\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a book festival the week after graduation,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s only a couple of days. We could fit it in before Ireland.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I had jerked my head toward her, surprised.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you been looking at my computer again? How did you know about the festival?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Jenna rolled her eyes. \u201cAs if you\u2019re the only one with an internet alert out for anything related to N. E. Endsley.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There was no doubt that she had chosen this for my benefit. Later, when she dropped me off at my house after a car ride full of my squeals about meeting N. E. Endsley, I leaned over to hug her good-bye and whispered, \u201cYou don\u2019t like internet alerts.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d Her voice was casual.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t like internet alerts or subscription newsletters because they take up too much time and clutter your computer.\u201d Jenna looked out the window to hide her smile. \u201cWhen did I say that?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t.\u201d I grinned. \u201cI just know. And when did <\/em>you look at my computer?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She turned to face me, indignant. \u201cI\u2019ve told you before you ought to lock it when you walk away from it in the library!\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d I deadpanned. \u201cWouldn\u2019t want the riffraff seeing my search history of book festivals and\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd llama memes when you\u2019re supposed to be studying?\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t judge.\u201d I shoved her shoulder and turned it into another awkward car hug. \u201cBesides, if I hadn\u2019t left it open, you would have asked for something sensible for graduation. Like textbook covers or . . . I don\u2019t even know what, instead of the best, best, best <\/em>thing on the planet.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think textbook covers are a thing in college, Amelia.\u201d Her voice was even, but I could feel her smile. \u201cWhatever. You know what I mean.\u201d My nose was lodged against her hair. She smelled like shampoo and her fruity, too- sweet perfume.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks, Jenna,\u201d I whispered, and found myself oddly choked up.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll enjoy it, too, you know,\u201d she whispered back. \u201cBut you\u2019re welcome. Happy graduation. Is this hug over yet?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cAlmost. Your perfume is trying to kill me.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
_____________________<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The same perfume brings me back to the festival, to the pulsing hustle of book lovers swarming around us, which is no match for my enthusiasm.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at it,\u201d I urge Jenna, jogging alongside her fast walk to thrust my wrist in her face. \u201cLook! This band means that, in only three hours, we get to see N. E. Endsley. Endsley<\/em>, Jenna.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Jenna does not pause, unfazed by my attempts at distraction. \u201cAmelia.\u201d She says my name with a mix of exasperation and affection, but more of the latter than usual. \u201cThere are other events before his session, and we should enjoy some other panels and booths, too, okay?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever you say, JenJen.\u201d I say the pet name her first and last boyfriend gave her under my breath, thinking she won\u2019t hear it in the din.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cDo not <\/em>call me that.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
Her dark, curly strands bounce toward me all at once, and her eyes narrow, but a corner of her lips is restraining a smile. \u201cOh, come on, JenJen. Lighten up. It\u2019s a perfectly good name for a girlfriend . . . or a poodle.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n
\u201cShove off,\u201d she says, laughing. She steers us into a booth of T-shirts in all the colors of the rainbow with catchy book phrases printed on their fronts: I read past my bedtime<\/em> or I\u2019m a book dragon, not a bookworm<\/em>. Most can also be purchased as posters, and I push us toward the rolled-up plastic tubes near the back of the booth.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is why boyfriends are useless,\u201d Jenna mutters. \u201cThey distract you from schoolwork and they make up stupid names that your so-called friends never let you live down.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cChin up, JenJen,\u201d I say, extracting one of the poster tubes from its brethren. \u201cWhat do you think of this one for our dorm room?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The top of the poster is decorated with little cartoon people attempting and failing to ski, skateboard, and surf, the message below reading, \u201cIf at first you don\u2019t succeed, read a book instead.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cThat hardly seems conducive to an encouraging study environment,\u201d Jenna says. \u201cBesides, I don\u2019t appreciate the implication that one cannot be a reader and <\/em>an athlete.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cKilljoy.\u201d I thwap <\/em>her on the shoulder with the tube.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cChild.\u201d She grabs the poster from me and hits me lightly atop my head, before heading to the register and sliding her father\u2019s credit card across the counter.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t have to buy it,\u201d I say afterward.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She shrugs. \u201cDad said, and I quote, \u2018It\u2019s your graduation present. Go crazy. But don\u2019t tell your mother.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cYour poor mom,\u201d I say. \u201cShe\u2019s going to want to throttle you when the credit card bill comes in. Meanwhile, you\u2019ll be far away in Ireland, collecting plants and being nerdy.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cSpecimens,\u201d Jenna corrects.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever.\u201d I sidestep a woman in a long skirt pushing a dolly full of boxes like it\u2019s a race car. \u201cShe\u2019ll want to give you one of your own lectures and you won\u2019t be there to hear it.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll just blame it on you and she can give you <\/em>an earful.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We move into a slim, unoccupied space between booths so Jenna can pull up the festival schedule on her phone.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It suddenly strikes me as very adult, our solitary trip to California. Jenna and I are in charge of the events we attend, where we eat lunch, what swag we buy. I keep waiting for somebody to accuse us of being unaccompanied minors, to escort us from the premises and call our parents, but we\u2019re eighteen. We\u2019re enrolled in Missoula for the fall. We are <\/em>adults. Sort of.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I am vitalized and cowed by this realization, and I want to remember this moment of watching my friend lead the way on our first long-distance solo trip. While Jenna scrolls, I wrestle my trusty digital camera from my backpack and remove the lens cover. I look through the viewfinder and snap one picture\u2014it\u2019s my rule\u2014and then let the camera hang from its strap around my neck.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cIf we book it, we could make it to ballroom C for the \u2018It\u2019s Only a Flesh Wound: Violence in Fantasy\u2019 panel,\u201d I say, grinning. \u201cGet it? Book <\/em>it?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My laugh echoes in the small space, but Jenna only snorts and keeps scrolling. I practically have the schedule memorized, after a week of alternating between staring at the welcome email and obsessively rereading the two Orman books.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My mind wanders ahead to what his session will be like, my head spinning with everything I know about Orman and Endsley.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
