CLOVER’S ENGINE WAS COOL AS a mint julep, her tailpipe reattached with something a bit more trustworthy than a hanger. We’d sprinted for the mechanic shop, pooled our money to pay for the repairs, then torn out of Cobh like mobsters on a bootleg run. We’d been in such a rush that I’d even skipped the I told you it was the radiator gloat speech I’d mentally prepared for Connor.
After Walt run-in number two, it was becoming increasingly clear that Mom finding out was much less a question of if, but when. I held tight to my final sliver of hope. Maybe he wouldn’t tell. But Walt had been on the verge of spontaneous combustion—anyone could see that. Every time a vehicle pulled onto the road behind us, I spun around, expecting to see Aunt Mel’s tour bus bearing down on us, my infuriated mom in the driver’s seat.
“Do you think Mom knows by now?” I asked, watching the trees whoosh by. “What about now?”
“Addie,” Ian groaned, but a smile hovered just under the tension in his voice. Sometimes, joking was the only way to make it through. Particularly when you were about to get caught for sneaking away on a European road trip and in the process lose the thing you cared about the most. I glanced up at Ian’s tangled hair. Well, maybe soccer didn’t matter the most. But the fact remained, we’d begun the trip with the express hope that our parents would never find out, and now we were hoping to make it just a few more hours so we could go to the concert.
My, how the mighty had fallen.
It helped that Lina and Titletrack were already pinpoints of light on the road ahead. My stomach twisted in anticipation.
“I still say Walter isn’t going to tell on you,” Rowan offered. He was driving a solid twenty kilometers over the speed limit, cutting straight through turns, but now that we were on day three I didn’t even bat an eye. He was actually a very alert driver, and the safe feelings I had around him transferred to being in his car. Ian, on the other hand, was channeling his inner Kermit the Frog, his face a dusky green.
I gestured to Ian. “Better ease up. This one isn’t looking good.”
“I’m fine,” Ian insisted, but then in a rare moment of honesty he backtracked. “Nope, you’re right. Not fine.” He glanced over at Rowan. “I still don’t get what this guidebook stop has to do with Titletrack.”
Rowan beamed. “You’ll see.” Whatever the connection, he was very proud of himself over it. Sunlight kept blasting on and off and through our windows, and every time it hit his face, a constellation of freckles lit up on the bridge of his nose. It was oddly mesmerizing.
Finding the fairy ring was not a terribly straightforward process. Instead of regular directions, Guidebook Lady’s map used landmarks like “rock that looks like David Bowie in 1998” and “barn the color of sin” to guide us. We had to circle around the road a few times and google David Bowie just to get within striking distance.
Finally, we pulled over, crossing the road to a clump of trees that looked incredibly unpromising. By this point, Ian was a bundle of nerves. Pukey nerves. Hopefully, all the U-turns would be worth it.
“What is a fairy ring anyway?” Ian asked, stepping off the road and into the mud.
“Fairy rings are actually ring forts,” Rowan said. “They’re the remains of medieval farms. People used to dig moats and then use the earth to make circular barriers. Their remains are all over Ireland. But for a long time people didn’t know what they were, so they came up with magical explanations.”
I didn’t need any more convincing. “Let’s go.” I marched for the forest like I knew what I was doing. I hesitated for a moment before plunging into the mud. It had the consistency of extra-sloppy peanut butter. My Converse were not going to survive this trip. Ian groaned, sludging his way forward.
Rowan slogged up next to me. “You know what we’re looking for, right? It’s a raised circular wall, either made of stone or—”
“Like that?” I pointed to a rounded bank draped with patches of grass and moss, and we all hurried over.
But finding the fairy ring and getting into the fairy ring were two very different situations. The bank was about five feet tall and reminded me of a vertical Slip ’N Slide.
“How should we . . . ?” Rowan started, but Ian charged up behind us, summiting the ledge in four big steps. “I guess like that.”
“Whoa. What is this place?” Ian shouted once he’d made it over the bank.
“Ian, no yelling!” I said, breaking my own rule. “You’ll make the fairies mad.”
“You think I’m scared of fairies when Mom is out there?” He hesitated, his voice settling reverently. “Seriously, though. What is this place?”
Rowan and I exchanged a look, then hauled ourselves up as quickly as possible. But as usual, Ian had made it look easier than it actually was. I fell backward twice, both times losing my balance and tumbling into the mud.
“Need a little help, Maeve?” I glanced up to see Rowan biting his cheeks.
“Are you laughing?” I demanded.
“No way. I’m much too scared of you for that. I was just standing here wondering if I’ve ever seen anyone fail so badly at climbing a five-foot hill.”
