The Art of Us

Chapter Nine

Ireland

Ireland showed up early to school Monday morning so she could put out the art supplies on the table in the back of the art room. She’d go in during lunch hour to set everything up and then she’d put them away at the end of the day.

Janice, the school custodian, had unlocked the art room door for her and then helped her get out the supplies. It was strange that the older, quiet woman was there so early in the morning when Ireland knew she had to stay late too. Did she ever go home? Maybe she’s like me. Maybe she doesn’t have a home. Ireland scowled.

“You okay?” Janice asked her as they put water in the squat, heavy cans. Ireland had chosen those particular ones so they wouldn’t be as easy to accidentally knock over.

“Sure. I actually feel pretty good lately.”

“Finally settled somewhere?”

“Settled enough for right now.” That was the truth. Ireland had never felt so settled. As she stepped back and took in the mural that she had helped create, a sense of belonging snuggled down into her soul. Yes. She was finally settled.

The morning announcement several days before about the mural had caused a general buzz in the halls. There were already pieces of student art painted directly on the wall, filling in the spaces that had been framed for them by the tree, the mascot, and the ocean. Ireland had never taken part in a school-wide activity before and was surprised at how energizing it had been. If someone could see her aura at that moment, they would describe it as a glow of pride and a feeling of inclusion.

More than that, she couldn’t stop thinking about Kalvin Ellis and felt like her cheeks were going to fall off from smiling so much. She liked the boy who believed he’d time traveled to pick out some ice cream with the younger version of himself. Like really liked him.

She went through the week saying hi to people, smiling at them in the halls, and feeling like she belonged simply becausethe tree trunk outline that she’d painted stood tall and proud on theart room wall. On Monday, Kal was abnormally quiet inthe first class, but she’d felt too buzzed with satisfaction to let his evasive mood get her down. Something must have happened over the weekend to kill his usual good humor. When she saw him again as his art class ended and hers began, he avoided looking her in the eye. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just a little sick. I think I’m coming down with something.”

“Oh. Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Absolutely. You would be the first to know.” He hurried out then like he was embarrassed.

The first to know?

She grinned all over again. If he thought of her enough that she would be the first to know if something was wrong, then surely he liked her as much as she liked him. She rubbed her cheek. Who knew smile muscles could hurt?

And the next few days continued like that. Whatever funk Kal had been in must have righted itself because by Friday, he’d seemed to shake it off.

Mr. Wasden reiterated the invitation for the class to share their talents and to spread positivity in the student body. In the morning announcements that day, the principal had repeated the rules of the mural, explaining that she didn’t want to hear that any one of her students had done anything hateful or crude. There had already been a couple of instances of having to paint over someone’s crude depictions. Ireland had no idea how those images had shown up without anyone seeing who’d made them and realized it was impossible to underestimate idiots. Mr. Wasden had been the one to clean up the deviant art. “Be the people I know you are,” the principal had said.

People were talking about the mural in her art class, pointing out things they had added to it, when Wasden approached her.

“Any chance you can stay a few minutes after school to talk when you’re done putting things away?” he asked.

“Sure.” She shrugged. She was already staying. What difference did a few more minutes make? And where did she have to go, anyway?

Throughout the day, Ireland couldn’t stop herself from walking past the art room and peeking in to look. She wanted to witness all the ways that the mural was changing. It felt like it was something living. Every time she walked past it, it had taken a new breath. She felt a fulfillment she’d never known before in having been a part of the mural project.

At the end of the school day, she sought out Kal before going to Mr. Wasden’s classroom. She wanted to make sure that they were still on for Geppetto’s later that night. It was more than just the food for her now. It was him. His music. His voice lulling her into a place of joy and peace. The food was vital too, obviously, but more important was her being with him. That was a hunger that no number of calories could fill. He had asked her to meet him on an official date and had even offered to pick her up, but she had declined, saying she’d meet him there.

Ireland found Kal in the art room, which was a good thing since she was pretty sure she could count on him to help her clean up.

“It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” she asked. He jumped at her voice as if he’d been caught doing something terrible. She wouldn’t have thought too much about that, except for the fact that when he looked at her, he appeared guilty. She narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”

He blinked several times before answering. Ireland knew from dealing with people who lied consistently that everybody had a tell that they revealed right before the moment they were about to say something untrue. Her dad’s tell had been licking his lips. Was Kal’s tell rapid blinking?

