Lost in Ireland

by Cindy Callaghan

  “What if the farmer who is blue decides to go out one day and paint a few thousand extra sheep blue?”

  “You mean like to nick them?” Finn thought. “No one has ever actually done that, as far as I know.”

  “Finn, can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  “If you live and get tutored at the castle, where do you make friends?”

  “I do a lot of volunteering with some other guys my age.”

  That didn’t get me exactly what I was looking for. “What about other friends?”

  “Like who?”

  I think I blushed.

  “Are you asking me about girls? Like, do I have a girlfriend?”

  I shrugged and lowered my voice, although I was pretty sure Mrs. Buck couldn’t hear a thing with those gigantic headphones. “I was just curious.” I didn’t want him to think I was interested for me, but maybe for a friend. Like, CiCi would probably ask me, and what would I tell her?

  “I know some girls. I like them, as friends, but none as a girlfriend. I mean, I like girls, just not one certain special girl right now,” he said.

  I moved my face toward the open window. The car was silent.

  Suddenly the road disappeared into a field of white. Hundreds of sheep were crossing the street in front of us. Mrs. Buck slowed down as they surrounded us. She honked and inched the car forward, but they didn’t move. She honked again. Nothing. These were stubborn sheep.

  Mrs. Buck put the car in park. Finn rolled down his window and let the warm sun shine on his face. The smell of burning peat filled the car. I was getting used to it now. I reached into my purse for my phone, but remembered it wasn’t there. Bummer!

  “We could be here awhile,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me stuff about you now.”

  “Me? Okay. I study hard to get good grades so I can get into a good college. I want to be a doctor, I think. I practice my Irish dancing for twenty minutes each night—”

  Finn interrupted, “Why twenty?”

  “That’s my lucky number times two.”

  “Of course.”

  “I go to church on Sundays, eat five servings of fruits and vegetables each day—”

  “Why five?”

  “That’s what’s recommended.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I floss every day, go to sleep by ten o’clock.”

  “Why ten?” he asked.

  “That’s my bedtime.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “And I guess I just try to be a good person,” I added.

  “What about fun?”

  I said, “I have fun.”

  “If you say so,” he said, and smirked.

  “Really, I do. My bestie, Carissa, and I go to the movies, bake cookies, go ice-skating, and one time we went indoor go-karting. It turns out that I’m an amazing race car driver. If I don’t become a doctor, I may go into race car driving professionally.”

  “I would like to see you drive a race car or—what did you call them? Go-karts?”

  I explained the finer points of indoor go-karting to Finn.

  “I guess you do have fun.” The sheep started to move very slowly. “What else?”

  “Um, I think I covered everything.” Well, I’d left out hanging out at the Donut Hole, shopping, makeup, and getting mani-pedis and hair done, because I didn’t think he’d appreciate those kinds of things.

  “What about a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.” The road cleared enough for Mrs. Buck to move forward a bit. The car jolted into gear. “Good to know,” he said under his breath with his eyes on the fields.

  23

  Just before noon we returned to the center of the town of Newcastle and got out to walk around. The streets were packed with people. Half wore orange jerseys and waved orange flags and bandannas. The other half wore green and waved green flags and bandannas.

  Mrs. Buck found a table and spread out her cards.

  Finn and I walked toward the mob. Finn tapped the shoulder of a sweaty guy in an orange shirt. He had mud in his hair and on his legs and arms. “Is the tourney over?”

  “Yeah. We won!” he yelled. “We beat da team Dingle. Crushed ’em like a clove of garlic.” He sounded like the guy from Wilmington Pizza.

  “Ask him about Anna,” I whispered.

  He heard my accent. “You American?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You like rugby? This is not football, or what you call soccer. We play a real sport. You hear of it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ve heard of rugby.”

  “Well, all right!” He held up a high five for me, and I smacked it. “Yeah! Hang out and celebrate. There is plenty of free crisps and soda for everyone!” He was scooped up by teammates and thrust onto their shoulders.