“It’s my shoes. I’m supposed to be riding around Italy on a scooter, not hiking through mud.” I attacked the hill again, this time allowing Rowan to help haul me up.
Once I had my balance I leaned in close. “Okay, tell me the truth: Is this really a Titletrack site, or were you just trying ease Ian’s devastation?”
“It really is.” Rowan was one of those rare people who was even cuter up close. His gray eyes were flecked with blue, and a constellation of freckles danced across his nose, lit up by the sun.
“Guys! Look at this.”
I tore my gaze from Rowan, instantly forgetting about the freckles. All around us, tall, beautiful trees echoed the circle, their branches reaching over to form a protective umbrella over the ring. But it was the light that got me. Sunlight had to filter through so many layers of leaves that by the time it reached the ring, it cast a warm, lucky glow.
If fairies lived anywhere, it had to be here.
Without breaking the silence, Rowan and I slipped carefully down the bank and into the ring. At ground level, everything was a notch or two quieter, the wind moving silkily through the grass. Small, shiny trinkets covered a gray stump in the circle’s center: three gold thimbles, a silver lighter, two pearl-inlaid bobby pins, and a lot of coins.
“Wow,” Rowan whispered quietly. He reached into his pocket, coming up with a handful of coins and a foil-wrapped stick of gum.
Real-life fairies act less as dream granters and more as dream guiders—helping you to figure out what it is your heart truly wants and then nudging you all along the way toward it. So listen closely, pet. You may hear something that surprises you.
I shuffled through my pocket, emerging with a handful of coins left over from paying for our spilled eggs at the coffee shop. I handed one to Ian. “We have to make wishes, and then place these on the stump as an offering.”
“Just like Jared did,” Rowan said triumphantly.
Ian’s eyes grew wide, and not because Rowan’s voice was over the fairy-approved decibels. “Jared came here?”
Rowan nodded, finally letting his smile break loose. “This morning I was reading more about Titletrack’s early days, and I came across this old interview where Jared told a story about stopping at a fairy ring near Cobh. He was actually on his way to Kinsale, which is farther south, but he happened to stop at Au Bohair for lunch, and he met Miriam.”
I bounced happily on my feet. “He stopped to make a wish, and the rest is history. You really think this is the fairy ring he stopped at?”
Rowan shrugged. “I can’t really know, but he said it was close to Cobh, and this is pretty much the only main road from Dublin. And here’s the part I really liked about the story. Instead of wishing to become a famous musician, he said he asked the fairies for ‘the next thing he needed.’ A few hours later he met Miriam, and then the rest was history.”
“Rowan, this is perfect!” Ian yelled, disregarding the fairies’ delicate ears. He pointed to the stump. “This is the real beginning of Titletrack. Right here.”
Rowan splayed his arms out proudly. “Didn’t I say I’d deliver?”
I squeezed his arm. “Nice work, Rowan.”
“All right, then, time for wishes,” Ian announced. “If it worked for Jared, it’ll work for us. Rowan, you found this place, so you go first.”
Rowan strode over to the stump and carefully placed his gum next to a bobby pin. As he set it down, something about his posture changed. Opened up. There was a long, quiet pause, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and clear. “I wish my mom and dad would let go of each other.”
I suddenly felt like a trespasser, stumbling upon a private moment. Ian and I exchanged a quick glance. Did Rowan need a moment alone? I began edging backward, but Rowan’s voice held me in place.
“My entire life they’ve always fought.” He turned back toward us, his face even. “Bad fights. Even in public. Once we were out to dinner and their fighting got so bad that someone called the guards.” He shuddered lightly. “I was so relieved on New Year’s when they told me they were getting a divorce, because I thought, Finally. It’s over.
“But it isn’t over. They don’t live in the same house anymore, but in some ways they’re just as connected to each other by anger as they were by marriage. And now I’m always in the middle—I can’t get away from it.” He gestured toward the car. “They want me to choose who to live with for the school year. That’s why all my stuff is packed into Clover. I still don’t know which one. Both places sound miserable.”
My heart thickened. “Rowan . . . ,” I started, but I didn’t know where to go from there. Sunlight spilled over him, highlighting all the layers of his sadness. I’d never thought of connection that way—that hatred could be just as binding as love. My chest ached for him.
“I’m so sorry,” Ian said. “I didn’t know you were going through all this. I would have tried to help.”
“You did help; you just didn’t know it.” Rowan dug the toe of his sneaker into the ground. “I needed someone who knew me outside of my family context. And I’m sorry I kept harping on you guys about your arguing—it just kept triggering me. I know your mom can be hard on you, but you look out for each other, and I can tell your family is the real deal.” He looked up, his eyes open and vulnerable. “I just wish I had what you have.”