“What makes you think I’m up to something?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way you look like somebody about to steal the candy jar the principal keeps in her desk.”

“Well, obviously. She does keep some pretty good candy in there, so, you know ...” His gaze finally met hers fully.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been given the opportunity to partake from the illustrious principal candy jar. I’ve only heard rumors.”

Kal leaned on the table of art supplies, which Ireland thought was pretty brave since it had spilled color splotching the butcher paper in more than a few places. “I think she’s in the cafeteria right now. We could sneak in and just ...”

“So you really were thinking about pulling a candy jar heist. I’m in. I’ll be the lookout.”

Kal had visibly relaxed as they talked. Ireland all but melted with gushy happiness at the thought that she could help alleviate some of the stress of whatever it was that bothered him. She loved it when his dimples carved twin canyons in his cheeks. She loved it best when it happened because of something she did or said.

More, there was a very real possibility that she just loved Kal.

Where had that thought come from?

Now she was the one blinking rapidly. But instead of her blinking as a tell for some lie she was about to blurt out, Ireland felt certain her blinking stemmed from a truth that had been revealed to her.

Sure, she knew she didn’t feel the type of love that required declarations of commitment or anything like that. Her feelings were a step off the path of just liking somebody and onto the path of truly caring for them. Was she staring at him as she battled these thoughts in her head? Yes. Could he feel the heat in her gaze? Her face certainly felt hot to her, but could he see the shift in her? Maybe. But then, Kal was looking at her in the same way that she looked at him. She was sure of it.

His eyes held an intensity that had never been there before as he leaned closer. As if pulled by his gravity, she leaned as well. She tilted her head up. His eyes dropped down to her mouth. Was that her heart beating so fast that it sounded like drumming in her ears? Or was that his? Ireland didn’t know. She didn’t know anything except that she was about to have her first kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of the moment of contact. But the feel of his lips on hers never came.

She snapped her eyes open and found that Kal no longer leaned toward her. He cleared his throat, a blush darkening his cheeks. “Tonight? Geppetto’s? You’ll be there?”

Ireland swallowed hard against the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. She tried to speak, but no sound came out, so she merely nodded.

Kal’s smile was softer than it had been earlier. It was filled with ... what? Love, maybe? Anticipation? Definitely promise. He was promising that they’d continue this little conversation later. Ireland felt a smile crawl across her lips. “Definitely. I wouldn’t miss it.”

For the first time in days, Kal’s hand reached toward her. He held it out, waiting for her to take it. She did, of course.

His fingers tightened over hers as he gave a squeeze. “You are truly something special, Ireland Raine.”

“You’re something special too.” Ireland felt like she could tell Kal anything, like she could trust him. She did trust him. She almost opened her mouth to tell him about how she had been living in a bathroom in the woods but promptly closed it again. No. She didn’t trust him that much. She barely trusted herself that much. It was a secret bigger than the world, and she wasn’t about to tell anyone. She couldn’t risk it.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

She nodded and Kal released her hand and walked away, but he looked back at her three times. Wasn’t that how you knew if a person was really interested in you? If they looked back as they were walking away? Ireland certainly hoped so.

She stood alone in front of the mural for what seemed like forever. Her feet had no desire to leave the place where a promise had been given. Kal Ellis cared about her. Maybe more. Maybe he had taken a step off the path of like and onto the path of love as well. Ireland sucked in a breath of delicious contentment at the thought.

Her life was going so well. For the first time ever, she had control over her situation. Her destiny. She had friends. She had emotional connections.

She glanced at the mural.

She had a purpose.

The students’ artwork that was already starting to fill in the lines she’d created felt like a connection to a world she had always felt unplugged from before. Someone had painted the face of a russet-colored dog within the framework of her tree trunk. Not too far from the dog was a guitar. Above that was a Groot. Next to the tree was a flower with rainbow petals. Someone else had painted stars within the ocean wave that Mara had done. Next to that was a skull. There was a cute little bumblebee hiding on the border of the mountain lion’s head and a Cthulhu in the tree branches. Ireland spotted five different happy faces.

Mr. Wasden had been right about the idea of this project being unifying. Ireland felt the tendrils of connection flowing from her and the other members of the art club to the student body and back again.

