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him echoing my thoughts. I don’t want him around at all.
    â€œDo you even have a ticket?” I ask him, pointedly now. “The show starts tonight, so they probably won’t let you in without a ticket.”
    â€œI heard they wouldn’t be checking tickets,” he responds breezily.
    I shrug. I’ve heard whisperings of the same thing, but at this moment, I hope it won’t be true.
    â€œBesides,” he says. “I can always come help out at the medical tents. I’m sure Anna wouldn’t say no.”
    This is also unfortunately true. We probably need the help and Anna really likes Ned. Then again, who doesn’t around here?
    Why can’t he disappear? Why can’t breakups mean that the other person just leaves the plane of your existence entirely? I don’t mean that they have to die . But can’t they just die from your world, be obliterated from the cast of characters that populate your story, never to appear onstage with you again? And for heaven’s sake, can’t there be a rule banning them forevermore from your dreams ?
    â€œSo who are you most looking forward to seeing?” Ned asks.
    Nope. Instead, I’m doomed to engage in small talk with the boy who has broken my heart. And here in Bethel, I will be forced to have some version of this conversation for the rest of my existence. Today it’s what act I want to see. Someday it’ll be which street I’d buy my house on. That’s what it means, living in a small town.
    â€œI probably won’t be seeing anybody. Pretty sure the medical tent will keep me busy,” I finally respond.
    â€œAll right. Who are you looking forward to hearing?”
    I shrug. “Joni Mitchell.”
    â€œIs she playing?” Ned asks.
    â€œI thought so . . . ,” I say.
    â€œI’m pretty excited about the Who. Do you think they’ll play ‘My Generation’?”
    â€œProbably. It’s one of their biggest songs.”
    â€œThat would be amazing.” Ned smiles.
    â€œYeah.” This field to get to the main concert area is never ending. It just goes on and on and on, swarmed with all the bright clothes and shiny, excited faces of, to quote Ned’s favorite band du jour, my generation.
    You know who else goes on and on and on? Ned. The boy will not stop jabbering about the concert and the music and the love and the peace and crap. I want to tell him to shut up.
    I also want to make out with him.
    It’s all very confusing.
    Finally, at long, long last, we get to the gates. I have my pass identifying me as medical personnel pinned to my dress and there actually is a glazed-over, long-bearded twenty-something standing by the gate in a red Woodstock T-shirt, theoretically on hand to check it.
    â€œLooks like they’re checking tickets,” I say in a high-pitched voice.
    I point to my pass as I walk by. The guy at the gate stares somewhere above and to the right of me the whole time.
    I don’t wait for Ned to notice, just bolt toward my medical tent, leaving him to ponder the Who’s set list on his own. I think he yells out, “Hey, could you ask Anna . . .” But I ignore him. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t hear a thing, so focused am I on making a beeline for the tent, where, surely, I am sorely needed.

chapter 12
    Michael
    Amanda is a unicorn. No, she’s a dragon. No, a rainbow. No, just lightning and stars and fire.
    She is everything beautiful and terrible in this world.
    I am consuming her. My mouth fits around her plump lips. We are like fish, needing the motion of our mouths to breathe. If we stop, we die. So I keep going.
    It’s like I have infinite vision. My eyes are wide open and I can see every pore in Amanda’s nose, the fine blond hairs above her lip, and the thicker ones in her eyebrows and eyelashes.
    But I can also see everything going on around me. Every single person, what they are wearing, who they’re