Sophie emerged, holding a bottle of sunscreen. Finally. I crossed the street with the two of them to get closer to the music. Then I heard the commotion.

“Just try it, girl. Good God, you’re skin and bones.” It was Miss Mae. She was shoving a chocolate fudge cupcake under Blair’s nose. Miss Mae sat in the front row of Mass every Sunday and rolled her eyes at half the things Father Peter Patrick said. She was always going off about communists. I wasn’t even sure what a communist was, but Miss Mae could convince you your own neighbor was one. She’d utter it like you would the words serial killer.

But at that moment, she wasn’t worried about the communists.

“I’m okay,” Blair was saying, pushing the cupcake away. “I’m—”

“Listen, child, you are too skinny. Just a taste. You only live once. I mean, how can you even dance with those skeleton legs?”

“I have a dairy allergy,” said Blair icily. “So thanks, but no thanks.”

I held my breath. It was too much, all of it. The questions without answers, the Joffrey mention, the missing swimsuit, and now a cupcake, Miss Mae’s thumb leaving a fingerprint in the frosting.

“It’s delicious. One small bite.” Miss Mae was loud. Too loud. Her voice was like a speaker with the volume turned up full blast. People were staring. My heart was thumping in my chest. Stop it, I begged her. Stop it stop it sto—

“I said no thank you!” Blair shrieked. It was so intense the music stopped playing. Everyone was looking now, a sea of eyes—some we knew but most from Chicago or Madison or Milwaukee, here to swim in the lakes and grill hot dogs. Not to see a Ghost Girl lose it.

It was Jessica-Now-Jess and Joe and a swimsuit versus a sweatshirt. The reasons under reasons had cracked to the core, revealing the truest reason: my sister was Not Okay.

I ripped away from Sophie and Lex, but I wasn’t fast enough. Blair was screaming, thrashing, crying, and my mother’s arms were wrapped around her, and that was how the world ended: over a stupid half-melted cupcake.

“Blair is going away for the summer,” Mom said.

Mom, Jade, and I were sitting around the dinner table. It was a Family Meeting without two very impor-tant family members. Our dog, Obi, snuggled up against my feet. He was a Norwegian elkhound, bred to be a guardian and defender. He could sense our tension like most dogs could sense a squirrel. He was huge, but like Dad said, if you’re going to get a dog, go big or go home.

“Where’s she going?” I asked.

“A place that can help her get better,” Mom said gently.

“Like a hospital?” Jade chewed on the end of her ponytail. The purple streak was new, but Mom and Dad hadn’t said a word. Jade could do anything she wanted. I could paint one of my fingernails purple and probably be thrown in prison. I don’t know why; that’s just the way it went. I learned sooner rather than later that when your siblings are messed up, you have to be the steady one. The last thing Mom needed was another daughter with Issues.