My feet carried me to him, my arm slipping around his back. “Rowan, you do have us. We’re here with you, and we’ll be here as long as you need us.”
Ian flanked his other side, the three of us looking down at the stump. I carefully set a coin down. “My wish is for Rowan,” I said, measuring my words. “I wish that Rowan will be happy, and that he’ll know he’s not alone.”
“Me too,” Ian said, setting his coin next to mine. “My wish is for Rowan.”
Rowan didn’t thank us. He didn’t have to. Over the past three ridiculous days, Rowan had been carrying us, holding steady through our fights and bitter remarks. This was about thanking him.
Finally, Rowan broke the silence. “I think that helped. Anyone feel like going to Electric Picnic?”
“I guess,” I said nonchalantly, and Ian grinned. “I don’t really have any other plans.”
We were exiting the muddy bank when my phone chimed. Ian stiffened. “Oh, no. Did Walt spill?”
I lifted the screen to my face. It was Olive.
ADDIE, ARE YOU OK? NOW EVERYONE IS
TALKING ABOUT CUBBY AND A PHOTO OF YOU.
No. I froze, willing the letters to rearrange, willing the message to mean something other than what it meant. My breath turned shallow, my hands clammy.
Olive’s “everyone” was bigger than most people’s. She was one of those rare people who managed to fit in with every social group on the high school spectrum, as comfortable with the other soccer players as she was the debate team. If she said everyone, she meant everyone.
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.
The smell of cinnamon wafted over toward us, and Rowan sniffed the air. “I’m starving. Whatever that is, I want it. Anyone else hungry?”
“Me,” I said, surprising myself. Normally, when I was this upset, I had no appetite, but carnival food did sound good. Plus, my mom claimed that most of life’s struggles could be cured with butter and sugar. I was willing to give it a try.
“You guys go ahead and eat,” Ian offered, pulling his notebook out of his backpack. “I’m going to try to find the stage Titletrack will be performing on. See if I can get some pictures.”
“Want me to get you something?” I asked.
“Nah. Meet you back here,” Ian hollered, taking off, he and his man bun blending in with the herd of music lovers.
Rowan and I wandered the food trucks, finally settling on a waffle truck that put my waffle attempts to shame. I ordered the Chocolate Cloud—a Belgian waffle drizzled with a mixture of white and dark chocolate—and Rowan ordered the Flying Pig, a combination involving bacon, caramel, and fluffy crème fraîche.
Our order took a long time, and when it was finally ready, we posted up at a mostly empty picnic table and ate slowly, in a silence that I was grateful for. Most people would probably try to talk me out of how bad I was feeling, but not Rowan; he just sat next to me, occasionally offering me bites of bacon. By the time our plates were scraped clean, the day was starting to look worn-out, the edges of the sky taking on a gold hue.
I drummed my fingers on the table. “Where is he?”
“Ian?” Rowan asked, licking some crème off his fingers.
“It’s been a while. I thought he’d be back by now.” I squinted into the crowd. The direction he’d gone in was dark and fairly empty, clearly not where Titletrack’s stage would be.
“Probably lost track of time,” Rowan said, leaning in. “I don’t know if you know this about your brother, but he gets pretty excited about things he’s passionate about.”
A snort escaped my nose. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
His dimple appeared. “There it is, Maeve.”
“There what is?” I assumed he was pointing out another weird costume, but when I looked up he was studying me.
“Your laugh.” He glanced down, fiddling with his napkin. “Hey, Addie, I know what it’s like to have the world fall down around you. . . .”
He trailed off, and I clutched my fork, hoping he was about to say something like, Your friends will suffer from collective amnesia and no one will even remember the photo, or I’m actually a time traveler come to save you from your past, but instead what he said was, “Today is a bad day, but it won’t always be this bad. I promise.”
I nodded, my eyes fogging up. I knew he was right, of course. Bad things knocked people off their feet all the time, and they got back up and kept moving. But right now I had a mountain in front of me, plus a whole pocketful of texts, and I had no idea how I’d reach the summit.
I shifted at the table, my eyes seconds away from giving the Irish rain a run for its money, but just then Rowan reached over, his hand as warm and comforting as it had been back at Inch Beach. “And what you said back at the fairy ring? About you and Ian standing next to me? That’s true for you, too. I know I can’t fix this, but I am here for you.”