  The crowd lifted him and chanted, “Enzo! Enzo!”

  I guessed he was Enzo. He called down to me, “I scored da winning goal!”

  “Congratulations!” I yelled back. Enzo was carried away into the crowd.

  It was really loud with chanting, singing, and music. Finn got close to me and spoke right into my ear. “Looks like fun. Let’s hang out. Get a soda?”

  “Okay. But we’re looking for Anna.”

  “Got it.” Finn went off to grab us something to drink.

  I walked around in search of Anna in the huge crowd. Someone stepped on my foot, untying my shoelaces. As I bent down to tie them, someone tripped over my back, and the next thing I knew, Enzo was on the ground next to me.

  Someone asked him, “Are you okay?”

  Someone else yelled, “Call an ambulance!”

  Enzo stood up slowly, rubbed his head and his lower back. “No worries. I’m a tough rugby player.” Blood dripped from his hairline.

  Finn returned with two Cokes, stopping short when he saw Enzo. “Look what I did,” I said. “We have to find Anna O’Toole before something else bad happens.”

  I was pushed and shoved and found myself among the green team, the ones who’d lost the rugby game, but you’d never know it. They were covered in crusty mud, arm in arm, singing songs of victory. Someone threw an arm over my shoulder and included me in a row of high kicks, which I was good at, but I had to find Anna.

  A girl shouldered her way into the team with fists full of warm soft pretzels. She looked a little older than me and was tall and muscular. Her hair was short, the same color and wavy-frizzy as mine. Her eye was swollen, her lip was fat, and drops of dried blood were around her nose. She was très muddy. Everyone took a pretzel and patted her on the back.

  I asked her, “You played too?”

  “Of course. GIRLS RULE!” Her voice was high and girly. It didn’t match her tough and dirty appearance. “Want a pretzel?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” I took one. “I’m Meghan.”

  “Hi, Meghan.” She took a huge bite of the pretzel. “I’m so hungry.” She took mustard packets out of her pocket. “You like mustard?” She opened one and squeezed it into her mouth.

  “Sure,” I said. “On my pretzel.”

  She opened another and squeezed it onto both of our pretzels.

  Someone in a green shirt called, “Where is our MVP? Where’s our most valuable player?”

  Another player yelled, “Anna! Where’s Anna?”

  Anna?

  24

  The girl with the mustard called back, “Yoo-hoo. I’m over here.” She wiggled her fingers and tilted her head in a cute way, which was weird, considering she looked like a boy covered in mud.

  This was Anna? I took a closer look. Of course this was Anna! Besides the age and height difference, and the cuts and bruises, it was like I was looking into a mirror.

  “There’s our girl!” A guy put a ridiculous green-and-white beret on her head. The way her hair stuck out underneath it made her look less like a punching bag and more like a girl.

  “Are you Anna O’Toole?”

  “That’s me. How did you know that? I know I’m popular,
but has word of my reputation reached America already?”

  “I don’t think so. But I’m sure it will soon,” I said. “You know, funny thing, I actually came here looking for you.”

  “You did? Do you follow rugby? You don’t seem the type.”

  “There’s a type?”

  “Well, they’re usually not American. Sometimes English or Scottish, and they’re usually taller.”

  “Taller?” I didn’t think I was short.

  She nodded and wiped mustard off her mouth with her arm.

  I said, “I was looking for you because of a letter, a chain letter.”

  “Hey,” Anna said. “I got a chain letter too. Not that long ago.”

  “I know. You sent it to Clare, your cousin.”

  “That’s right. We call her CiCi.” She looked surprised. “How did you know that? Wait, are you psychic? Can you put me in touch with my dead granny?”

  Maybe Anna had gotten knocked in the head and had a concussion.

  “I’m not a psychic,” I explained. “I came to talk to you about the letter.”

  “Right. You know I got good luck from it. That’s when I decided to ask if I could be on the team, and they said yes.” She smiled, and I noticed that she was missing a front tooth.

  “Well, I haven’t been so lucky. In fact, I’ve kinda sorta been, like . . .” How should I say this? . . . “Cursed. I’m cursed.”