While the first book\u2014The Forest Between the Sea and the Sky<\/em>\u2014is about finding Orman and the power struggle set up between Ainsley and Emmeline, the second book\u2014The In- Between Queens<\/em>\u2014is about Emmeline and Ainsley gathering their armies to fight each other for the throne. But because the Old Laws only let them stay in Orman for spurts of time, for parts of the book they are dealing with each other and their parents back in our world. They\u2019re rulers of their realms in Orman, but here in our world they still have to do homework and clean up Oreo crumbs they drop on the carpet. It\u2019s funny to watch them try to exist in such different environments.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Everyone thinks the third book is going to be set completely in Orman, but I hope not. I like to imagine the girls somewhere in this world with me\u2014Emmeline running out of toilet paper after she pees and dealing with real stuff alongside me, but slipping back into Orman to take her place as the true queen of the kingdom.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
They\u2019re the kind of stories that keep you up late at night, ones I sink into so fully I\u2019m certain they are secret histories of a real world that I just haven\u2019t figured out how to get to. Reading them makes me feel as if I\u2019m putting on a suit of armor over a beloved sweater, fierce and comfortable, nostalgic and adventurous.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
And N. E. Endsley is some sort of absurdly young writing prodigy. He\u2019s only a year older than Jenna and me. Social media lit up a few weeks ago on his nineteenth birthday, and a few prominent sites ran articles recapping his improbably glorious success.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He started writing the stories when he was only thirteen and published the first book when he was sixteen, the second book\u2019s publication following a year later. The third and final book of the trilogy was supposed to come out this year, but the release date was pushed back indefinitely.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
No one knows why.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There are rumors, though. Some say that he has writer\u2019s block and can\u2019t figure out how to end such an epic story when it\u2019s become so popular. Some go further and accuse the fandom of being the root of the problem, using words like vapid <\/em>and invasive<\/em>. Expecting too much, putting too much pressure on Endsley\u2019s creative space.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Others still say he\u2019ll never finish, that he\u2019s become a social recluse before the age of twenty-five and that whatever has caused it, the story will end with the second book.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I hope it\u2019s not true, but I don\u2019t have much to hope on. Nobody does. Endsley rarely grants interviews. What the Orman fandom knows of him comes mostly in trickles and hearsay.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
One night I couldn\u2019t sleep and I fell down an internet rabbit hole, reading comments from people who\u2019ve run into Endsley in New York City, where he lives. One girl saw him at the public library and approached to ask for an autograph of the second book, which she happened to have with her. Endsley refused. But as he walked away, a different boy approached her. He apologized for Endsley\u2019s behavior and asked for the girl\u2019s address, promising to send her a signed copy, before apologizing again for Endsley\u2019s rudeness and disappearing into the crowd.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In an updated post, the girl claimed to have received the book.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Who knows if it\u2019s true. Maybe I\u2019ll be better able to judge for myself when I see him face-to-face.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat about the \u2018Just Enough Cooks in the Kitchen\u2019 panel?\u201d Jenna asks, interrupting my daydreaming. \u201cJune Turner and some of the authors from that anthology about feminism in high school are speaking. You know, the book I gave you to read last week that you never did?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you know I didn\u2019t read it?\u201d I ask.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you gave it back to me without a page out of place, that\u2019s how. There wasn\u2019t so much as a smudge on it.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you suggesting I\u2019m a book destroyer?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Jenna gives me the same look I\u2019ve seen Mrs. Williams level at Mr. Williams on weekly grocery runs, when he sneaks extra boxes of prepackaged muffins into the shopping cart, which he claims are \u201cfor his girls.\u201d It\u2019s a look of exasperation, but full of so much love it makes my insides burst.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I laugh. \u201cFine, I\u2019m not a neat freak. Sue me. And you\u2019re right about me not reading it, but only because I was\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cRereading the Endsley books,\u201d Jenna interrupts. \u201cI know.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I link my arm through hers, dragging her once more into the river of people.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cFeminism panel it is, JenJen. We better get moving if we want seats up front. I know <\/em>that\u2019s where you\u2019ll want to sit.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Jenna is obviously resisting the urge to roll her eyes at me again as I stubbornly keep my arm linked through hers. It\u2019s difficult to walk side by side with so many people around us. She doesn\u2019t drop her arm, though. It\u2019s her job to make the big and not-so-big choices in this friendship. It\u2019s my job to make whatever she chooses fun, no matter how many faces she makes. Both of us have an easy task today, because though she won\u2019t say it aloud, I know that Jenna\u2019s heart is beating just as eagerly as mine, marking time until we are closer to Orman and its creator than we\u2019ve ever been before.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Excerpt from Amelia Unabridged<\/em><\/strong><\/a> copyright \u00a9 2021 by Ashley Schumacher<\/strong><\/a>. Reproduced by permission from MacMillan Publishers. All rights reserved.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
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