Mr. Wasden. She was supposed to meet him after she cleaned up. She’d almost forgotten. Her feet finally managed to shuffle to action so she could hurry through the task. Mr. Wasden’s desk was in the gallery on the other side of the right wall. It was more a long cubby than it was a room. If he was in there, he had probably heard her conversation with Kal, which was so horrifically embarrassing. Ireland would have to be more aware of his possible presence in the future. How awful would it have been if she had been getting her first kiss and he walked in? She grunted out loud at the thought and then snapped her mouth closed since he would have heard her make that noise too. Apparently, she was going to do all the embarrassing things. She finished her work, squared her shoulders, and entered the gallery.

The teacher was sitting at his desk and appeared to be studying some paperwork, which was weird because Mr. Wasden didn’t give out a lot of written homework. It was an art class. The assignments were all thumbnail sketches, actual sketches, and full-on paintings with the occasional cardboard or origami project thrown in. Where she would expect to see any other teachers studying paperwork on their desks, she didn’t expect to see Mr. Wasden doing it.

Ireland stopped in front of him, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Hi, there.”

Mr. Wasden jolted, his hands slamming a file folder shut as if a swarm of hornets was trying to escape from the pages inside.

“Sorry to startle you. But you wanted to see me?” She hadn’t been nervous when he’d first asked because she assumed it had been about the mural. But at the pity, compassion, and resolve that flashed over his face, it occurred to her that she probably ought to be nervous.

“Have a seat, Ireland.” He waved her to the chair in front of his desk. It wasn’t the typical chair that sat in front of teachers’ desks—hard and uncomfortable and meant to put a kid on the spot. Mr. Wasden’s chair was an old armchair. Lots of students kicked off their shoes and snuggled into that chair to do their work.

But Ireland sat and felt anything but comfortable. “What’s going on?” No reason to beat around the bush. That had never been her style anyway.

He, apparently, didn’t want to beat around the bush either. “So I hear you’re unhoused.”

Ireland felt the blood in her veins freeze, and her oxygen puffed out of her as if he’d punched her hard in the gut. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to take a breath again.

He knows. How could he know? No one knew. What would happen now? Would he call the police? Was she breaking the law? Would she be suspended from school?

Ireland had once seen a mouse that had its paw caught in a snap trap. The little creature flipped and jerked itself and the trap all over trying to escape, until it finally went perfectly still. Ireland felt like the mouse. She might have been sitting there perfectly still, but her insides were flipping and jerking in panic. She wanted to leap from the chair and flee. But flee where? Nowhere. Nowhere was safe. It took her a moment to stop mentally flailing. Mr. Wasden would not be allowed to see her tells. She schooled her features and flattened her expression into unconcern. She’d had lots of practice to refine this particular look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mr. Wasden’s fingers flicked the corner of the folder under his hands. Nervous. He was nervous. “Sure you do. I’ve heard from a reputable source that you don’t have adequate living accommodations. So I checked into it. What I found is enlightening.”

“Oh yeah? So enlighten me. What did you find?” He couldn’t know. No one knew.

“Well, my first discovery was that your dad is currently in jail...”

Nothing could have prepared her for that news. She was hot. No. Cold. And sweating. Cold and sweating at the same time. And numb. Tingling too. Was she going to throw up? Yes. No. He must have seen all of her emotions playing out on her face because he said, “You didn’t know.”

She shook her head. Her stomach lurched, and she worried she really might throw up on Mr. Wasden’s desk. The room spun. In jail. How was she still sitting upright? In jail! She wasn’t surprised. Yes, I am , she thought. Her dad was good at cons. He’d never been caught before.

Mr. Wasden’s features softened into an even deeper pity as his body sagged and his head tilted to the left. “Sorry. So sorry to be the one to give you that news. Sometimes not knowing is easier. Sometimes it isn’t. I don’t know which way that goes for you. But I am sorry, Ireland.”

“It’s fine,” she said. It wasn’t. “Whatever he did to get him locked up, he deserves to be there. If not for whatever they put him in for, then for a million other things. Anyway, about the other thing. I’m not homeless. I have a roof over my head, and I’m perfectly safe. So you don’t need to worry.”

