The Art of Us

Chapter Nineteen

Ireland

Going home with Mara had been something that terrified Ireland all day, but once she was in the car, it was Mara and her and singing along to Taylor Swift. The drive home had been no drama considering everything Ireland knew about Mara.

They didn’t talk about it. Ireland waited for some hint of their previous discussion, but there was nothing. Mara seemed bizarrely normal. Even after Ireland had painted a wolf howling. Even after Mara had muzzled the wolf.

They got home and went to their separate rooms like no big deal. The music came on within moments.

Mara loved Taylor Swift. The singer was always blaring from her car radio, her phone while she was in the shower, and the family digital assistance in every room when her parents weren’t home. Seriously. Taylor Swift in every room. In every space. All the time.

At first, Ireland’s instinct was to be critical. The whole T-Swift thing felt trendy and clichéd. But once Ireland listened to the lyrics of the songs over and over, she found herself pulled into a world she’d never imagined wanting to belong to. Taylor Swift’s music spoke to her soul. Deep. Visceral. Like somebody finally understood her. And it was strange how much she liked the song “Mine.” It was the phrase “a careless man’s careful daughter” that got her. It felt like somebody had seen her for the first time.

Ireland had a guy in her life who said things like, “We won’t be like our parents.” Not that it would be bad to be like Kal’s parents, because his parents were truly “ten out of ten—totally recommend,” as Mara would say. But her parents? Those people hadn’t stuck around to see her grow up. Ireland didn’t want to be anything like them. Kal knew it, which was why he’d told her she didn’t have to be anything like them. Her father was a careless man, and Ireland was his careful daughter. And Kal belonged to her.

Ireland’s phone rang. An unknown number. Frowning, Ireland answered. “Hello?”

The muffled, computerized voice crackled with static at the other end of the line as it said, “Hello. You have received a collect call from—” The robotic voice broke off, and she heard a recording of her Dad’s voice say, “Derek Raine.” Her blood froze in her veins as the computer voice continued. “This call is from Humboldt County Correctional Facility and is subject to monitoring and recording. Do you accept the charges?”

Ireland could barely breathe. She tried to say something—to answer the recorded voice. Would she accept the charges? No. Yes?

Her finger pressed the end-call button on her phone. She dropped to her knees on the ground. Her stomach roiled, but she didn’t throw up, which she was thankful for, since she didn’t know how to explain getting sick all over the carpet to Grace and Jarrod. So her dad was in jail. She knew that. Why did she feel so taken by surprise? Why feel frightened?

With a deep breath, she forced herself back to her feet. He didn’t get to dictate to her whether or not she stood her ground on her own two feet. She would not crumple like debris in the street because of him. When she’d finally leveled her emotions to merely turbulent instead of crashing and burning and felt more furious than anything, it occurred to her why she felt afraid. A glance around the room that she was able to call her own was enough to help her understand herself.

The stocked fridge and pantry, the support from adults that made her feel valued, the legitimate job that she enjoyed, and the money she had started to build up in a savings account at an actual bank instead of a jar in a field all whispered to her that her fear was justified.

Ireland finally had something to lose.

The very idea that her dad was trying to get in touch with her made her new life feel like it was teetering on the edge of a deep chasm. One slightly gusty breeze could send it crashing.

“Girl, you do not look well.” Mara stood with her hand on her cocked hip in the open doorway of Ireland’s bedroom.

“Don’t you knock?”

Mara showing up made Ireland feel dizzy enough to send her back to her knees again, but she sat heavily on the bed instead. She hoped she didn’t look like she was collapsing but merely flouncing down like Mara seemed to do whenever she sat.

Mara gave a flat stare before twisting her mouth to the side in a smirk and rapping her knuckles on Ireland’s doorframe. Then she walked in as if the mock-knock counted as an invitation.

“Thank you for helping me to understand why girls complain about their sisters,” Ireland said.

“Whatever. So, my friends and I are going to the beach for a bonfire tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to come?” Mara’s habit of touching things when she was in Ireland’s room would have been annoying if Ireland wasn’t too busy being surprised at the invitation.

“You’re inviting me?” She felt instantly pathetic for voicing her surprise. If Mara was going out with her friends, there wasn’t a reason for her to take Ireland. Her friends hated Ireland, and the feeling was so mutual.

“Mom says I have to,” Mara said, with the smirk set more deeply on her face. She didn’t mean it. Not really. The conversation from the other night was enough that they had found legitimate friendship, even if Mara didn’t want to make it into some big thing.

