Page 53 of The Art of Us

Ireland had gone fromwhat to dotowhat to say. Her head spun with the nightmare Mara had lived through. If she hadn’t fought him off ... Trauma. Jarrod had called the messages from the lipstick writer trauma. He hadn’t known he was talking about his own daughter. He hadn’t known how right he was. “Where were you?”

“Redwood Park. I left a perfectly good clambake for that.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

Mara’s typical look of shrewery briefly returned to her face as she rolled her head and eyed Ireland like she was stupid. “Who would believe me? You know who his family is.”

Ireland did know. Rowan’s dad had made a lot of money in the stock market. He’d bought some land and built a house of obscene proportions and then thrown his money around everywhere so people remembered how important he was. Ireland’s dad had complained that the guy owned practically everything. He’d complained that Rowan’s dad was as obscene as the house he’d built.

“I think people would believe you.Ibelieve you.”

“Maybe they would, but they wouldn’t want to. Rowan is the school’s ticket to the track team’s fame. He’s faster than anyone else.” It was weird to hear Mara compliment Rowan after what she’d just revealed to Ireland. “If I told, even if anyone believed me, it would be a fight. I don’t need that kind of attention. Myfamily doesn’t need that kind of attention. My dad’s business doesn’t need that kind of attention. So it’s not gonna happen.”

“You could tell your mom and dad. They would believe you.”

Mara sniffed and nodded. “They would. They really would. But I shouldn’t have even been there. I shouldn’t have let it go so far. It’s partly my fau—”

“Oh no you don’t. You do not get to victim shame yourself.” Ireland thought about kissing Kal and considered how she knew he never would take anything further than she wanted. Poor Mara. What she had to be going through all on her own.

“So why tell me?” Ireland asked softly.

Mara’s gaze turned back to the fire. “I don’t know.”

Ireland thought about the messages on the wall. Mara didn’t know that Ireland was already her friend, and yet she still trusted her on this side of the paint with her secret.

Ireland stood up and sat on the couch next to Mara. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?” Ireland held out her arms. She didn’t have a lot of experience giving hugs, but she figured if anyone ever needed one, Mara did. Mara hesitated a moment before she reached out and let Ireland embrace her. And then she cried in earnest. Ireland thought about what Mara’s dad had said regarding how she should handle the situation with the mystery lipstick writer. He had told her to listen. To make sure they knew they were not alone.

She could do that.

She could do that for Mara.

They didn’t stay like that for very long because Mara pulled away while mopping at her eyes with her sweatshirt sleeve. “Thanks, Ireland. Sorry to dump all of this on you, but it’s been tough to keep to myself. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Ireland hesitated. She wanted to tell. She wanted to go pound on Jarrod and Grace’s bedroom door and tell everything. They would know how to help their daughter.

“Promise me, Ireland.”

Ireland nodded. “I promise.”

Mara and Ireland both went to bed after that, but Ireland didn’t really sleep, maybe a few mangled minutes at a time here and there. Mara apparently hadn’t slept either. Not that Ireland asked her. She could tell from the bloodshot eyes. Mara was quiet, but not the quiet that came from boycotting conversation with Ireland. It was the quiet of someone who was sifting through the thoughts in her head. Like Mara’s dad sifted the flour to make it lighter and easier to mix with the other ingredients, Mara was sifting thoughts to make herself lighter so she could make something out of the ingredients of her life.

Ireland didn’t interrupt the sifting process. Her job in this was to listen, not to talk. She didn’t know what else to do. The thing was that Mara had stopped talking. There was no new message on the mural, and throughout the whole day, Mara never said anything of any significance. But by the next morning, after enduring another drive to school with nothing but the music from the Eras Tour between them, Ireland had an idea.

Chapter Eighteen

Kal

Kal met Ireland at Mr. Wasden’s classroom to do mural duty. This was the last day of the mural being open to the student body. After that, the art club would fill in the gaps and make it cohesive. Then the principal would decide if it stayed as a permanent part of the school wall or if it would only be up for the promised month and then painted over.

Ireland greeted him with an anxious hello and a quick peck on the lips before she started gathering everything from the back supply room. “Are we in a hurry for some reason?” Kal asked.

“Yes,” she said without elaborating. She put the tote of acrylics and pitcher of clean water in his hands.

“Why?” he asked.

She hefted the other tote with the cans, brushes, smocks, and plates, and then she rushed back out to the mural. “Because I finally know what to say!” she called back.

He couldn’t keep up with her without spilling the water pitcher, but he went as fast as he could and felt pretty good about the fact that he’d only splashed a small puddle at the very end by the table. He tried to point out his heroic efforts to Ireland, but she was already pulling the acrylic tubes from his tub and squirting dabs of color onto a paper plate. She yanked a few brushes from her tub and said, “Would you be willing to set this all up while I get started?”

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