“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.”

Rolling sounds of confusion and disappointment splash against the rocks of the blue polo–clad volunteers. I’m looking straight forward, my eyes resting on a booth that sells cloth book covers, but I don’t really see it.

“Amelia.” Jenna sounds like she’s approaching a wounded animal. “Amelia, please talk to me.”

I can’t. I can’t handle her trying to comfort me.

“This is a mistake,” I say. “Right?”

“It’s not a mistake, Amelia.”

“Would you stop saying my name like that? I’m not going to”—I wave my arms above my head—“flip out or something.”

“I know.”

“I’m pissed.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you?”

Something in her face doesn’t look quite right, but she doesn’t answer. How can she be so cavalier about this? Endsley was supposed to be the main event of the festival—and my summer. The memory of breathing the same air as him was meant to keep me company during the long Jenna-less summer, while she was in Ireland.

Now I’ll be alone to suffocate in my thoughts. I’ll spend the next two months waiting for the people on the Wheel of Fortune reruns Mom watches over and over to guess the stupid puzzle, while Jenna enjoys her “Irish excursion,” which most would treat as a vacation but she’ll treat as a botanical expedition.

I would have done all of these things anyway, but the whole reason I told the Williamses I didn’t want to go with Jenna to Ireland was because it was already too much—the last four years of them paying for dinners and weekend outings and this festival besides. A trip abroad felt like stepping over the invisible line I know I’ve been toeing since freshman year with them and their seemingly endless two-lawyer-parent income. I mentioned the line to Jenna once. She snorted and ignored my comment completely. But it’s there, even if she can’t see it.

It’s as present as Jenna’s not-so-subtle insistence that I do something sensible with my college degree instead of pursuing photography like I mentioned once. As present as the high-pitched sobs of a girl half my age who is clutching a worn copy of The In-Between Queens and pressing her face into her father’s shirt.

It’s all too much.