“Right. Again, thank you for helping me understand why girls complain about their sisters.”

“Do you want to come or not?”

Honestly, Ireland didn’t want to. Spending any time with the hag and the harpy and the idiot boys they hung out with made Ireland’s hackles rise, but she didn’t want to be left alone with her thoughts and her phone. What if he tried to call again?

“Sure,” she said. “Let me get my jacket.”

Mara said, “Okay. I’ll be in the car.”

Ireland grabbed her sweatshirt, jacket, and fingerless gloves before snagging her drawstring backpack with her wallet. Hanging out with the rich kids meant she would likely need money for something.

She joined Mara in the Fiat and buckled her seatbelt. There was no reason to try to engage in conversation since Mara had Taylor Swift on loud and hadn’t wanted conversation since the other night.

Ireland would have complained about the music being so loud again except now that she was a superfan, the louder it was, the better. Not that she would ever admit that to Mara. No reason to give Mara anything more to gloat about. If she’d discovered she’d converted Ireland to her music, she would count the personal victory as if it were of Olympic proportions.

The sun was sinking toward the horizon when they pulled off the road.

Once they were parked at the beach and treading over the sand to where silhouettes stood or sat against the firelight’s glow, Mara’s mood shifted. She began talking as if needing a distraction.

“You ever been to a clambake before?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Well. It’s fun. The clams aren’t exactly ten out of ten. More a two or even a one. But the fire is kinda perfect, especially since it’s still so cold out, and Cooper usually brings a guitar, which is cool because we do sing-alongs, and—”

“Sing-alongs?” Ireland wanted to say so much more about how corny that sounded, but Mara suddenly seemed so completely different, and not in a good way. She appeared nervous for some reason.

“Yeah. He usually plays songs we all know, and we sing, and it’s fun.”

“Okay.” Ireland was not convinced of the “fun” review, but she kept her opinions to herself. Besides, they were in Mara’s world, and Mara had the car keys. Ireland did not want to get left stranded at the beach with the rich delinquent crowd.

Get stranded ... It finally occurred to Ireland why Mara’s nerves were off the charts. She dropped her voice and whispered, “Is he here?”

Mara’s eyes widened into two sad, terrified twin moons. “Don’t say anything. Remember, you promised.”

“Why are we here if he is here?”

“I’m howling out loud, okay?”

“What?”

“Never mind. You wouldn’t get it.” But Ireland did get it. It was her fault they were there. Mara was proving something to herself. Ireland just didn’t know what. This was not what she’d meant when she’d said to howl out loud. What she’d meant was for Mara to talk to the police. File a report. Send Rowan to juvenile detention. She did not mean to go eat scorched clams at a bonfire with her attacker.

“These are my friends,” Mara said. “I’m not giving them up just because he thinks he has first dibs on this space. Emily and Tinsley are here.”

“Ugh! We’re here because of them? Why do you even hang out with them?” Ireland asked Mara. “Those two are like accidentally touching old chewing gum stuck to the bottom of the table. They’re just gross.”

Mara’s eyes turned pleading. “They’re my friends, Ireland. C’mon. Please.”

“They hate me.”

“You’re not here for them. You’re here for me. And I don’t hate you. You’re the best friend I have right now, and I need you to not leave my side tonight. Please?”

Ireland finally nodded her assent that it was fine. But in that moment, she knew she had finally told the number-one biggest lie. It was not fine. None of it was fine. She did not like being here with these people. Not one bit.

They approached the group. There were two large, open fire pits, both constructed out of weathered concrete. One of the concrete pits contained actual flames. The other was filled with hot, crackling coals. Someone had placed a large barbecue grate across the concrete sides surrounding the coals and then spread a thick layer of seaweed over the top of the grate. Steam rose from the whole setup, and the fragrant smokiness filled the general area in a way that was surprisingly pleasant, especially considering Ireland’s unsettled mood. “I’m here for Mara,” she told herself.

The thrum of Cooper’s guitar carried over the waves lapping at the shore. There was no wind, and the waves were pretty mild. By the time she and Mara were close enough that Ireland could make out individual faces, she immediately picked out Rowan from the crowd. Ireland wanted to go punch him in the face, but she stayed close to Mara’s side, like she’d promised. In spite of being in front of a small bonfire, it was a cold evening. The mismatched blankets over people’s shoulders somehow matched the mismatched chairs in a way that felt trendy and stylish—like only rich kids could manage.

