girls in Becca’s class. And from one boy in her homeroom, Tommy Stewart, who started asking for help with his math homework. Help that he didn’t seem to need, but Becca didn’t mind, since his winning smile gave her a little fluttery feeling in her stomach.

Now her perfect summer sat squarely in the rearview—back in Connecticut with her dad, Ameerah, Tommy, Kasie, and the sun-sea-and-sand that had been promised as a new member of the in crowd—when Becca slid from the car and took in her unfamiliar surroundings.

She stood between her Rollaboard and her mom at the entrance to a two-story log building nestled in a forest of towering pines. The building’s walls were gigantic, and a porch with oversized rocking chairs stretched across the entire front. A sign carved into the wood in flowery script hung over the entry: Far Away Ranch.

“Well, they got that right,” Becca murmured as their rideshare motored away down the dirt road and into the dusty distance behind them. The drive from the airport had taken almost an hour, and this place had to be at least thirty minutes away from the last town they’d passed.

Becca held up her phone and swung her arm in an arc. No cell bars, and the internet signal was weak.

At least it was pretty; a narrow river rushed by, a bunch of small cabins were tucked helter-skelter behind the main one, and the backdrop was a series of increasingly tall pine- and aspen-covered mountains topped by a singular craggy and forbidding peak.

But this place didn’t feel like the resort her mom described during the flight out and it sure didn’t match the pictures on the website. The pictures showed big, soft beds in luxurious rooms and a series of modern glass and wood buildings, each room with its own porch and hot tub, fine dining in three restaurants, horseback rides on manicured trails, yoga classes, art classes…

“You suppose the pool is out back?” Becca asked. “Or maybe down by those barns?”

Becca’s mom stared at the paper in her hand, her printed reservation. “This is the place,” she said uncertainly, “but it doesn’t look like what Susan described.”

The front door opened and a dark-eyed woman with deeply tanned skin and flyaway salt-and-coal-dark hair stepped out. “Welcome! Are you Marilyn and Becca? You’ve come to Far Away to get away!” She laughed and winked. “That’s what we like to say here.”

Becca twisted her lips, trying not to roll her eyes.

“Come on in, and we’ll get you settled. I’m Teresa Cooke but everyone calls me Terry. I own the place.” She stepped aside, holding the door open.

Becca followed her mom as they dragged their bags into the building.

The sprawling room smelled of dust and pine and was filled with furniture in random groupings, tons of pictures on the walls, high ceilings, a fireplace, and more logs than Becca could count. Log walls and log posts and log trusses. Log-framed doorways and log-framed windows.

“This is the lodge,” Terry said. She waved her hand to her left. “Library is on that side. And there are three guest rooms down that hallway past the mudroom.” She swung around to her right. “The dining room is through those doors. Now, I’ve got you gals in one of the cabins out back, number seven. There’s information in the room about mealtimes and activities and such. If you sign in here, I’ll get your keys and walk you on over.”

Becca’s mom took the clipboard, then glanced at Becca. “I wonder if the spa is open,” she said.

Terry wrinkled her forehead. “Spa?”

“For a massage? Do you know if they have any availability left today?” Mom asked.

Terry gave her a blank look.

“Maybe we’ll just use the hot tub, then.” Becca’s mom glanced over at Becca. Terry remained expressionless. “Or the pool?” she asked, her voice straining just slightly.

Terry tilted her head. “None of that here. We’ve got one room with a tub instead of a shower, but it’s taken.”

Becca’s mom asked, a little quieter, “What about the gourmet food and cooking classes?”

Terry’s face cleared. “Oh, wait. You’re thinking of Get Away Ranch, over in Missoula. That’s happened once or twice, folks confusing our names. I have to say, it’s kind of funny. We like to call that fancy outfit the Place for Guests Who Try to Get Away from Far Away.” She smiled and leaned in. “I don’t think too many folks who plan to go to Get Away Ranch mean to come here. They charge a pretty penny over there.”

