Love & Luck(71)

—Excerpt from Ireland for the Heartbroken: An Unconventional Guide to the Emerald Isle, third edition





Epilogue




IAN PULLED SMOOTHLY INTO A parking spot, turning off the ignition but leaving the music on. It was Titletrack, of course. Ever since we’d gotten home we’d been playing it nonstop, the songs overlapping in the hallway between our bedrooms, sometimes competing, sometimes meshing together. It had made a hard week a lot more bearable.

There had been a lot of upset. I’d wanted everything out in the open, so as soon as everyone was reunited, I called for a family meeting, where I laid it all out. My brothers had to be forcibly held back from storming Cubby’s house, and my dad was silent and teary for a terrible ten minutes, but they’d all stood by me. And one glimmer of benefit: my news had paved the way for Ian’s. His quitting football was just a firework next to my atomic bomb.

I flipped down the visor to check out the dark rings under my eyes. Jet lag combined with nerves had made for a lot of sleepless nights. Last night I’d ended up calling Rowan and staying on the phone until two a.m. watching a terrible movie he’d found on YouTube about a Celtic warrior princess named Maeve, who slashed everyone who got in her way. I think he was trying to pump me up.

Ian lowered the volume. “So, Christmas, huh?”

My cheeks warmed. I swear he could read my thoughts sometimes. “What about it?”

“A certain Irishman told me there are only sixty-eight days until his Christmas break starts. We’re good friends and all, but that countdown has nothing to do with me. It’s about you.”

“Stop. Now.” Just like I’d thought, once the situation had been ironed out, my mom and Rowan had bonded almost instantaneously. And now he was coming to visit. Every time I thought about seeing him again, a small, careful butterfly fluttered its wings in the center of my chest.

We looked out the windshield, neither of us in a hurry to leave the car. Was it just me, or had the student body magically tripled? For a second my vision tilted. How many of them know about my photo?

Probably a lot of them.

“Maeve, you ready?” Ian finally asked, the sound of his drumming fingers breaking through my thoughts.

“Yes,” I said, sounding surer than I felt. Act in control.

“Don’t worry, Addie. I’m here for you,” he said, like he hadn’t heard me. “I’m going to walk you to all your classes. I already checked your schedule. My homeroom is in B hall and yours is in C, so meet me at the front office. And if anyone says anything to you, you tell them—”

“Ian, I’ve got this,” I said more forcefully. “We just survived a road trip across Ireland in a broken-down car. I think I can handle walking into high school.”

“Okay.” Ian went back to drumming, his eyes serious. “I know you’ve got this, but if there’s ever a moment when you don’t, you’ve got me. And it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. You’re Maeve.”

“I’m Maeve,” I repeated, allowing the nervousness in his voice to extinguish mine. Was it possible that he was more worried for me than I was worried for me? I leaned on that feeling.

Outside, we pulled on our backpacks. Mine was extra heavy, because along with my textbooks, it had rocks in it. Four of them to be exact. It had been a last-minute call, but I liked the way their weight pressed into my shoulders, grounding my feet into my sneakers, my sneakers into the ground. Plus, TSA had had a complete fit about my traveling with them. I might as well put them to use.

We started across the parking lot, Ian sweeping the crowd anxiously.

“Ian, relax.” I broke into a jog and fell into step beside him.

“I’m completely relaxed,” he protested, but a clump of hair found its way into his mouth. That habit, unfortunately, looked like it was here to stay. We reached the bank of doors, and he stopped, ignoring the crush of students as he rocked nervously onto his heels. “Ready, Maeve?”

It was a good question. Was I ready?

This summer had shown me that I was a lot of things. I was messy, impulsive, occasionally insecure, and sometimes I did things that I regretted—things I couldn’t undo. Like not listening to my brother. Or handing over my heart to someone who couldn’t be trusted with it. But despite all those things—no, alongside all those things—I was Maeve. Which meant that regardless of how ready I did or did not feel, I was going in anyway. This was my life, after all.

You’ll do it, buttercup. You really will.

“I’m ready,” I said firmly. I looked into Ian’s blue eyes, gathering one last shot of courage. Then we grabbed the door handles and pushed in. Together.





Acknowledgments


Nicole Ellul and Fiona Simpson. Did you all get that? NICOLE ELLUL AND FIONA SIMPSON. The timing of this book was just a hair shy of cataclysmic, and there were many, many moments when you threw me on your backs and carried me. Thank you for your graciousness, support, wisdom, and overall awesomeness. I consider you the Goddesses of Editing. (Would it be embarrassing if I had crowns made?)

Mara Anastas. Thank you for your patience, support, and enthusiasm. I dream of having Mara energy.

Simon Pulse. You are an exceptional group of people sending exceptional books out into the world, and it is a PRIVILEGE to publish with you. Thank you.