People said hi to Mara and to Ireland, too, which was surprising, given how she hadn’t thought most of them knew who she was. Tinsley and Emily finally pulled out of whatever self-absorbed conversation they were in long enough to jump up and rush to Mara so they could hug her.

“How did you get here?” Tinsley asked Ireland.

Mara interjected before Ireland could. “I brought her with me.”

“Aww. Nice. Hobo’s got herself a chauffeur.” Tinsley smirked, her freckles twisting with the facial expression.

“Well, I’m sure you would have offered me a ride, Tinsley,” Ireland said. “But, you know, there’s just not enough room on your broom, so I would have had to pass. Thanks anyway.”

Mara sighed, and Ireland mentally berated herself. She was here for Mara, not to entertain herself by outwitting the hag and the harpy.

Emily gave Ireland a look more scorching than the coals steaming the clams. She clearly didn’t like that Ireland had insulted her friend. She then linked her arm with Mara’s and guided her to the fire where she and Tinsley had been sitting. There was only one open chair next to the two they had vacated.

Unless Mara was going to invite her to sit on her lap, Ireland guessed she’d be stuck sitting on the sand—which would have been okay, except the sand felt even colder than the frigid air.

She had actually started to sit in the sand when Mara stopped her and tapped the empty chair next to her. Tinsley had gone over to sit by a little group that had surrounded Rowan.

Mara must have seen Ireland’s fury over Tinsley’s apparent betrayal. “Don’t worry about it,” Mara said.

“Worry about what?” Emily asked, thinking Mara had to be talking to her. Because why would Mara be talking to Ireland?

“We shouldn’t have to worry about anything, right?” Mara said.

Cooper started up a new song, d4vd’s “Don’t Forget About Me,” and everyone joined in—even Ireland, because she was there for Mara and Mara wanted to sing.

Though she found she was actually enjoying singing along with everyone in the fire’s glow while clams popped and sizzled next to them, Ireland kept glancing in Rowan’s direction. Did a troll like Rowan join the sing-along like he was a normal person? It turned out that he didn’t join in, not exactly. His mock-sing grated on Ireland’s nerves as he made his voice louder and more obnoxious than everyone else’s.

Ireland thought that maybe she was imagining things, but it seemed like Rowan was keeping an eye on her the same way she was keeping an eye on him. No. Not the same way. His eye was trailing over her in a way that made Ireland’s skin crawl like biting into tinfoil-covered spiders. She was about to ask Mara if the point had been made well enough that they could leave, but her phone rang. Panicked, she looked down at the number calling, afraid it was her dad again. When she saw Kal’s name and number, she leaped to her feet to move away from the crowd so she didn’t disrupt anyone while she took his call.

“Kal, hi!” she said, plugging her other ear so she could hear him better.

“Hey. I was wondering if I could come by tonight. Wait. Where are you?” he asked, obviously hearing the background noise.

“Mara invited me to a clambake with her and her friends.”

“Sounds like Cooper singing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“So it’s all of Mara’s friends.”

“A lot of them. Yeah.”

He went silent for the space of three breaths. “He’s there, isn’t he?”

It was Ireland’s turn to go silent for the space of three breaths. “Yes.”

“You need to get out of there. Seriously. You guys aren’t safe there. He is not safe to be around. You are not safe being around him. The creepy innuendos he makes about you ... Leave. Ireland, leave. Please. If Mara won’t go, then ask Cooper. He’ll drive you home.”

“I’m not leaving Mara. Kal, how can you even ask me to do that?”

“No. You’re right. Of course not. You can’t leave her. I’m sorry. I’m just really freaked out for you. I’m getting my keys right now. I’ll be right there.”

“We’re in a crowd. We’ll be fine.” She realized at that moment that she’d wandered away from the group’s fire enough that she was in shadow—definitely not in a crowd. “Kal, I ... don’t come. I’m fine.”

“It’s not a problem for me. It won’t take me long.”

“You showing up would just be more drama at this point. We aren’t alone here, so we’re fine. I gotta go though. I’ll see you tomorrow at Geppetto’s okay?”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound happy, but he didn’t argue about the fact that she needed to hang up, which she needed to do sooner than later. She’d caught his paranoia, and it was seriously dark and anyone could drag her off and no one at the fires would notice.

“Before you go, if you could, please just text me to let me know you got home safely.”

She agreed that she would and then hung up.