His eyes were earnest behind his glasses, and a pinpoint of calm suddenly dropped into my center, slowly rippling outward. Life could be so unexpected—I was supposed to be eating spaghetti in Italy, yet here I was, finishing up a waffle in the cold drizzle of Ireland, with a new friend I knew I could rely on. “Thanks, Rowan. That means a lot.”
Rowan broke eye contact, his hand leaving mine as he looked over my shoulder. “Ian’s back.”
I stood up quickly, but before I could turn around, a hurricane of curly hair hit me so hard, I almost fell over.
“Lina!” I yelled, and in response she hugged me to the point of asphyxiation, my face planted in her lemon-scented curls. “Lina. I can’t breathe,” I managed.
“Oops. Sorry.” She stumbled backward, and I laughed for no reason other than I was so relieved to see her, I almost couldn’t stand it.
“Lina, you look amazing!” I said. She really did. Italy looked good on her. Her skin was a dark olive color, and instead of her trying to tame her hair the way she always had, it fell loose around her face in bouncing, voluminous curls. Maybe it was the wild familiarity of her hair that got me, but suddenly I was blinking back tears. Please don’t let me start crying within the first few seconds of seeing her.
“I can’t believe I’m here. What is this place? Back at the entrance there were two guys running around inside a big rolling plastic ball.” Lina stepped back, catching sight of Rowan. “Are you Rowan?”
“That’s me,” Rowan said, shaking her hand. I waited for him to do the Lina stare. All guys did it—between her hair and her big eyes, she was a lot to take in—but he just smiled politely and then glanced over at me. “I can see you why you two are friends. You’re both really good at making an entrance.”
She grinned and put her arm around me. “We do our best.”
Ian suddenly appeared, deep in conversation with a guy roughly Lina’s height, a mess of dark, curly hair crowning his face. “Ian found us near the fairy woods,” Lina explained.
“Ren?” I asked the curly-haired stranger. His nose was exceptionally Italian, and when he smiled, a small gap between his front teeth instantly put me at ease.
Ren yanked me in for a hug. “So nice to meet you. I’ve heard things.”
I knew what he meant, but I still stiffened slightly. Not those things, I instructed myself. He didn’t mean the text messages, or Cubby. But it was too late; panic crept through my center, and suddenly my head spun. Telling Lina had been hypothetical for so long, and now the moment was here.
Of course, Lina zeroed in on my uneasiness. “Addie? Are you okay?”
I’d better just tell her now. Get it over with. I swallowed nervously. “Lina, can we talk in priv—”
“I just found a Titletrack museum in the woods,” Ian interrupted, sidling up next to me. “I don’t know who made it, but you guys have to see it.” And before I could protest, he was suddenly dragging Lina and me in the direction he’d come from, Rowan and Ren trailing right behind.
I tried to dig my heels in, but his momentum was too much. “Ian, stop. I need to talk to Lina. I need to tell her about . . . ,” I trailed off, hoping he’d take the hint.
Instead he sped up, taking us to a jog. “Sorry, but this really can’t wait. The concert starts in less than an hour.”
Lina’s curls were bouncing in time with our pace, and she wrenched her neck back to look at the guys. “Everyone keeping up?”
“Ma certo,” Ren answered affirmatively.
And that’s when I realized that it wasn’t just Ian pulling me along—it was Lina, too. She was just as intent on getting to the museum as Ian was.
“What is going on?” I demanded. “Why are we all running?”
“Just trust us,” Lina said, squeezing my arm, and then all four of them looked at me with big Cheshire-cat smiles.
This was officially getting weird.
Ian finally stopped in a clearing underneath a canopy of decorated trees. Old CDs hung by strips of ribbon, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and fairy lights snaked around tree trunks and branches. A collection of candles sat flickering on an old tree stump that reminded me of the one in the fairy ring.
“What is this?” I asked, stopping in my tracks.
“Sorry, Addie. I know you were really looking forward to a Titletrack museum, but that’s not what this is.” Ian grinned at me, then turned to Lina. “Did you bring the ceremonial garb?”
“Of course.” She unhooked her arm from mine and then dropped her overstuffed backpack to the ground, pulling out four long white pieces of fabric and tossing them to everyone.
I stared as everyone began twisting the fabric into haphazard togas. “Are those sheets? What’s going on?”
Ian knotted his over his shoulder. “We’re putting on our ceremonial garb.”
“What ceremony?”
“And this is for you.” Lina pulled a long, plum-colored shawl from the bottom of her bag and draped it carefully around me, pulling my ponytail out from under it.
I grabbed the bottom edge and held it up to the light. Intricate mandalas swirled through the pattern. “Where have I seen this before?”
“It was my mom’s. She wore it to all of her gallery nights; she said it made her feel royal.”
