“Bruce Springsteen?” Ian looked like he was about to collapse.
She tapped her chin with one finger. “Or was it Sting? Funny, I sometimes get those two confused. I’ll tell the kitchen staff you’re here—see you in two jiffs.” She bustled away, leaving ripples of shock in her wake.
“Ian, that was savage!” Rowan enthused.
Ian turned to me, his eyes round. “I just talked to Miriam Kelly.”
“No, you were just complimented by Miriam Kelly,” I pointed out, pride bubbling up in my chest. Whenever Ian was this happy, it always spread to me.
Miriam had ushered Ian to a table near the small stage, so Rowan and I chose another one closer to the door, in an attempt to give Ian some space for the interview.
“So why is Miriam such a big deal?” I asked, keeping one eyeball on Ian. His face had settled on a subtle shade of cranberry, and so far he’d dribbled stew onto his T-shirt and dropped his pen twice. If he was going to be a music journalist, he was going to have to work on the starstruck thing.
Rowan nodded. “She’s like an informal talent director. At first she was just booking people to play here at her pub, but after she pushed some of the biggest acts in Ireland, all the record companies started hiring her to scout talent. Fifteen years ago, she heard Titletrack playing at a university contest and invited them here for a summer. It’s how they started building up their fan base.”
I dug my spoon into my bowl. “She’s also an incredible chef.” Miriam’s Springsteen stew was a mixture of carrots, potatoes, and gravy topped off with two big ice-cream scoops of mashed potatoes. It was so rich and warm that I wanted to crawl straight into the bowl.
“Hey, did you read the guidebook homework yet?” Rowan asked, nudging the book across the table to me. “We have to build a paper boat and put it in the water.”
“Are you going to do it or are you going to bail again?” I teased, flipping open to the Cobh section.
“Look, as long as it doesn’t involve body fluids, I’m in.”
“Fair.” I leaned back in my chair happily. I was stuffed, and relaxed for the first time in days. The live music had been replaced with a Queen album that I recognized from when my dad cleaned out the garage, but mostly all I could hear was Ian. He kept dropping his head back and laughing.
When was the last time I’d seen him laugh so hard? Over the past few years, he’d gotten more solemn, which was probably football-related. You’d think that being the star player meant you got special treatment, but if anything it seemed to make the coaches harder on him. And he took his games so seriously. I didn’t even have to check the schedule to know when a game was coming up because he always became quiet and moody for a few days beforehand.
Thinking about football reminded me of Olive’s message, and I glanced down at my phone, a pit forming in my stomach. DID IAN REALLY GET KICKED OFF THE TEAM???? The text was obviously something I had to deal with. If rumors of Ian were flying around back home, then he deserved to know about them. But what if it isn’t a rumor? my brain asked quietly. I quickly shushed it. Of course it was a rumor. Ian would have to set the school on fire before they’d do something as crazy as kick him off the team.
Regardless, I needed to tell him about it the next chance I got. The last thing our relationship needed was another secret.
I glanced over at Ian, and he met my gaze, waving us over. At their table, Ian’s bowl sat half-full, the lines of his notebook packed full of his cramped writing. His face glowed with excitement. “Guess what? Miriam said we can stay here tonight.”
“Are you serious? Where?” Rowan turned like he expected a bed to appear on the bar.
Miriam smiled, pushing her chair back. “Upstairs. We keep a few rooms to rent out, usually for the talent. Jared must have stayed in that main bedroom for an entire month. Which reminds me, he still owes me for that month, the gobshite. I think he can afford it now, don’t you? I’m going to give him a call.”
“Jared?” Rowan’s mouth dropped open. “Lead singer Jared? He stayed here? And you have his number?”
“Of course I do.” She shrugged lightly, looking at Ian. “Let me know when your article is finished. If you’d like, I could forward it on to Jared.”
“You—” Ian choked on his own words, his face reverting to a deep vermilion. “I—”
He gasped, and I whacked him on the back. “Ian, breathe.”
