“No. No, that’s all right.” I’ve only taken two bites of my yogurt, but I hastily put it back in the fridge, spoon and all. Let’s face it, I’m definitely not going to eat that later. It’s going to get that weird yogurt skin that makes you wonder why yogurt exists, period. But right now, I don’t care about anything but getting out of here before Sibby can see I’ve got frustrated tears pricking behind my eyes. “I’m actually filling in at the shop again today, so I’d better get going.”

“Meg, listen, it’ll be fine! I’ll come visit, and you’ll come visit.”

I pause, briefly, feeling another inconvenient spike of anger toward her. That’s it, I think. That small, casual “It’ll be fine.” That’s the way she’s managed it, this distance between us. She’s kept it so friendly. She’s never let on she notices that anything at all has changed.

She knows, more than anyone, why this would work on me so well. Why I wouldn’t want to press too hard about what has, without a doubt, changed.

“Yeah, of course.” My voice sounds the same as it always does, but I feel as if I’m speaking through clenched teeth. “I’m happy for you, Sib.” I’m an I-went-along broken record.

For a split second we look at each other, and to me it feels like a mountain of letters between us, all jumbled up and unmatched, a thousand things I need to say to her but can’t figure out how to say. Not without starting some kind of terrible avalanche. Not without getting buried beneath them.

So I blink first, right before Sibby’s quiet “Thanks,” and after that I decide it’s my turn to do the avoiding for a while.

Here’s the thing: I used to hate New York, too.

When I was thirteen years old, my eighth-grade class got split into two groups: in the spring, only three weeks before the last day of middle school, half of us would take a four-day trip to Washington, D.C., and half of us would take a four-day trip to New York City. In the days leading up to the October announcement about the trip rosters, I would lie in my twin-size bed and make promises to a god I wasn’t even quite sure I believed in, swearing to do all my chores early for a whole year, to lay off my parents about finally letting me get a cell phone. Anything, anything so I wouldn’t get picked for the New York trip.

I got picked for the New York trip.