My heart quickened. “Lina, this is special. You really want me to wear this?”
“No, I want you to keep it.” She straightened the shawl so it sat evenly on my shoulders, and I bit the inside of my cheek, holding back my protest. Every bit of me wanted to refuse the gift, but I couldn’t; it was too meaningful. “Thank you,” I said, my voice wobbly.
“You’re welcome. Now let’s go. Attendant?” Lina gestured for Rowan, who quickly moved to my side, escorting me to the twinkling tree stump.
“Rowan, will you tell me what’s going on?” I whispered. “Did you know about this?”
His dimple lit up in the twinkling lights. “Sorry, Maeve, but I was sworn to secrecy. What I can tell you is that this is not a Titletrack museum.”
Ian gestured to the stump. “Everyone, grab a candle so Addie can stand up there.” His hair looked extra tangly, the hood of his sweatshirt poking out over the top of his toga.
I shook my head quickly. “Oh, no. We are not re-creating Au Bohair.” The stump was completely entrenched in lights, and even though we were on the edge of the grounds, plenty of festivalgoers still milled around us, a few already stopping to watch.
“Relax. You don’t have to say anything. We’ll be the ones doing the talking. So climb up,” Ian said firmly.
“Why?”
He exhaled loudly. “Can you please not fight me for once? Please?”
It was the extra “please” that got me. I climbed up and then turned to face my friends. They’d formed a half circle around me, their candles casting strange shadows on their faces. It looked like I was about to be initiated into a cult. Or sacrificed. “What is going on?”
They shared a conspiratorial grin. Then Ian nodded at Ren. “Okay, master of ceremonies. Start us out.”
Ren cleared his throat and then let loose, his voice booming through the trees. “Ladies and gentlemen. Stradballas and stradballees. We have before us a fair maiden—”
“Ren, don’t improvise,” Lina interrupted. “Just go with the script. What we talked about.”
“Nessun problema.” He cleared his throat again. “On this fine summer day, there was a group of people who loved someone and wanted her to know they had her back. And so they held the first ceremony of Queen Maeve. Here at Stradbally, in full view of many.”
“In full view of many” was right. The crowd was growing by the second, no doubt hoping for a show. Ren gestured theatrically, raising his voice to the tops of the trees. “And so, like Queen Maeve of old, we have put her in a high place and will honor her by building her up, one rock at a time.”
Suddenly, I noticed a pile of fist-size rocks at their feet, and I realized what this was about. They were re-creating Queen Maeve’s growing tomb—the one Rowan had told me about back when he first dubbed me Maeve. “Wait a minute. Whose idea was this?” I asked.
“Ian’s,” Lina said.
Ian shook his head. “We all get some credit. Rowan gave you the nickname, I came up with the ceremony, Lina brought all the supplies, and Ren is master of ceremonies.”
“Ian called me right before we left for the airport,” Lina filled in. “I only had fifteen minutes to prepare.”
“My mom helped,” Ren added. “She has a surprising number of fairy lights at her disposal.”
“This is . . .” I bit my lower lip, not sure what to say. My eyes were already burning with tears. “So what do I do?” I managed.
“Just stand there.” Ren turned to Lina. “You’re up, principessa.”
Lina picked up the rock closest to her, stumbling on her toga as she stepped forward.
“A good friend is like a four-leaf clover. Hard to find, lucky to have.” She paused, weighing the rock in her hand. “I didn’t make that up. I saw it on a T-shirt at the airport.” She turned slightly, addressing the group. “For those of you who don’t know, my mom died last year. Her illness was very sudden, and it took her much too fast.” Her voice trembled, but she looked up, locking her eyes on mine and lowering her voice a bit. “Remember right at the end, when my mom couldn’t breathe on her own anymore and they knew it was only going to be a few hours?”
I nodded. The memory was etched into my mind. I would never forget answering that phone call. Lina had been crying so hard that I couldn’t understand her. All I knew was that I had to get to the hospital. Fast. The old familiar clamp moved over my throat.
Lina exhaled, making the flame on her candle jump. “It was four in the morning, and even though I’d known this was coming, I suddenly felt like it was all brand-new. Like the diagnosis and treatments and everything had just been some elaborate joke. My grandma was there—she was crying so hard, and my mom was hooked up to all these monitors. It was the first moment that I truly understood that I was going to lose her.” Tears were running down her face, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Ren slipped his hand onto her back. “But do you know what I remember most about that night?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“You. Less than ten minutes after I called you, you came running down the hallway to her room. All the nurses were yelling at you to stop, but you didn’t care—you just came running straight up to me. And you’d left your house so fast, you hadn’t even put on your shoes.” She paused, her eyes glittering. “That’s what I’ll always remember. You running barefoot down the hall, the nurses yelling as they chased after you. That’s who you really are, and I’ll never forget that when I needed you the most, you literally didn’t wait a single second. You just showed up.” She stepped forward, placing the rock at the base of the stump. “All hail Queen Maeve. My best and fastest friend.”