Miriam raised her eyebrows at him. “Ian, you’ll be okay. Once you’ve been in the business as long as I have, you figure out that musicians are just people. Interesting people, but people just the same.” She turned to me. “Speaking of interesting people, let’s talk about you, Addie.”
My face attempted a copycat of Ian’s. Miriam’s attention felt sparkly, and a little too heavy. “What about me?”
She poked her finger at me. “I hear you are quite the mechanic. That’s a talent. Maybe not one I can book, but a talent just the same. Ian said this trip wouldn’t have worked without you.”
Happiness bloomed in my chest. “Ian, you said that?”
He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his face. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
Rowan piped up. “If it weren’t for Addie, we’d still be dragging our tailpipe across Ireland. She even saved us today. Right after Blarney, my car started overheating and she managed to get us to the mechanic shop down the street.”
Miriam sighed. “Let me guess, Connor Moloney’s place? I hate to say it, but that man is as useless as a chocolate teapot.” She crossed her arms. “So, mechanic. What do you have to say for yourself?”
What did I have to say for myself? “Uh, cars are just something I enjoy.”
“And that you’re good at,” she insisted.
“I call her Maeve,” Rowan said. “Because the first time I saw her, she was tackling Ian in a parking lot. She’s like a warrior queen.”
Now I was really blushing. “Sorry, why are we talking about this?”
“Because we need to!” Miriam pumped her arm. “We need more warrior queens around here. Especially ones that own up to their power.” She leaned in, studying my embarrassed expression. “Addie, you know what I do, right? For work?”
I nodded uncomfortably. “Yeah . . . you book talent.”
“Wrong.” She jabbed a finger at me, her voice rising into an enthusiastic crescendo. “I empower. I find people who are out there singing their songs, and I put a microphone in front of them and make sure the world is listening. And you know what? I want to do that for you, Addie.”
What was she talking about?
Before I could figure it out, she leapt to her feet and wrapped her arm around mine, dragging me up to the stage.
“Hey, Miriam, I don’t sing. Or play anything.” Or do stages. Unless it was on a field, I hated being in the spotlight. I desperately tried to wrench away, but she just yanked me up onto the platform, positioning me in front of a standing microphone. Ian and Rowan watched with wide eyes, but neither of them attempted to rescue me. Traitors.
“Pat! The microphone!” Miriam yelled.
One of the bartenders ducked under the bar, and suddenly the mic stand crackled to life. Miriam shoved it into my face. “Go on, Addie. Tell the nice people what you did.”
I looked at her in horror. True, the pub wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been earlier during the live performance, but there were still plenty of people, and every one of them looked up from their tables, amused smiles etched on their faces. They were clearly used to Miriam’s antics.
“Go on,” she insisted, giving me a nudge. “Tell the nice people your name and how badass you are. Making a declaration can be very powerful.”
Do I really have to do this? Right as the thought entered my mind, her arm constricted around me like a boa. There was no way she was letting me off this stage. I cleared my throat. “Um, hello, everyone. My name is Addie Bennett.”
“Queen Maeve!” Ian shouted from the audience, his hands cupped around his mouth.
I blushed straight down to my toes. Once this was over, I was going to murder him. “So . . . Miriam wants me to tell you that for the last couple of days I’ve been on a road trip. Our car keeps breaking down, so I’ve been fixing it. And . . . that’s it.” I hastily shoved the microphone back toward Miriam’s hands and attempted to dive off the stage, but she grabbed hold of the back of my shirt.
“Wait just a minute, Addie. You know what I like to see? A woman who knows her strength. A woman who owns the fact that she is smart and creative, a woman who can get things done. Addie, you are a powerful woman.” She grabbed my hand and raised it over our heads, victor-style. “Go on, Addie. Say it.”
I cringed. “Say what exactly?”
Rowan and Ian grinned at each other. They were loving every minute of this.
“Say, ‘I am the hero of my own story.’ ”
“I’m the hero of my own story,” I said quickly.
“No, no, no. Louder. Open up the diaphragm. Really belt it out.”