Becca swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. “Mom, are we in the wrong place?” she whispered.

“There’s no spa here?” Mom asked Terry again, her voice rising ever so slightly.

“Nope,” said Terry.

“No cooking classes?”

Terry shook her head.

Mom cleared her throat. “I must have…”

“And we’re here for how long?” Becca asked, though she already knew the answer. Her stomach was twisting into knots as she twisted the new friendship bracelet Kasie had given her. She glanced at her phone again. Still one measly bar.

“I’ve got you booked for a month,” Terry said, “paid in advance.”

Becca’s mom made a little noise.

Terry patted her shoulder. “Now, don’t you worry. There’s always a reason folks land here at Far Away Ranch. Trust the plan.” She plucked a ring of keys from a board next to the door. “Come on, let me show you to your cozy little home away from home.”

Trust what plan? The knots in Becca’s stomach tightened. She’d had a plan.

Her summer plan involved fun in the sun, a chance to get to know Tommy and Kasie and the other popular girls, and to find out where she fit at school and at home, now that things were different. But her mom had said she had to get away and to please come with her to a resort spa, a special, girls-only vacation. Becca didn’t really have a choice and it wasn’t entirely her mom’s fault, since her dad said he needed some time alone because there were “decisions to be made.”

So here Becca was. The exact opposite of the plan.

The room was cozy, all right. Cozy and ancient. Two iron beds covered with quilts. One dresser, one chair, a small closet, a smaller bathroom. And no internet at all.

Terry caught Becca as she held up her phone. “Yeah,” Terry said, “there’s internet connection only in the lodge but it’s spotty. Okey dokey, dinner’s at six p.m. Don’t be late!” Terry paused. “Be sure to read about the safety precautions,” she said, pointing to a laminated sheet on the dresser.

Safety precautions? This so-called vacation was growing worse by the minute.

“This is Montana,” Terry added. “Bears and mountain lions and wolves and moose and such. Things that are dangerous if you’re foolish. All righty!” She bustled off, the screen door slamming in her wake.

Becca sank down on one of the beds; her mom sat on the other. Mom stared down at the reservation confirmation. “I’m so sorry, Becca. I’ve just been… so confused about everything lately.”

Confused about everything. The knots in Becca’s stomach were beginning to squirm. Her mom was trying to make the best of a big mistake, and a stab of sympathy pierced Becca’s heart.

But still. Anger spread inside her, icing over the sympathy. Why couldn’t they go back to the mall, where thanks to her mom Becca had started turning into someone new? Instead, Mom had dragged Becca far away from everywhere and not even to a fancy resort spa.

“Can we go home?” Becca whispered. She was afraid she might be sick.

Mom shook her head. “We can’t afford it. The flight, this stay that’s already paid for, were a lot and right now I just can’t face your dad….” Her voice broke as if she might cry.

Becca fisted her hands. Most of their arguments had been about money. Mom had to keep working even though she hated her job. Dad was on edge and acted as if he were in a different world. And Becca was part of the problem, because she wanted this outfit and that device, and she needed this book and that calculator, and she was still years away from college, but they needed to save because college was so expensive…. Nothing felt fair, or right, and Becca wanted to push back against the unraveling situation with a red-hot poker.

But if Becca pushed too hard, pushed to go home this minute, would she push her parents into a divorce?

Becca moved to her mom’s side and tucked the white bra strap back underneath the shoulder of her mom’s sundress. “It’s only a month, right?” She looked around the little room, the log walls (yeah, more logs), the paint-by-number mountain picture over the beds, the clean but unfancy quilts; she looked at her lifeless phone. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’ll be great,” she lied, putting on her bravest face.

Mom’s eyes were filled with tears, but she lifted her lips in a half smile.

Becca took a deep breath. Moments of sinking her toes in hot sand, of sitting close to Tommy on a pool lounge chair, of eating creamy, cold ice cream with Kasie and her friends, of finally feeling content, like she could emerge from her insecure childhood chrysalis—they all seemed so far away.