When she turned to head back to the fires, she had to pass Rowan and Tinsley. The stress she felt made Ireland fumble and drop her phone right in front of Rowan. She hurriedly bent down to pick it up so she get back to Mara. Rowan made a low whistle. “I am loving that view,” he said. Ireland realized her V-neck shirt had hung down low enough to be revealing.

Her cheeks flamed hot with humiliation, fear, and anger. She wrapped her sweater tightly over her front. “Do not ever talk to me or about me again, you sick troll,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Oh please,” Tinsley, who had obviously been drinking, said. “You can’t think he’s serious. Not about you. You’d give him fleas.” She laughed, nearly falling off her chair.

Mara was on her feet and moving toward Ireland at the same time Ireland was trying to move away from Tinsley’s laugh and Rowan’s leer.

“What’s going on?” Mara asked, her expression wild with worry.

“He just ... He said ...” Ireland didn’t know why, but tears formed in her eyes. She could not cry. Not here. Not in front of these elitist brats who didn’t care about anyone else. Why was she crying? Why could she not keep it together for a little longer?

Maybe it was everything Mara had been going through, and she was projecting herself into Mara’s situation.

Maybe it had been her dad’s attempted phone call.

Maybe it had been how completely victimized she’d felt by Rowan in that moment because she knew who he really was.

Maybe she had just had enough of everything, and it was all just too, too much.

When Mara saw the tears, she whirled on Rowan. “What did you do to her?”

Rowan stood, as if not liking that she was taller than him while he was sitting. “I didn’t do anything.”

Mara tucked Ireland behind her in an apparent attempt to keep her out of his reach. “That’s a lie. You never do anything you’d admit to, but you definitely do things.”

“What are you doing?” Ireland whispered in a fierce attempt to get Mara to just turn around and leave with her. All they had to do was leave, and this would all be over, and they could go back to her house where it was safe.

“Howling out loud,” Mara said, not whispering.

Rowan lifted his hands in a placating gesture and moved to sit down again when Tinsley jumped to her drunken feet. She wobbled a little but managed to stay upright. “I am sssooo sick of you,” she slurred at Mara.

Everyone else moved to their feet too, and not because they were starting an impromptu dance party. Like Mara had put herself in front of Ireland, Tinsley had placed herself in front of Rowan. “I am sssooo sick of you!” Tinsley was slur-shouting now.

“I can’t believe you.” Tinsley continued, waving her arms. “I cannot believe you right now. I can’t even—ugh! Rowan, you want her after all that she’s been saying about you? Do you know what she’s been telling people?”

“What do I care what people say or don’t say? I’ve got nothing to hide.” Rowan shrugged like he was entirely unconcerned by the spectacle before him. His act would have been believable if weren’t for the little guilty tells. His eyes were tight, and he covered them as if saying he was exhausted by all the drama, but to Ireland, it seemed more like he was hiding his eyes from the truth. When he lowered his hand, his fists clenched and unclenched.

Mara noted that everyone was standing and staring. She did not want an audience like this. She didn’t want her howl to be quite this loud. And the fact remained that Mara cared about her friends. She didn’t want Tinsley involved. “Maybe we should get you home, huh?” Mara tried to approach Tinsley, but it was like Tinsley had snapped. No one could touch her or go near her without her flying into a rage again.

“I’m done! I tell you I am so sick of it. I’m done. Finished. Kaput. Over it. No more. Calling it quits on our friendship. Do you hear me?”

All Ireland got from the rant was that Tinsley must have owned a thesaurus at some point.

“I know what you’re saying about Rowan. I heard her boyfriend talking to Mr. Wasden.” Tinsley pointed at Ireland and all eyes followed until everyone was looking at her. But Ireland didn’t look at anyone except Mara, whose face scrunched in confusion.

Ireland’s body felt numb. Her thoughts turned to static. Kal had gone to Mr. Wasden? Impossible. Tinsley hadn’t said anything to prove that she actually knew what had happened with Mara. Kal would never betray her confidence like that.

As if hearing Ireland’s thoughts, Tinsley continued. “Don’t act dumb. Kal told Mr. Wasden that Mara was running around telling people that Rowan attacked her. As if he’d need to when everyone knows how thirsty she is for his attention.”

“I didn’t attack anyone!” Rowan insisted when it became clear people were looking at him through a different lens. He tried to appear calm, but the wild in his eyes matched the higher pitch in his voice.

“She says you did. But you still want her!” Tinsley said. “She does all that and you still tell me I’ll never be good enough because I’m not at her ‘level.’” She made air quotes and then said, “You mean I’ll never stoop to her level.”

