Page 57 of The Art of Us

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’sparents, because his parents were truly “ten out of ten—totally recommend,” as Mara would say. Butherparents? 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. Theconversation 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.

---