Page 9 of The Art of Us

“I’m fine. Just this bathroom left.” Janice glanced around to see what needed cleaning.

Ireland pulled a spray bottle from the cart along with a fresh rag. “Okay. So what you’re saying is I’m not committing to anything hard. Great. Point and direct.”

Janice’s eyebrows came together as an incredulous smile crossed her features. “Why?”

It was a valid question. Ireland wasn’t exactly certain why she wanted to help. She shrugged. Janice accepted that as answer enough and began giving directions. Granted, she didn’t go into detail about anything. Each instruction seemed to be only three words: Spray the mirrors. Wipe the sinks. Sweep the stalls. Mop the floors. Janice didn’t give in to long, drawn-out conversations. Ireland was glad about that.

Ireland found she was grateful for the work. It took her mindoff her situation, and there was some sort of satisfaction in taking a messy space and making it new again.

“Should pay you,” Janice said.

“Actually ...” Ireland glanced at the spray bottle of all-purpose cleaner in her hand. “Would it be okay if I borrowed your cleaning supplies? Just until tomorrow morning. I swear I’ll bring it all back before school.” She added the last when Janice looked concerned about her supplies leaving her care.

“Why?” Janice asked.

“Honestly? I’m kinda on my own and don’t have a way to clean up my space. I could help you again to pay for what I use.” She didn’t know why she’d told Janice the truth. Even if it seemed unlikely that the less-than-talkative woman would tell anyone, Ireland had surprised herself by speaking up. But somehow she felt safe with Janice.

“Which ones?” Janice asked.

Ireland pointed to a few of the cleaning items, and Janice nodded. “You’ll have it all back tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

Ireland must have looked trustworthy because Janice agreed.

Ireland put the broom and mop together and then bundled the other items into a towel that she tied to the ends of the poles, which she put over her shoulder like she’d once seen in an old comic strip of a kid running away from home.

Janice chuckled at the effect. Maybe she’d seen the same comic strip.

They both thanked each other again and parted ways. Ireland pushed through the doors to the back parking lot, which was mostly empty since school had been out for a while.

But not nearly empty enough, Ireland decided, as she noticed the group of three girls gathered at a small gray FIAT 500x. The car belonged to Mara Washington. Ireland recognized the car because Mara’s was the only one with big eyelashes attachedto the headlights. Mara’s dad owned the bakery-café chain On the Rise. And her mom helped him run things. They had four restaurants in California and one in Oregon. Her dad had been given the Black Business Award for his entrepreneurial efforts. He also got the Best of State Award and deserved both. His bakery chain made some great food. Ireland knew because she’d pulled some remnants out of their dumpster a few weeks back. Mara complained about the family business all the time, but Ireland didn’t understand why. Mara’s family was definitely on the wealthier side of things, and her dad had probably bought her the car as a gift for simply existing.

Everything about Mara was a sign flashing, “Look at me. Look at me. I’m wealthy.” Her designer clothing fit her as if someone had sewn each outfit specifically for her. Her long black hair was done in multiple perfect braids that could only have been achieved in a salon, and her warm brown face glowed like she’d just come from having a facial.

At that moment, Mara’s friends, or the hag and the harpy as Ireland thought of them, were looking at Mara as if she were declaring some eternal truth. Red-headed Tinsley with the creamy complexion of the over-moisturized, and Emily with a blond ponytail and eyes so blue Ireland felt sure they were contacts. Ireland had some pretty intensely blue eyes, and she considered them her best feature, but even her eyes weren’t as intense as Emily’s. The three girls lounged against the car in a way that made it seem they owned the whole parking lot. Ireland felt like she was intruding somehow as she heard Tinsley say, “So? Spill the tea.”

Mara squealed. “It’s true! Rowan wants to date only me. He said he’d make it official at the clambake tonight!”

“You know what this means, right?” Emily asked. She didn’t give time for Mara to answer. “It means he’s off the marketforever ’cause no way is he going to ever break up with you after spending all this time with you.”

“Absolutely true, darling.” Mara struck a pose with her hand under her chin and batted her eyelashes in a way that made her look like her car for a moment.

Tinsley twisted her red hair up off her neck. She giggled along with the other two, but she actually looked like she’d eaten something that tasted like day-old broccoli left sitting on the counter. Rumor had it that Tinsley had been in love with Rowan since the second grade. It had to be killing her that she had to look happy about her friend having him.

“Do you think it’s weird he hasn’t asked me to the Heartbeat formal yet?”

“Oh, you know Rowan,” Tinsley said. “That guy is last minute on everything. Do you have a dress already?”

“But of course. What kind of amateur do you take me for? It’s perfect.” Mara fluttered her eyelashes, again looking like the human version of her car.

Ireland hated to admit it, but she thought the eyelashes on Mara’s car headlights were kind of adorable, and they made her feel like the car was smiling at her every time she passed it in the parking lot.

Unfortunately, none of the girls standing next to the cheery vehicle were smiling as they finally noticed her approaching. No one asked anything more about Mara’s dress for the Valentine’s dance. They were now all staring at Ireland. Mara’s expression was one of open curiosity as she took in the poles of the broom and mop over Ireland’s shoulder and the little bundle of cleaning supplies swinging behind her. Emily curled her lip as if she was now the one smelling the day-old broccoli—maybe that was just the natural expression of her face and Ireland had never noticed before. Tinsley’s look was one of pure annoyance, as if Ireland had purposely interrupted them and was actively eavesdropping—which she was, but it wasn’t as if she could help it. They were talking so loudly that Ireland wondered if they wanted to be overheard.

Ireland tried to smile in their direction as she walked by, but Tinsley made a noise that seemed like an outright rejection of Ireland’s smile. “No offense, but did you just get out of hobo class?” She turned to her friends. “I didn’t know they taught hobo class here.”

“They don’t,” Ireland said.No offensealways meant that someone was about to insult you and they just expected you to suck it up.

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