We were both crying, tears washing down our cheeks. I’d never considered that that terrible night could hold something other than just pain. Something that Lina would carry with her as a comfort.
“Me next.” Ren picked up a rock and stepped forward, squeezing Lina’s shoulder. “Has everyone tried Starbursts?”
The abrupt shift in subject made me laugh. There was some general nodding, most of it from outside our circle, and I kept my eyes on Ren, trying not to notice that the crowd was now three people deep. Lina had once confided in me that Ren had the kind of looks that grew on you—the longer you knew him, the cuter he got. I suddenly saw exactly what she meant.
He continued. “Well, I love Starbursts. Whenever I’m in the States, I eat them nonstop. And you know how there’s a social order to them? Like you dump out a bag and you eat all the pinks first, then the reds and oranges, leaving the yellows for when you’re really desperate?”
Where was he going with this? I glanced at Lina, but she just smiled.
“Anyway, the point is, Addie, you’re a pink. Everyone knows you’re a pink. Actually, scratch that. You’re next-level. You’re that limited-edition kind that had all pinks. And I know that because when Lina needed you, you were there.” He set his rock down. “All hail Queen Maeve. The pinkest of pink Starbursts.”
“Thanks, Ren,” I whispered. My body didn’t seem to know how to handle what was happening. Laugh? Cry? Enjoy? I was going to go with enjoy.
Next, Rowan stepped forward, his rock resting by his side. The stump made us almost eye-level, but he didn’t meet my gaze, and his nervousness wafted onto me. My heart began pounding even harder.
He exhaled. “Okay. Pink Starburst is always tough to follow, but here goes.” He rocked anxiously on his feet, a move that looked Ian-inspired. “Three days ago, I was sitting in my broken-down, crappy car when I saw this girl tackle her brother in a parking lot. I thought she was surprising. And different. So I talked her brother into letting her come with us, which ended up completely ruining her plans.” He looked up guiltily, shuffling his feet.
“But then the next three days were incredible, because I found out she was more than just feisty. She was smart. And loyal. And completely incapable of dressing weather-appropriate. And we talked about things I’d never talked about with anyone. And even when our car flooded, and we got chased by guard dogs . . . I just kept thinking, I wish this week would never end.”
He lifted his chin, looking me straight in the eye. “And I wanted to tell you that you don’t need that guy back home. You don’t need anyone, unless you want them. You’re enough all on your own. You’re more than enough. You’re Maeve.”
A warm, peaceful feeling settled on my shoulders, light as a second shawl. This was the thing that I’d lost track of this summer. That being chosen—or not chosen—was not the thing that made me valuable. I was valuable regardless. I was enough, all on my own. I wanted to climb down and rest my head on his shoulder, but instead I just ducked my head. “Thank you, Rowan,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome. All hail Queen Maeve.” He bent to lower the rock, softening his voice so only I could hear. “I wish I didn’t have to say good-bye to you tomorrow.”
“Me neither,” I whispered back.
Lina met my eye gleefully over the top of Rowan’s head, unable to contain her smile. I smiled back.
Rowan returned to his place, and Ian stepped forward, holding up his candle to his open notebook, a string of words marching across the page. He’d prepared something. I straightened up.
“You know that question Mr. Hummel likes to ask at the beginning of the semester? ‘If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ ”
I nodded. It was one of those problems designed to make your brain run in circles.
His candle bobbed. “Well, the first time I heard that question it made me think of you. Because my whole life it’s felt like unless you were there—helping me blow out my birthday candles, cheering me on in the stands, out on our field trips—whatever I did didn’t actually matter. That it didn’t count. You’re the only person who knows my whole life—who’s been there with me through everything. Which makes you my life’s witness.” He lowered his notebook to his side. “So what’s the answer? If a tree falls in a forest and your little sister isn’t there to hear it, did it make a sound? I’m not really sure. I’m just glad we’re in the same forest.” He set his rock down, then stepped back with the others. “All hail Queen Maeve, my best and oldest friend.”
Tears puddled under my chin, and I stood looking at Ian, his eyes forming a shiny mirror, reflecting all the things he saw in me. Then one more voice chimed in, this one in my mind. What about you, buttercup? What do you see in yourself ?