“Where is this roof over your head located? And you should probably tell me the truth because you have to assume that I already know the truth.”

How? How did he know? Nobody knew where she was at. The only person who had any indication that anything was amiss in her life was ... Janice . The custodian. Ireland had told Janice that she was on her own and needed to borrow cleaning supplies.

“I’m not homeless,” she said. “I’m staying in a bathroom at the edge of the woods.”

“Oh, okay. Well, in that case ...” Mr. Wasden looked exasperated. “Ireland, that’s the very definition of unhoused. I appreciate you telling me the truth, but we can’t let things stay this way. Let’s fix that situation so you aren’t unhoused. Let’s get you safe.”

Hadn’t she, just moments before talking to her teacher, felt a delirious sense of freedom and independence? Hadn’t she just barely been happy? But now? Now someone knew her secret and had ripped away her independence with that knowledge.

No. She wouldn’t let that happen. She straightened up in the armchair, squaring her shoulders and planting her feet directly on the ground. “I’m almost eighteen. So it’s not like you can put me in the system. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Mr. Wasden didn’t flinch, but he did give her an exaggerated, pained look. “See, you’re kind of right. And you’re kind of wrong. The thing is that you’re still in school. And while you are technically going to be an adult, you’re not one yet. And I would still have to inform child protective services about your situation and get you taken care of until you graduate.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not in a position to support yourself, and it is my legal responsibility to report when students are in an unsafe living situation.”

Ireland leaped to her feet. “No! You cannot do that! You can’t put me in the system! Who knows what kind of creepy people I’ll end up with. And would they even keep me in the same school? I’m doing really well here. Why would you want to take me away from that?”

“Whoa.” Mr. Wasden waved his hands for her to sit down again. “Slow down, Ireland. No one’s talking about putting you into the system just yet. I actually have a proposition for you. One that I can legally suggest because you are an adult, or will be soon enough that it makes no difference, and one that will allow you to graduate from this school safely without you having to go into the system.”

She sat, but her legs felt coiled, ready to spring up and run. “I’m listening.”

“There’s a family that is financially self-sufficient. By that, I mean they’re rich. Sounds crass, but it’s true. Without naming you directly because I wanted to protect your privacy, I told them about your situation because they are good people, and I know they can be trusted. The good news is that they have lots of extra room in their house. They’ve offered for you to live with them. And they already have a girl going to our school, so getting you to and from school is no big deal because you can just drive in with her.”

Ireland didn’t want to live with one of her classmates like some freakish charity case when she wasn’t friends with anyone. How awkward would that be? “And if I decline this offer?”

Mr. Wasden shrugged. He opened the file. Ireland’s name was at the top of one of the papers there. “I really don’t think you should decline. If I see a student who is neglected or abused, I have to turn that information in to child services, whether you’re eighteen or not. It’s the law.”

“So, if I say no, then you rat me out to CPS, and they what? Come take me away?”

“They could. Or you could choose to accept this other opportunity. If you do, your class schedules will be the same, the people you know will be the same. Your teachers will all be the same. Your life will go pretty much uninterrupted, except you’ll be safe and snug inside a home where you will be fed and cared for and protected. The choice is yours.”

He waited.

She waited.

It didn’t seem like much of a choice. When it became apparent he had no intention of talking anymore, she asked, “Who’s the family?”

“The Washington family. They own the bakery chain ... On the Rise.”

“Are you kidding me? Mara Washington’s family?” They weren’t even in March yet, weeks away from April first, so it couldn’t have been an April Fool’s joke. If she hadn’t liked and respected Mr. Wasden as much as she did, she probably would have thrown his art pencils at him.

His hand was at the back of his neck, as if he were trying to massage away a brand-new tension headache. “What? They’re a good family.”

“Maybe, but Mara hates me. She and the hag and—I mean, her friends look for every opportunity to make my life miserable. I can’t live with her.”

Mr. Wasden did look concerned then. “What are you talking about? I’ve seen you and Mara work together side by side for several days. I’ve never once seen any hint of you two not getting along. Has she ever done anything to you?”

“Well, no, not exactly ...” The truth was that Mara herself hadn’t ever really done anything against Ireland, but her friends had, and she hadn’t stopped them, so it was the same thing.