Was she not seeing the irony in forcing someone to declare how powerful they were? Just get this over with, I told myself.
I took a deep breath and yelled right into the microphone, “I am the hero of my own story!”
“Yes! Again!” Miriam shouted.
This time I really let loose. “I AM THE HERO OF MY OWN STORY.”
“Good girl.” Miriam dropped my arm, her face glowing with perspiration.
It actually did feel good to yell. It would probably feel even better if I believed it.
“So that was weird,” I managed, dragging my and Ian’s suitcases over to the staircase. As soon as Miriam had dismissed me from the stage, Ian had jetted off, intent on seeing our rooms.
Rowan grinned. “You stood on a stage and yelled to a bunch of strangers about what a hero you are. What’s weird about that?”
I attempted to slug him, but the suitcases made it impossible.
Rowan grabbed one from me, shuffling it over to the stairs. “I’m going to run over to the mechanic shop, make sure Connor can have our car ready by morning. Can you believe Electric Picnic is tomorrow?”
“No.” I couldn’t believe it. Had the past few days dragged or flown? “I’ll stay here. It’s probably better if Connor and I don’t see each other again.”
He flashed me a smile. “Too bad. I was hoping to see Hero Maeve in action.”
“Ha ha.” I followed Ian up the stairs, the weight of the suitcases sending me bumping back and forth between the walls. Finally, I made it to the top, dropping everything into a heap.
“I can’t believe this.” I followed Ian’s voice through the doorway. The room’s ceiling was slanted, and two twin beds crowded the far wall, the fading light streaming in from a single octagon-shaped window.
Ian was writhing around on the nearest bed. “Which bed do you think Jared slept in? This one?”
“I have no idea,” I said, averting my eyes. Ian’s dedication to Titletrack bordered on embarrassing. I fled for the next room, taking way longer than was necessary to set up my suitcase next to the bed. Olive’s text was burning a hole in my pocket. I had to talk Ian. Now.
When I walked back in, Ian had switched to the other bed, his arms tucked under his head, a peaceful smile on his face. Was I really going to do this? I am the hero, I thought ruefully.
“Thanks for getting us here,” Ian said before I could open my mouth. “It really means a lot.
“Oh. Sure,” I said, lowering myself onto the other bed. “So, Ian, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Me too!” He rolled onto his stomach, reaching for his notebook. “I wanted to tell you that you should tell Mom about Cubby as soon as you possibly can. Maybe even before we get home. If you want, I could distract Archie and Walter at the airport while you tell her.”
“What?” I felt the bridge between us collapse in one fell swoop. Now he wasn’t just insisting that I tell her, but he was dictating the time and place, too?
He sat up. “I think you should tell Mom about Cubby before—”
“Ian, I heard you,” I said, falling against the closet door behind me. “But I’m not ready to tell Mom yet. Not that soon.”
He slammed his notebook shut. “But you said I was right about telling Mom. When we were at Torc Manor.”
“I said maybe you were right. I never said I was going to do it for sure.”
Ian jumped to his feet and began pacing furiously. “You have got to be kidding me. Addie! Why not?”
“Because I’m not ready. If I want to tell Mom, I’ll tell Mom.” And even though I knew it would cause an explosion, I couldn’t help but add the last part. “And besides, what happened with Cubby is none of your business.”
“None of my business?” He stopped in place, his eyes shining angrily. “Addie, I would be thrilled if that were actually the case, but we both know it isn’t true. It became my business the second I walked into the locker room.”
My throat tightened. The locker room. Any time I tried to conjure up the scene of Ian walking in, of my brother being the one to stop Cubby, my brain grabbed a thick set of curtains and slid them shut.
“How was I supposed to know Cubby would do that?” My mouth was dry.
He pointed at me. “Because I warned you about him. I told you he was bad news.” It was the same fight we’d been having all summer. It made me feel tired, right down to my bones. “Addie, for once, just listen to me. You can’t keep this a secret anymore. You have to tell Mom the first chance you get.”