  “Oh, no. That’s terrible.” She stepped back, shoved the rest of the soft pretzel into her mouth, and used her free hands to pull a ladybug figurine out of her sock. She rubbed it all over herself.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Warding off bad luck. Why would you bring it here to me? Why? Do you hate me? You don’t even know me. I don’t want bad luck.”

  This girl was a wee bit o’ the Irish—what’s the word?—kooky.

  I shook my head. “It’s not like it’s contagious. I made the mistake of not following the rules of the letter. Plus, I actually kind of do know you, and you kind of know me.”

  “I think I would know if I knew you. You know what I mean?” Anna rubbed the ladybug on her ears and belly. “People are always trying to unload their bad luck on someone else. Well, not today. I’m on a roll—just played a great game, so you and your curse better back off.”

  I stepped back a bit. “Ladybugs, huh?”

  “Yes. Ladybugs,” she snapped. “Now would you mind stepping downwind? I don’t want any of your bad luck blowing this way. If I get it on me, I don’t know what I’ll do.” She paused in her ladybug cleansing. “Why didn’t you just send the letters like you were supposed to? Maybe you deserve the bad luck if you didn’t follow the instructions.”

  I explained the situation about the election, the rush I was in. She listened to every word at a safe distance from me. “So, I have to find the links of the chain letter. I found my cousin Clare.”

  “I told you we call her CiCi, and she’s my cousin, not yours.”

  “That’s the big surprise in all this. She’s my cousin too. Which means we’re cousins.”

  “Cousin? Oh, that’s just great. The last thing I want is another cousin.”

  Ironic that I was dying for another cousin and she didn’t want one. “Anyway, I need to double hand-shake with you and then find the person who sent the letter to you.”

  “I don’t want to touch you.” She extended her hands like she was shaking the air. “There’s your handshake. Now you need to go away and take your bad luck with you. My cousin Quilly sent me the letter. He doesn’t need any more bad luck either. Trust me.”

  “Quilly? Is Quilly his first name?” At this point she was weirding me out, and I kinda wanted to get away from her too.

  “Everyone just calls him Quilly.” She poked a teammate. “Hey, what’s Quilly’s full name?”

  She doesn’t know her own cousin’s real name? I guess being part of a bigger family meant that there were a few crazy relatives. I loved the idea that now I had a few crazy relatives! YAY!

  He said, “Quilly. It’s just Quilly.”

  I was getting frustrated. How was I going to find this guy without his name?

  Another guy was listening, and he said, “Leo . . . er . . . Lem . . . er . . . Lefty . . . er, maybe Ted.”

  Anna shrugged. She tucked the ladybug back into her sock; reached into her muddy pocket, where another soft pretzel was hiding; and put it into her mouth. “And you say he’s your cousin? How is he related to you?”

  “Our mothers are sisters. Why?”

  I didn’t answer. She’d just confirmed Quilly was my cousin too. This was a lot to process.

  “Where does Quilly live?”

  She stepped farther away from me. “In the city.”

  My face must’ve asked, What city?

  “Dublin. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

  “Can you be a bit more specific, like maybe a street address?”

  “He works as a tour guide on one of those double-decker buses.” She inched away and spoke louder. “Listen, Quilly has enough trouble. If you’re going to see him, it’s very important that you don’t give him any of your curse. Not even a little bit.” She continued, “Here’s what you have to do. Go to Murphy’s down the street. Get yourself a ladybug and one for Quilly, too.”

  Someone bumped Anna from behind and dumped their soda down her back.

  She glared at me. “Look at this. I’m drenched in soda!”

  Maybe she hadn’t noticed that she was covered in mud and everyone else was pretty much wearing soda too?

  “You need to leave, and don’t come looking for me again.” I couldn’t believe she was genuinely mad at me because someone else had poured soda on her. She turned away, took the ladybug out again, and rubbed it through her muddy hair.

