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Pendrell’s polished world. Despite my great-grandfather being an alumnus, these sorts of events made me feel like a triangle being stuffed into a round hole. I sipped cider from my fancy glass, smiled when necessary, and added comments when I could.
    I should have been more comfortable than I was. After all, I had aspirations of becoming a journalist, and would be required to interview people. Usually I was good at it, but for some reason, my heart wasn’t in it tonight. I hadn’t felt so out of place last year, but I felt somehow different after this summer.
    “So, you said you spent your summer in Brazil?” Mr. Seager asked.
    “Yes, most of my father’s family is still there. I spent a lot of time training with my grandmother to be a Waker.” I swallowed and wondered what in the world had made me say that aloud.
    “A what?” Mrs. Seager asked.
    It suddenly seemed hard to breathe. I hadn’t planned to share that detail of my life, but now that it was out, I didn’t want to hide it either. “A Waker,” I repeated.
    Brent looked at me, his eyebrows raised. I could see that he would support me if I needed it, but he obviously hadn’t thought I would bring it up here. Him and me both. Last year I never would have.
    “I’m not sure I’ve heard that term before,” Mr. Seager said, his tone polite, but barely interested.
    I knew I was probably committing internship suicide, but I smiled anyway. “The women of my family are Acorderas , Wakers in English. We communicate with ghosts and help them pass into the afterlife.”
    The Seagers laughed politely, assuming it was a joke. After a few seconds Mr. Seager frowned. “You weren’t kidding?”
    This was one of only a handful of times I’d admitted my ability to someone who wasn’t already a strong believer in the paranormal. I felt like I was staring down that rock-wielding boy again and part of me wanted to shy away from the truth. That old familiar denial crept its way up my throat. I couldn’t though; it would be like denying part of myself now, and I wasn’t going to do that again. I was no longer ashamed of my heritage. So why did this feel so hard?
    I forced a smile. “Not at all. I was completely serious.”
    The Seagers’ eyes grew wide. Even Brent cleared his throat. I sipped my sparkling cider again, pretending that hadn’t been hard to admit.
    “Interesting,” Mrs. Seager said politely.
    Tears blurred my vision. Why was this affecting me when I knew it was the truth? I took another drink, buying myself time. A startling thought came to me. Had I hurt Brent’s chances for this internship? My cider went down the wrong tube and I coughed. I patted my sternum as I assessed the situation, hoping I hadn’t ruined it for him. Mr. Seager glanced at his watch and his wife’s eyes searched the room, probably looking for someone to rescue her from the uncomfortable conversation. Mr. Seager was no longer even paying attention to Brent. The tent suddenly seemed even more crowded and I couldn’t get a proper breath. My hands shook. I had to get out of there.
    I forced the closest thing to a smile I could muster. “If you’ll excuse me.” I spun around and pushed through the crowd. Brent called for me to wait, and I glanced over my shoulder but saw him waylaid by someone. I was falling apart fast and I couldn’t stop. My feet kept moving of their own volition until the crowd thinned. Finally able to breathe, I dropped onto a lounge chair and rested my forehead on my knees while I tried to catch my breath. Sadly, I hadn’t been able to outrun my tension and anxiety. They were soon replaced by dread thick enough to crush me.
    I forced my emotions away and tried to consider my problem rationally. Brent wouldn’t be harmed by my confession, or his association with me. He was smooth and charming enough to win over anyone. That just left me. But aside from one internship—that I probably didn’t want anyway—my life hadn’t changed. It was common