Page 28 of The Art of Us

How? How did he know?Nobodyknew where she was at. The only person who had any indication that anything was amiss inher life was ...Janice. The custodian. Irelandhadtold 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, inthatcase ...” 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 youaren’tunhoused. 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.Andyou’re kind of wrong. The thing is that you’re still in school. And while you are technicallygoingto 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 downagain. “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 friendslook 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 staywith 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.”

---