by Ciara Smyth
“It’s not that.” She shook her head. “It’s that you’re right. I will still try and do it all even though I’m not the president.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I’m so fucking tired,” she sobbed. She cried for a few more moments. Kavi rubbed her back, and I held her hand. Then she sucked in a huge breath and wiped her eyes with her free hand. She looked at me with a guilty expression. “When Ms. Devlin said that I didn’t win, a tiny part of me was glad. I thought, Thank God, I already have too much to do. And then I felt the whole weight of it all crashing back down on top of me. My foot is healed. Dad’s going to expect me to go back to camogie. Mam’s going to want me to go back to yoga. To ‘relax.’ I have a cello recital in six weeks. And . . . and I was hoping I’d get to spend some time with you.”
I gave myself a second to let that all wash over me.
“Maybe you should focus on your own problems for a while instead of fixing the whole world,” I said. “You should talk to your dad.”
“He won’t understand.”
I thought about how he looked at her like she was sent straight from heaven to make his life worth living.
“I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re so afraid of disappointing him. But the worst thing that can happen is he’s disappointed. He’ll get over it. You broke your own ankle. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Hah.” Meabh laughed bitterly. “I guess. What if he looks at me differently, though? What if he doesn’t understand?”
“Then we’ll figure something out from there. Between the three of us we’ll work something out.”
“But then I’m letting everyone down who would benefit from my ideas.” She seemed genuinely distraught at the thought.
“That’s one way to look at it.” I smothered a smile. “Or perhaps we’re not the only people in the world who can do things. We’ve done stuff. We’ve already helped people. But before we tackle the rest of the world, I think we need to sort out our own shit.”
“We?” she asked.
“Yeah. Me too. My life’s a disaster. I’m running around fixing other people’s problems, and that’s not a bad thing, but my own life is on fire. I’m failing every class. And . . .” I hesitated. If I said this part out loud, there would be no taking it back. “And my mam is drinking again. If I tell anyone there’ll be a social worker at my door before I know it and I don’t know what will happen then.”
I watched Meabh and Kavi take in what I’d said. I saw the pieces click into place for Kavi. Meabh nodded slowly. I held my breath and for a second all I could hear was my heart beating. All I could feel was fear that I’d said too much.
“Then we’ll figure something out from there,” Meabh said firmly.
Kavi nodded, and he reached over Meabh and squeezed my shoulder. “We’ll be here, whatever happens.”
We sat together for a few minutes. And then Holly appeared on the balcony. She looked young and vulnerable and I felt like I had too much power in this space, with my friends. But it wasn’t me she wanted to talk to.
“Meabh?” Holly’s voice was so small.
Ever the professional, Meabh stood up, in one shoe and one socked foot.
“Congratulations, Holly. I should have said so before.”
“I don’t deserve it,” Holly replied, and she didn’t wait for a response. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to work together. Share the seat?”
I don’t know who was more stunned. Me or Meabh.
“Holy shit,” Kavi said.
Meabh looked back at us. I shrugged.
“Thanks for the offer, Holly,” Meabh said, “but I think I’m going to have to say no.”
I asked Meabh and Kavi to meet me at the end of the day. I didn’t want to go home and talk myself out of it.
Meabh squeezed my hand. “I can come in if you want.”
I shook my head. “If you come in, then I’ll just let you do the talking.”
“We’ll be right here,” she said, and they both slid down the wall outside Ms. Devlin’s office and sat.
“You can listen at the door if you want,” I offered.
She wrinkled her forehead. “Why would we do that? That’s weird.”
“Hah, yeah. Just kidding.”
Kavi and I exchanged a look. I knocked on the door and I swallowed hard to stop from throwing up.
“Come in,” Ms. Devlin said. She was marking papers and she seemed surprised to see that it was me. “What now? Have you come down with a case of . . . of . . .” She waved her hands, reaching for an obscure illness.
“Flubberygiblets?” I supplied.
“That’s not a real one,” she said, pointing her pen threateningly at me. “It better not say that on your next note. There’s only so much I can take, Aideen.”
“It’s not that, miss,” I said.
“Well, what is it, then?” She looked at me, her face expectant, open.
Did I trust her?
I sat down in the chair opposite her and said what I had to say.
“I need help.”
Acknowledgments
I love reading the acknowledgements but when I write them, I feel like a tearful starlet at the Oscars and I’m far too grumpy to be this earnest, so I’ll keep it as brief as I can.
With thanks to Steph because she has to listen to me have a crisis twice a week.
To my parents for being embarrassing about my books on Facebook and in public, I know you can’t help it.
To the wonderful team at HarperTeen: Louisa Currigan, Nicole Moreno, Meghan Pettit, and Allison Brown. Thank you to Lauren Levite twice (because I hadn’t met you this time last book) and Shannon Cox for all they do to get my books out there. But especially thank you to the irreplaceable Stephanie Stein who vastly improves everything she touches.
Thank you so much to Spiros Halaris, Jenna Stempel-Lobell, and Catherine Lee for the beautiful cover.
As ever thanks to my magnificent agent, Alice Williams, having someone you trust to sort out the things you don’t understand or feel too awkward to mention is invaluable. So many thanks yous to Alexandra Devlin for her work, I appreciate it all so much!
I also want to thank wonderful friends, kind authors, and beloved readers who supported my last book by reading, pre-ordering, blurbing, reviewing, buying, and borrowing. It means the world to me. Thank you in advance to anyone who does the same thing for Not My Problem.
Thank you to the debut group on Twitter who I could always rely on while writing this book to be supportive and hilarious.
I specifically want to thank Shveta for her wise counsel. Serena for her voice notes. Jill for buying more copies of my book than anyone else. And Izzy. Always Izzy.
Not Darren, you already got a dedication. What more do you want?
A huge thank you to the bloggers, booktubers, bookstagrammers, and tweeters who have supported me so far and anyone who supports Not My Problem. I know how much effort you put in and I couldn’t be more grateful. I want to mention a few of you here: Theresa, Sasha, Ams, and Amber. I know there are others but after all this writing malarkey my brain is mushy and if I haven’t mentioned you it isn’t because I don’t appreciate your efforts. Your enthusiasm literally sells books and that means I can write more books. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough but that’s all I can do.
They’re playing the music now, so I will allow myself to be gently ushered offstage to adjust my ballgown and fix my eye makeup.
About the Author
Photo credit Darren Craig
CIARA SMYTH studied drama, teaching, and then social work at university. She thought she didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up. She became a writer so she wouldn’t have to grow up. She enjoys jigging (verb: to complete a jigsaw puzzle), playing the violin badly, and having serious conversations with her pets. Ciara has lived in Belfast for over ten years and still doesn’t really know her way around. She is also the author of The Falling in Love Montage.
Vis
it her online at www.ciarasmyth.com.
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Books by Ciara Smyth
The Falling in Love Montage
Not My Problem
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Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
NOT MY PROBLEM. Copyright © 2021 by Ciara Smyth. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art © 2021 by Spiros Halaris
Cover design by Catherine Lee
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Digital Edition MAY 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-295716-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-295714-6
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FIRST EDITION
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