Page 27 of The Art of Us

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. Shedidtrust 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 anda 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’tbeen 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 underhis 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 Iamsorry, 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.”

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