“Ma and Baba found out about the summer volleyball camp I signed up for,” Anam says, rubbing her runny nose. “The one in Washington, DC.”

I furrow my brows, sitting down beside her. “What summer volleyball camp?”

Anam looks up at me, her brown eyes wide—in betrayal? “What do you mean? I told you. I know I told you. Nazifa and I applied during midwinter break.”

My lips part, but I’m not sure what response to give. “I... I don’t remember, I’m sorry.”

My sister’s cheeks bloom with color, but it’s not from embarrassment—it’s an angry flush, one I’ve seen many times before during her fights with our parents.

“Apu, I told you. Do you even listen to me when I talk?”

“Of course I do,” I say, but now I’m wondering if I tuned out such an important conversation without realizing. I must have, if she’s this upset about it. “I’m really sorry, I must have been distracted—”

Anam scoffs, her eyes wet with tears again. “Of course you were. When aren’t you distracted? I texted you like twenty times, and even called you, but you didn’t listen to me. All you care about is California and your film competition and getting away from here—away from me.”

“What?” I ask. My own cheeks are burning with heat now. This is the second time I’ve had this accusation hurled at me today, and I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I can’t make mistakes, I don’t understand why no one will accept my apologies, I don’t understand anything. “That’s not true, Anam.”

She snorts derisively. “Sure, Apu. All you ever talk about is how much better things are going to be when you get away from here. What about me? What am I supposed to do when you’re gone? You’re going to leave me here with Ma and Baba, when you know, you know what they’re like—”

“You make it sound like I’m abandoning you on purpose,” I say, shaking my head. “This isn’t about you—”

“No, it’s about you. It’s always about you. Everything in the world revolves around you and your problems.”

My entire body feels numb. “I care about you. I care about what happens to you and—”

“No, you don’t! You’re so selfish!” Anam shouts, standing up, running her hands through her hair again, as if she means to rip out the strands. “You never think about anyone other than yourself. And I’m sick of it. I wish you could go back to who you were before you found out about USC.”

“Anam,” I say, reaching out to wrap my fingers around her wrist. My eyes burn with the effort I’m expending to hold back tears. “I’m not trying to leave you—”