Love & Luck(64)

Ian’s face flushed as he studied my expression. “Addie, what? Is it Mom?”

I managed to hand him the phone, and his face tightened as he read the text. “Oh, no.”



I cried for a solid twenty-five minutes. The tears just wouldn’t stop coming. Rowan and Ian took turns giving me concerned looks, but I could barely register them.

Everyone knew. Everyone.

Worse, what if everyone had seen?

Ian and Rowan kept trying to ask me if I was okay, but I was inside a bubble, completely separate from them. Finally, Ian put his energy into texting one of his teammates.

“My coach found out, Addie,” he said nervously. He was looking at me like I was something brittle. Breakable. Did he not realize I was already shattered?

“How?” My voice didn’t sound like mine.

“I don’t know how. I didn’t tell him. Not even when he cornered Cubby and me about what the fight was about. But now he’s found out. And . . .”

“And what?” My throat felt stuffed full of cotton. I couldn’t even swallow.

Ian’s knee ricocheted off the seat. “And there’s talk that Cubby will be suspended from the team. Maybe more. It’s still just rumors, but I think that’s how this thing got out.”

This thing.

This thing that was me. And my heart, and my body, all on display for anyone to throw rocks at. How big was it going to get? How long until Mom found out? Dad? I huddled in the corner of Clover, so miserable that my tears dried up. Both Ian and Rowan tried consoling me, but it was no use. I could already hear the whispers in the hallways. Feel the glances of boys who’d seen more of me than I’d ever show them. Teachers would know. My coaches would know. I wanted to throw up. Especially when my phone started dinging with messages from my teammates, some concerned, some just curious. Did that really happen?

Finally, I silenced my phone and stuffed it under Rowan’s pile. What else could I do?



The closer we got to Stradbally, the tighter my body crunched into a ball. I knew we were just about there when traffic turned bumper-to-bumper and small white arrows directed us to a dirt road lit with fairy lights.

We filed slowly onto the fairgrounds in a long parade of cars, people yelling to one another and music pumping loudly from every car stereo. It reminded me of the high school parking lot every morning before the first bell rang. Home suddenly pressed in on me so tightly that I could barely breathe.

“We made it,” Rowan said, meeting my eyes. His enthusiasm was a solid 98 percent lower than it should have been. Even Ian looked docile, his body remarkably still.

Ian glanced back at me and then pointed to an open field blooming with makeshift shelters—tents, caravans, teepees—all crammed together like one giant circus. “Pretty cool, right?” he asked, his voice soft. “And think, Lina will be here soon. It will all be better then.”

Or worse, I silently added, my stomach twisting. Just a couple of hours ago I’d felt good about telling Lina, but hearing from everyone back home had changed that.

Names of the designated camping sites glinted in the dimming sunlight. They were all accompanied by cartoon drawings of famous people: Oscar Wilde, Janis Joplin, Andy Warhol, and Jimi Hendrix. A man with a bright red vest ushered us into our parking spot, and Ian sprang out, stretching his arms. “I can’t believe we’re finally here.”

“It does seem like it took us a lot longer than three days to get here,” Rowan added. That I had to agree with. The Rainbow’s End Hostel and Inch Beach felt like a lifetime ago.

I climbed out too and numbly followed the guys to the will call booth to pick up my ticket. Inside the gates, my first thought was chaos. The grounds were packed to the brim, people walking and riding and cruising around in some of the strangest outfits I’d ever seen. Lots of face paint and costumes ranging from leather capes to tutus. And music was everywhere, the separate melodies twisting together into a tight braid. Even the guys looked overwhelmed.

Finally, Ian turned to smile at us. “I say we do a big sweep, take it all in, and figure out where Titletrack is playing. Sound good?” He looked at me hopefully. What he was really saying was, Let’s distract Addie.

“Sounds great,” I said, attempting to match the glimmer of hope in his voice. I’d been through a lot to get here; the least I could do was try to enjoy it.

Even with the costumes and overcrowding, Electric Picnic started out fairly normal, with all the usual festival ingredients: stages, food stands, eight billion porta-potties, kids screaming on carnival rides, tarot card readers . . . but the longer we walked, the more I began to feel like I’d stepped into a carnival fun house.

The first truly strange sight we stumbled upon was the sunken bus. A bright red double-decker bus angled into the mud, its bottom half almost completely submerged in a ditch. Next was a human jukebox, an elevator-size structure housing an entire band taking requests. Then a trio of college-age guys ran by wearing muddy sumo wrestler costumes.

“Did that just happen?” Rowan asked, watching them in disbelief. The one in the back wore a glittery tutu fastened around his waist.

“Did that?” Ian asked as a man rode by on a bicycle made out of a piano.

“I feel like I just fell down a rabbit hole,” I said, wishing it were enough to distract me from the phone buzzing in my pocket.