Mr. Wasden leaned back, the sudden relief evident. “Okay, then. Tell me where you’re currently holing up. I can have a few of your friends go and help you pack up your belongings to take to the Washington home. Mrs. Parker can drive you.”

“I thought you knew where I was staying.”

“I know the situation. Not the GPS pin drop.”

Her leg bounced like it was having a personal earthquake. She couldn’t have stopped it if she’d tried. “I really don’t want to stay with them,” she said in one last desperate plea for him to see this from her perspective.

“I know.” His soft voice calmed her marginally—enough that she could see this from his perspective. He wasn’t trying to ruin her life. He had a responsibility, and he actually cared. That was the one thing about Mr. Wasden she was completely sure about. He was a guy who taught school because he cared. “But it’s your best option. It’s not safe, and not legal, for you to be living in a public bathroom by yourself.”

“I don’t want to owe anybody anything.” Ireland’s dad owed everyone. She would not be like him. He was in jail now. She didn’t know why that made her feel so ridiculously sad.

“You won’t owe the Washingtons anything. They have the means to do this without it putting them out in any way. They’ve only got Mara and their youngest daughter, Jade, at home now, so there’s plenty of room for you and plenty of resources to provide for you. They only require that you stay the course. Keep doing what you’re doing. Go to school. Get good grades. Be the person you already are. They’re excited to take you in. Once I told Grace about you, she about knocked me over because she wanted to go get you right that minute.”

“Who all knows?” she asked.

“I told the principal, and I gave her your name. Other than that, the only people we talked to were the Washingtons.”

“How long have you known? You couldn’t have arranged all of this and found out about my dad in an afternoon.”

“It’s been a few days,” he confessed.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Mr. Wasden’s shoulders twitched. He didn’t love what he was about to say, but he said it anyway. “Honestly, we worried if we tipped our hand before we had things arranged, you might disappear on us.”

“So, you’re saying you thought I was a flight risk?”

He cringed but nodded.

“Huh. Well ... that’s fair, I guess.”

“So ... who do you want to help you get your stuff together?”

No one. She didn’t want anyone to help her. She didn’t want anyone to know she was living in a bathroom—especially not Mara, who would tell her friends, who would then tell everyone else. The jokes would be nonstop. “Does Mara know where I live?”

“No. Right now, the Washingtons don’t even know your name. And I didn’t tell them where you were living exactly, only that you were on your own.”

Ireland’s breathing felt like the oxygen wasn’t making it to her lungs. “You won’t tell them, will you?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

She leaned forward and rubbed her hand down her face. “There’s a Lutheran church on Sixteenth and Bayview. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

“Mrs. Parker can take you to get your things, and I’ll meet you at your new house.”

He looked at something behind Ireland, and she turned her head to see what it was. The principal had come in sometime during the conversation.

Right. Flight risk. They weren’t going to let her go anywhere on her own until she was settled. She shook her head so slowly that she felt like maybe she wasn’t moving at all. Her thoughts felt like they were swimming through mud. How had she let herself get caught like this? How had she become the charity flavor of the month? Wasn’t she doing okay on her own? Why was any of this necessary?

“I’m sorry you’re taking this so hard, Ireland. I wouldn’t strong-arm you into this if I wasn’t truly concerned for your safety. It’s just until you graduate; then you can make your own choices without my meddling. And though I’m sorry this is stressing you out, I am not sorry to get involved because you matter, Ireland. You’re too important to let circumstances cause you harm.”

Her head shot up as she met his eye.

She mattered? She was important?

Ireland wasn’t sure why his saying those words struck her so forcefully, but it brought the burn and sting of tears behind her eyes. She blinked hard.

She nodded and stood. “I ... kind of have a date tonight. With Kal at Geppetto’s. I can still go out tonight, right?”

“Of course. I’ll let the Washingtons know. Their daughter has a social life too, you know. So it’s not like you’re going to be under house arrest. You might have a curfew, and they’ll want to know where you’re going and who you’re with, but it’s normal parent stuff.”

Normal parent stuff. He said that like she had any idea what it meant. “Right. Okay. I better go get my stuff.”

She started to go with Mrs. Parker but turned back to him. “Mr. Wasden? Can you not tell Kal? I don’t want him to know.” She didn’t wait for Mr. Wasden to agree. She turned and left with the principal. She had packing to do.