“Stop telling me what to do!” I exploded, my heart hammering in my chest. “And who are you to talk about secrets, Indie Ian?”
I spat the name off my tongue, and his eyes hardened. “Don’t turn this on me.”
“Why not?” I opened my arms out wide, encompassing the room. “Secret Irish friend. Secret writing career. Secret college plans.” I needed to pause, reel it in, but I was too angry. I reached into my pocket and then thrust my phone in his face. “And this. What is this about?”
He yanked the phone from my hands, his posture deflating as he read Olive’s text. “How does she know?” he said quietly.
His words stopped me in my tracks, sending my brain spiraling. “Wait, are you saying it’s true? You got kicked off the team? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He tossed the phone onto the bed. “It was because of you, okay? I’m off the team because of you.”
No.
I backed out of the room, my hands shaking as a mountain formed in my chest, heavy and brand-new.
Now his voice was pleading. “Addie, I got kicked off the football team. Mom and Dad don’t know yet, but I can’t keep it a secret forever. You have tell Mom. You have to tell her about the photo, and about Cubby passing it—”
“Ian, stop!” I yelled, clamping my hands over my ears. My body spun around, and suddenly I was running, the steps rising up to meet me, Ian at my back.
I made it all the way down to the harbor before I slowed. My chest was heaving, the tears making it hard to breathe, and I fell heavily onto an iron bench, the cold slats pressing into my spine.
Here’s the thing that shouldn’t have happened this summer, not to me, not to anyone. After weeks of Cubby asking, I’d sent him a topless photo of myself. I hadn’t felt completely okay about it because one, all his joking about it had started to feel uncomfortably like pressure, and two, no matter how many times I swatted at Ian’s warning, it refused to stop buzzing in my head. I hear how he talks about girls. You don’t want to hang out with him.
But Cubby and I had been together all summer. Didn’t that mean I knew him better than Ian did? Didn’t that mean I could trust him? And besides, maybe this was how you went from secret late-night meet-ups to walking down the halls of your high school together. You took a leap of faith.
So I’d hit send. Even though my hands were shaking. Even though the buzzing in my head got even louder.
And then two days later, Ian had come home from foot
ball camp and all but thrown himself through my bedroom door, angry tears pooling in his eyes. You know what he’s been doing, right? He’s been showing everyone your photo. Why didn’t you listen to me?
I’d been too stunned to even ask what happened next, but now I knew. After Ian walked in on Cubby passing my photo around to the entire varsity team, he’d fought him. Of course he had. And then he’d gotten kicked off the football team. And the fact that I hadn’t meant to involve my brother—hadn’t meant to let my life spill over into his—didn’t matter, because that came with being family. Whether you wanted them to or not, your actions always affected the entire unit. I took a deep, shuddery breath. I needed to tell Ian why I hadn’t listened to him. The real reason. He deserved to know.
A few seconds later I heard his footsteps behind me, just like I knew I would. “Addie . . . ,” he started, but I whipped around, forcing the words out before they could retreat.
“Ian, do you know how hard it is to be your little sister?”
He froze, a searching expression moving over his face. “What do you mean? This summer excluded, I’ve always felt like we had a great friendship.”
“We have.” I shook my head, groping for the words as he slid onto the bench next to me. “What I mean is, do you know how hard it is to be Ian Bennett’s sister?”
He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re the star of our high school. Star of the football team. The star athlete in a house filled with star athletes.” My voice wavered, and I picked a spot in the ocean to stare at, steadying my gaze. “You’re good at school, and sports, and writing . . . and of course you were right about Cubby. You were completely right. And deep down I knew it all along.”
Ian dug his hands into his hair, his face confused. “Then why—”
I cut him off again. I really needed him to listen. “Ian, I was with Cubby this summer because I wanted someone to see me. Really see me. And not just in comparison to you three.” I took a deep breath. “I just wanted to be someone other than Bennett number four—the one who’s just mediocre.”
Love & Luck Page 17