  I was pretty sure she didn’t like me. And I’d forgotten to invite her to the Spring Fling. Maybe she was going anyway since it was such a big deal. At least I had gotten a lead on Quilly—the second-to-last link—the key to finding the letter’s author and ending this whole mess.

  I shoved through the crowd looking for Finn. I didn’t see him, but my luck started to change when I saw who was sitting next to Mrs. Buck playing Go Fish.

  25

  “Carissa!” I exclaimed, shocked.

  She ran to me and hugged me.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “You said everything sucked, and I told you I was coming. Didn’t you get the message?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “As serious as a monkey is about his last banana.” She hugged me again. “Guess where my mom and dad took me for spring break?” She didn’t wait long enough for me to answer. “Paris! So, awesome. But when I got your text on our layover in London, we just rerouted to Ireland.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not even a little bit. Then I called that castle you’re staying at— Hello, castle? Freakin’ awesome! They gave me Mrs. Buck’s digits because you’re not answering your phone. She texted me the deets of your location, and Mom and Dad just dropped me off. Guess where we’re gonna stay? Don’t—I’ll tell you. The castle.” She scanned the crowd of rugby players. “This place is awesome! I love Ireland!”

  A group of rugby players behind her heard her say this, and cheered. She cheered right back at them, and then they yelled back at her, and she was going to cheer back at them, but I pulled her away. “Stop that,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with a girl having a little fun?” She waved to the group of boys.

  “Come on. Boys can wait.” I moved her farther away from them. “I’m dealing with a curse here, or did you forget? We have something important to do.”

  She looked over her shoulder to see if the rugby team was watching her.

  With both hands I turned her face back to look at me. “It involves shopping,” I said.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” she replied. She hooked her arm in mine and asked, “Wher
e to? You name it. Any place you pick is fine by me. Hollister? Justice? Abercrombie? PacSun?”

  “Uh-uh,” I said.

  “Nordstrom?” Carissa asked.

  “Murphy’s.”

  “Murphy’s?”

  “Murphy’s.”

  “I don’t know that place. Let’s check it out,” she said.

  I led Carissa down the street to a sidewalk store. The M had dropped into a W, making it look like “Wurphy’s.” But it was the letter U that signaled to me that this was the place. It was a horseshoe. “Here we are.”

  Carissa stared. “This? This is the place?” she asked in disgust.

  “This is the place where we’ll find a lucky ladybug.”

  “Well, then by golly, we’d better go inside and get a ladybug. When the time is right, you’ll explain to me exactly why we’re buying insects. I don’t want to burst your bubble, but bugs are unlucky. They bite, sting, infest, and carry diseases and poison. But, whatev. You know more about this stuff than I do. Maybe I’ll get an ant or a housefly. I’ve always wanted one of those.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stop being so dramatic.” I pulled her inside. “And, for your information, neither ants nor houseflies are lucky.”

  Murphy’s smelled like the bottom of a dirty pipe. It looked like one too. The store was filled with antiques and lots of good luck charms. There were four-leaf clovers, horseshoes, angels, rabbit’s feet, wishbones, stars, crystals, seashells, sea glass, sand dollars, and ladybugs. Lots of ladybugs.

  “Great store.” Carissa made a face, held her nose with her fingers, and leaned against a wall with peeling wallpaper.

  I studied the case that held all of the ladybug figurines. “Which one should I get?”

  “Hmmm. Let me think. Oh, I know . . . I don’t care! Just pick one out and let’s get the heck out of here.” She lowered her voice. “It stinks, and I can’t breathe.”

  “Ahem.” An old freckled man asked, “What can I do ya for, lassies?” His voice was low and raspy, like he’d smoked a lot of cigars.

  I put a ladybug on the counter. He picked it up and held it close to his eyes. “Excellent choice.” He unfolded a piece of soft felt. He put the ladybug figurine that was no bigger than a quarter and no fatter than a raisin into the felt and shined it. He bent down close to me. “You know they’re luckiest when they travel in threes,” he said, like he was letting me in on a secret, which was just the look that attracted Carissa.