“She’s been drinking,” someone in the crowd said.

“Everybody just calm down,” Kiya from Ireland’s English class said.

Emily tried to reach out to Tinsley, but Tinsley yanked her hand away. “No! Listen to me! It’s true! Mara’s been throwing herself at Rowan since freshman year. He finally gives in, and she does this? Right before the big track meet? It’s like she’s trying to get him suspended for no reason at all.” She’d said all this while addressing the group, but then she whirled on Mara. “You have everything. Isn’t it enough? Do you need his dignity too? Do you have to ruin it so that the rest of us don’t have a chance?”

“Hey, maybe we just take this all down a notch, huh?” Kiya tried again to deescalate the situation, but no one paid any attention to her; all eyes were glued on the drama unfolding on the sand.

Tinsley swiped her hair out of her face. “You take in the little hobo and become her bestie, as if that makes you a saint or something. And then you blow the rest of us off like we’re nothing. I’ll tell you what: Ireland is nothing. Yeah, I said it.” She whirled to face Ireland. “You were living in an outhouse in the woods before you moved in with Mara. I heard Kal and Mr. Wasden talking about it today in the art room. I was in his gallery to talk about my grades and heard the whole thing.”

There were murmurs about Ireland’s living arrangement, but Tinsley’s shrill declarations drowned out what they might have been saying. “If Kal hadn’t told Mr. Wasden about you, you’d still be there drinking toilet water and having bugs burrow under your hair, and you just—”

Nathan from the basketball team picked Tinsley up and carried her away from the fire. She kicked and swore at him while Cooper held up his hands. “Nothing to see here, folks. Tinsley’s meltdown doesn’t concern you. As you were.”

Rowan’s eyes fixed on Mara, and he took two steps toward her. She scrambled back to get away, but Emily stepped between them. “Until we sort this out, why don’t we all go back to our corners. Don’t talk to my girl unless she initiates contact with you.” Emily shooed him away.

“Seriously. Tinsley’s trippin’. I never—” Rowan started but Cooper cut him off.

“I saw you, man. There at Redwood Park.”

Rowan floundered a moment, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t have to take this from people like you.” He stomped off, kicking up sand.

Ireland couldn’t mask her surprise. Both at Emily, of all people, keeping a cool, practical head and at the relief that Mara had a witness. Ireland hurried to Mara’s side, but she backed up from Ireland in the same way she did when Rowan had tried to talk to her. “You said you wouldn’t tell,” she whispered.

“I didn’t! I mean ... I didn’t mean to.” How could Ireland explain? How could she apologize? “It was an accident.”

“You made things worse, Ireland. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am. I am y—” but Mara and Emily were already moving away from Ireland and back up toward the parking lot.

Was Mara going to leave Ireland alone at the beach?

Mara pulled out her phone to call Kal to get her so she wasn’t stranded there, but then she remembered that Kal had been the one to go to Mr. Wasden, not just about Mara but about her , too. He had been the one to tell about her living in a bathroom. He was the reason she’d had to go live with Mara. He was the reason Mara now hated her. Ireland dropped the hand that was holding her phone to her side. She couldn’t call him. Never again. Kal had proven himself to be a false friend. A con man just like her father.

Her fingers began kneading at the space just under her collarbone. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt so tight, she was sure she was suffocating.

Fight or flight? She wanted to run. Run far. To never return to school. To never return to Mara’s house. Would Mara even let her walk through the door if she went back?

Fight or flight? She wanted to scream. To punch someone. To howl out loud.

But Mara had been right. The moon didn’t care. What good would howling do? Ireland stood there alone in the sand. Unable to flee. Unable to fight. Unable to breathe.

Kal’s betrayal cut a chasm deep into her soul. She was falling into that chasm. She might never stop falling.

Ireland jumped when she heard a voice next to her. “I can take you home.” Cooper was at her side. He had a girl with him, someone Ireland didn’t recognize. She looked like she wanted to ask questions about everything, but once she saw Ireland’s face, she changed her mind about saying anything.

Ireland nodded numbly and followed them up the trail to their car.

She didn’t know how it had all happened, but like she’d left words in the flowers of the mural, she felt like she was leaving a trail of words in her every footstep in the sand. Step . Sad. Step . Empty. Step . Wrecked, Step . Shattered. Step . Betrayed. Step . Confused, Step . Alone. Again.

Alone.

All because of Kal.