Page 8 of The Art of Us

Kal shook his head. “I’m fine. Actually doing better. Thanks.” He really did feel like he was doing better, but that might have been the chill chair’s influence as well.

“If you say so, but Kal? I’m here, you know. I know I just sat here doing all the talking, but ifyouever need to talk or vent or even just sit in silence with someone else who won’t judge, you can. Anytime.”

“Right. Thanks, Wasden. I appreciate it.”

“You bet. Also, I heard you were playing at Geppetto’s. That’s cool, man. I’ll have to come in sometime and hear you. What instrument are you on?”

“Guitar and vocals. How ’bout you? You play?” Kal asked.

“Not unless you count Spotify.”

Kal laughed and reluctantly relinquished his time in the chill chair as he stood. “Nice. I say it counts.”

He then turned to leave at the same time Ireland was comingin for her class. “Hey!” He smiled wide as if letting her see all his teeth would prove to her that he was glad to see her. He would have rolled his eyes at himself but didn’t want her thinking he was rolling his eyes at her.

They weren’t exactly friends—not yet, anyway, but Ireland had a fragility to her that made him want to help her.

She looked from him to Mr. Wasden. “Hey.” Her wary tone made Mr. Wasden look in her direction. The guy was a perceptive person. Did he see how something was ... off with Ireland Raine? Did he see how she seemed to need someone?

If he did see it, he didn’t say anything.

So Kal waved. “Catch you later, Bre—Ireland.” He felt his face flush hot and hurried out. Had she noticed how he’d almost called her a different name? Maybe she hadn’t.

But he noticed.

And he hated that he kept comparing her to his friend from Arizona.

She’s not Brell.

She couldn’t be.

Brell was dead.

Chapter Three

Ireland

After classes, Ireland frowned at her reflection in the school bathroom mirror. She tried to stay clean and tidy, but without the luxury of an actual shower and the fact that her makeshift home was a filthy public restroom at the edge of the woods, she couldn’t ever actually be clean. She wished she went to a school where a shower room was adjacent to the gym’s locker room, but the locker room just had lockers. She knew because she’d once stayed late and toured the school, even the boys’ locker rooms. Her school simply didn’t have showers.

What kind of school made gym class mandatory but then didn’t give kids the chance to wash up after? Didn’t they know that teenage boys perpetually gave off nose-stinging fumes even without ever working up a sweat? Of course, with the number of creepers in the world, she could see why high school showers could be a bad idea.

A loud clang and bang at the door made Ireland startle and pull back from the mirror.

“Sorry. Didn’t know anyone was here.” Janice, the custodian, looked surprised to see anyone standing in the bathroom at this time. She angled her supply cart so that it wasn’t blocking Ireland’s exit.

Janice’s cheeks flushed red with the exertion, making Ireland believe the cart had to be pretty heavy since Janice wasn’t a lightweight. The woman might have been older, but no one would have accused her of having mom arms. She stopped torest for a moment and placed a trembling hand to where her graying hair had been pulled up into a sloppy bun.

“You need help?” Ireland asked, feeling a little concerned at how pale and yet red the custodian looked all at the same time.

“Oh no. I’m good. Just tired. Long week.” Janice panted between each of her short responses and offered a smile that looked as tired as she’d declared herself to be.

“You look like you don’t feel very good. Maybe call a sick day?” Ireland had never really spoken to Janice before. The custodian did a good job of being around all the time but also being invisible.

Like me, Ireland thought.

“No sick days left.” The custodian laughed as if that were funny somehow. She slumped against the wall like she was using it to hold herself up.

The woman was definitely not okay. “I don’t have anywhere to be. Tell me what to do, and I can help.”

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