I looked hard. I saw a lot of things: bravery, compassion, perseverance, insecurity, even fear. But rising out of all of it, I saw Maeve. Her hair shone, and she held a shield, her throne solid behind her. And suddenly it was me on the throne—my robe thick and soft around me.
The upcoming year was going to be hard, no doubt about it. And maybe even the year after it. But I was strong enough. And brave enough. I was Maeve, and I was going to make it.
I jumped off the stump and let my friends encircle me in a warm, tight cocoon.
Everyone who wasn’t already on the lawn in front of Titletrack’s stage was headed there, streaming from every possible crevice. It wasn’t just our main event—it was everyone’s main event.
A muffled, faraway noise sounded over a loudspeaker, instigating a dull roar from the crowd and making us all quicken our pace. Ian bounded ahead, his toga trailing in the mud. None of us had bothered to change out of our ceremonial garb; there wasn’t time. It actually made us fit in more with the rest of the festivalgoers.
“I’m going to find us a spot.” Ian disappeared into the crowd.
“I hope we can find him when we get there.” I held tightly to Rowan’s hand, partially to keep us from getting separated and partially because once the group hug had ended, it had just happened. I couldn’t get over the way our hands fit together. Like they’d been sitting on opposite ends of the globe just waiting for the chance to meet.
The crowd was turning brutal, bordering on absurd. We’d just survived a near-collision with a man on a bike wearing a peacock costume when a high-pitched choking noise that sounded vaguely like oh, no erupted from behind me.
“Lina, what’s wrong?” Ren asked.
“Addie.” Lina put her hand on my back, her voice still choked. I turned to meet her wide eyes, but instead got snagged on something moving rocket-fast toward me through the crowd. Was that . . . ?
It was.
The rocket was my mother.
“Oh, no,” I choked, echoing Lina. Run, my brain advised, but even in my panicked state I knew that was a terrible idea. Running would just mean pursuit.
My mom was next to me in a matter of milliseconds. “Hello, Addison. Lina.” Her pitch had reached new and terrifying depths. “You’d better start talking. Fast.”
“How did you . . . find us?” I stammered.
The answer to my question appeared to her left. Walter. Followed swiftly by Archie, who held a massive bag of cotton candy. “Walter, you told her?” I yelled.
He held his hands up in protest. “It wasn’t me. It was Archie. He got the secret out of me, and then he told Mom.”
“Hey!” Archie tried to hit Walter in the face with his cotton candy, but my mom grabbed it midswing. “Don’t blame it on me.”
“No more talking.” Mom turned back to me, her face set in a hard stare. Not many people knew this, but back in her college days she’d been one of the top roller derby contenders in the state. It was times like this that I knew exactly why she’d skated under the name Medusa Damage.
“Addison, you are supposed to be in Italy. Italy.” While I fumbled for an answer, she turned to Lina. “Does Howard know you’re here?”
“Rowan, go warn Ian!” I whispered, taking advantage of the momentary distraction. He nodded and then sprinted into the crowd, no doubt thrilled to escape Medusa.
Lina nodded, her head bobbing one too many times. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Bennett. And yes, he does know. He booked my ticket.” She shoved Ren forward a few unwilling inches. “This is my boyfriend, Ren.”
“Hello there,” Ren managed. “Really great to meet you.”
He withered under her gaze, and I jumped to the rescue. “Mom, I can explain. This concert is really important to Ian—”
She lifted her hand angrily, silencing me. “Where is Ian?”
Now what? The last thing I wanted to do was unleash Mom on Ian. What if she didn’t let him see the concert? “Um . . . I’m not really sure.”
“Boys!” My mom snapped her fingers, and Archie and Walt jumped to attention. “You two are the tallest people in this crowd. Find him.”
Walt stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck over the crowd, and Archie ran over to a music speaker and began climbing.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s allowed,” Lina said, just as a security guard made a beeline for him.
“Man bun in a white toga. Straight ahead,” Archie shouted as the security guard dragged him back to ground level.
“Why are you guys wearing togas anyway?” Walter asked.
Suddenly, a loud cheer erupted in the distance, followed by a jangling strain of music. My heart somersaulted. “Mom, the concert is starting. I don’t have time to explain why, but this is the most important thing that has ever happened to Ian. You have to let him see it.”
My intensity caught even me off guard. Catarina would be proud. Rule number four: Be passionate. No one can argue with passion.
My mom stepped back slightly, her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifting. “Sounds like you two are getting along again.”
I nodded. “Better than ever.”
She hesitated, then gestured to Archie and Walter. “Everyone, follow me.” Needless to say, we all complied.
