My heart is already thumping in my throat, so it doesn’t have a chance to react when I trip on the last step and fall headfirst into the legs of a boy at the top.

He’s all dark hair and white skin that looks sun-kissed, with warm eyes that are concerned when I meet them. This is what a human chocolate chip cookie must look like. A very stressed cookie. His forehead is furrowed so deeply, I have a headache just looking at him. I would probably care more—about how cute he is, about the lanyard that identifies him as being part of the festival, about whatever is provoking the forehead wrinkles—if I weren’t so eager to get back to Jenna and to see N. E. Endsley.

“I am very sorry,” the boy says. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No worries,” I say, bracing myself against his elbow to straighten up. “My fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

I’m already peering around him, my eyes searching for Jenna, as the boy slides past me and hurries down the stairs, his plastic lanyard blown to the side and bouncing against his shoulder like Clark Kent’s tie.

At first I wonder if Jenna has left, but she’s only moved to the other side of the hallway. She doesn’t see me approach because her head is turned. Something about her posture reminds me of Gatsby looking forlornly toward the green light at the end of the dock, which makes me nervous.

“I’m back,” I say, and her head jerks toward me, startled.

“What’s going on?” I ask, frowning.

She blinks once, twice, and fidgets. “Nothing. Just lost in thought. Do you think one suitcase is enough for Ireland?”

I squint at her, trying to reconcile my in-charge friend with this skittish creature before me. She picks at an invisible piece of lint on her tights.

“Fess up, Williams. What is it?”

For a moment, she looks guilty, but when she speaks I realize I’ve misdiagnosed her foreboding.

It’s not shame on her face; it’s pity.

“Amelia … there’s a rumor that’s been floating around since you left. One woman walked by with a walkie-talkie and I overheard…” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “And another came out only a few minutes later with a team of volunteers. They’re going to announce it shortly.”

Something sick twists in my stomach.

“Announce. What?”

Jenna flinches at my hardened tone.

“Amelia, let’s try to be as under—”

“Ladies and gentlemen.” A voice booms from the overhead speakers and the din of the room hushes as much as is to be expected.

“This is Linda Lancaster, head of events here at CCBF. Due to unforeseen circumstances, N. E. Endsley is unable to attend today’s festivities. We offer our sincerest apologies for this unexpected turn of events. Those who paid for the session will be refunded, or you may donate the difference to our charity partner. Representatives and volunteers will be stationed in the lobby should you have any questions or concerns. Thank you.”