Even though Rowan had provided him with a few minutes of warning, the sight of our approaching mother drained all the blood from Ian’s face. “Mom,” he choked. It was the only way either of us could seem to greet her.
“Ian,” she said coolly. “There are a lot of things I want to say to you right now, but your sister claims that this is the most important thing in the world to you. So I’m giving you tonight.” She pointed one finger at his chest. “But after the concert? You will both undergo extensive questioning and will most likely be grounded for the rest of your lives. Understood?”
“Understood. Thank you, ma’am,” Ian said, shooting me a grateful look. In our family, “ma’am” was code for I know you’re going to pummel me into a fine pulp, and I respect you for that. My mom nodded approvingly.
Rowan stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. “Mrs. Bennett? I’m Rowan. Nice to meet you.”
She tilted her head. “Ah. The Irish tutor.”
“He’s my friend,” Ian said.
“And mine,” I added.
“So then tell me, friend Rowan, why are we standing here when Titletrack is about to perform onstage, all the way up there?” She lifted her chin toward the front of the writhing mass of bodies. “How are we going to even see?”
“That is a problem,” Rowan said. “We probably should have arrived a lot earlier. Like, yesterday.”
Ian bit his lower lip, his face clouding, and defiance rose in me. Oh, no. I had not been through everything I’d been through just to stand at the back of a concert watching my brother crumple into a ball of disappointment.
But before I could come up with a solution, my mom clapped her hands together. “All right, people. Form a chain. We’re going in.”
“Going in where?” Ian asked. “Those people look like they’ve been here all week.”
“Ian, don’t argue with me. For all you know this is your last living act, so you might as well enjoy it.” A glimmer sparkled in her eye as she surveyed the crowd, and suddenly I remembered the stash of vintage records she’d kept in the attic for as long as I could remember. The proverbial apple had not fallen far from the tree.
“Do I need to speak louder?” she asked when none of us moved. “Form a chain.”
All the non-Bennetts went wide-eyed with disbelief as we obediently grabbed one another’s hands.
“Ready?” Mom turned resolutely to the wall of people in front of her, Medusa Damage revealing herself in all her terrifying splendor. “COMING THROUGH.”
“Hey, watch it!” a guy in a blue hat yelled at her as she jammed her elbow into him.
“No, you watch it,” she snapped. “I’m about to ground these children for the rest of their underage lives because of this concert. The least they can do is enjoy it.”
“Damn,” Blue Hat’s friend said. “Carry on.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re your mother?” Rowan whispered, his hand tight in mine. “I don’t know who’s scarier, Maeve or Mother of Maeve.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I whispered back.
It took us nearly the entire opening act, but my mother and her elbows managed to get us near the front, even clearing out a small pocket of space for us to stand all together. Once she stopped assaulting them, people sealed in, cinching us tightly together.
“Mom, that was amazing,” Ian said, his face rapturous. “Thank you.”
“I’m not saying you’re welcome, because that would sound like I’m condoning this,” she snapped. But the glint was still in her eye.
I did my best to settle into the crowd. My entire body felt bruised and sticky from colliding with so many Titletrack fans. Everyone was sweating. The temperature inside the crowd was at least ten degrees higher than on the outskirts.
Laser lights spilled over the stage, bathing us in bright red, and then four silhouettes appeared onstage as if by magic. “That’s them!” Ian shouted, grabbing my arm as tightly as a tourniquet. “Rowan! Addie! That’s them!”
“Ian, ease up!” I yelled, but my voice got sucked up into the vortex of screaming.
The first chords started up, and I recognized the song immediately. “Classic.” The one that had been made into a music video at the Burren. At first Ian looked too stunned to react, and then instead of smiling, a large tear zigzagged down his red-lit cheek. “What’s wrong?” I shouted.
He squeezed my arm again, his fingernails forming half-moons in my skin. “We’re here,” he said simply.
The rest of the band joined in with the song, filling my ears and anchoring me to Ian and this moment. And suddenly I was thinking about a different aspect of my future. In one year, my big brother would leave for college, and we’d be separated for the first time. What would life be like without Ian by my side?
I tried to picture it, but the only thing that sprang to mind was the road we’d followed to Electric Picnic, Ian singing along to Titletrack, Ireland green and mysterious outside our windows.
The only thing I really knew was what I had to do next.
Before I could lose my moment of certainty, I reached across Ian, tugging gently at my mom’s sleeve. “Mom, after the concert is over, I need to tell you something. Something important.” She swiveled her gaze from the stage just as Ian reached down to squeeze my hand.
The road narrowed and then got wider, then disappeared into the distance, too far for me to see what was ahead. And I just let it.