Love & Luck

by Jenna Evans Welch

  He lunged for his backpack, but I beat him to it, wrapping the handle around my fingers. “Are you trying to leave without me?” I demanded.

  “Just go back up to the room. I left a note on the bathroom mirror.” He wasn’t meeting my eye.

  “A note? Is this the cab Mom ordered for us? Why is it in such bad shape?”

  Suddenly, the passenger window began cranking down in jerky, uneven motions. The sound of an appreciative slow clap filled the air followed by an Irish voice. “Ah, Ian, you’ve been beaten by a girl! I wish I’d been recording. Would love to see a replay.”

  “Rowan!” Ian hustled over to the window, his voice much happier than someone who’d just been tackled in a parking lot should sound. He wore the same massive grin he’d had plastered all over him last night during his text sessions.

  I dropped Ian’s backpack on the ground and ran over, butting him out of the way so I could get a look inside.

  “Well, hello there,” the driver said. He was Ian’s age, maybe a little older, with tousled hair, large grayish eyes, and horn-rimmed glasses that should have been perched on an old man’s face but managed to be at home on his. His T-shirt said HYPNOTIZING CAT and featured a large feline with whirlpool eyes. Definitely not a cabdriver. He smiled, and a dimple appeared charmingly on one side. Until now I’d thought that dimples only came in pairs.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  He stuck his hand out. “I’m Rowan. And you must be Addie.” His accent was 100 percent Irish, singsongy with the vowels getting soft and running together like chocolate syrup in ice cream.

  I ignored it. His hand and the chocolate syrup voice. But I couldn’t ignore the way he was looking at me—like I was something rare and exciting that he’d just discovered in the wild. “How do you know who I am?” I asked.

  “I knew Ian has a sister named Addie, and let’s be honest, only a guard or a sibling would tackle someone in the middle of a stony car park.”

  When I didn’t match his smile, he dropped his, self-consciously reaching up to push the corners of his glasses up with both hands. “Or at least I’m guessing that’s how siblings operate. Also, you look like the mini female version of him.”

  “Do not call me a female version of Ian,” I snapped. My first week of high school, at least five of Ian’s friends had made it a point to tell me that I looked like my brother with a blond wig, which was not the confidence booster I’d been looking for.

  He held up his hand quickly. “Chillax. I didn’t mean to annoy ya. I probably wouldn’t like it if someone called me a male version of a woman either.” The dimple reappeared. “Also, I come in peace. So please don’t attack me, too.”

  Ian quickly nudged me aside. “Sorry about this, Rowan. Minor glitch in the system. Addie, go back up to the room. Your taxi will be here later. And the note will explain everything.”

  Had he just called me a minor glitch in the system? “What do you mean my taxi? It’s our taxi. Why are you out here talking to . . . ?” I stopped. I’d been about to say “Hypnotized Cat Guy,” but that just sounded rude.

  Ian grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the car and lowering his voice so Hypnotized Cat Guy wouldn’t hear. “Great news: your wish is granted. I’m not coming with you to Italy. Go upstairs and read the note—it has all the details.”

  The parking lot revolved once, then twice. He was serious. “You’re not coming to Italy? Since when?” I asked dizzily.

  He swiped his hair out of his eyes and put a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Since always. I’ll meet you in Dublin for the flight home.” My mom had only arranged for our flights to and from Italy. The plan was that we would return to Dublin to fly home with the rest of the group. But now it seemed that plan was about to be compromised.

  “But . . . why?” I asked desperately.

  Rowan’s voice pierced the air between us. “I thought Addie was in on this. Why doesn’t she know we’re going to Stradbally?” I was momentarily distracted. The way he said my name made it sound like it was being played on an Irish fiddle.

  “I left her a note,” Ian said, his cheeks flushing pink. He shoved his hair out of his face and slid his eyes guiltily at me. “It’s easier this way.”

  “For who?” I shot back.

  Rowan leaned toward the passenger window, his eyes concerned behind his glasses. “A note? No wonder she just knocked you over. This must look unbelievably sketchy. You meet some random guy and leave for a place she’s never heard of?”

  I lifted my hands in the air. “Finally, someone’s making sense here.”

  Rowan looked pointedly at me. “Stradbally is a small town near Dublin. But we’re headed to a few other sites first. We have to do research for—”

  “Stop—stop—stop!” Ian stuttered. “Please don’t tell her anything.” He shoved past me again and yanked on the car door handle, but it didn’t budge.

  “Don’t tell me what? Ian, don’t tell me what?” I grabbed at his backpack.

  Rowan smiled apologetically at my brother. “Sorry, Ian. According to the previous owner, that door hasn’t worked since the late nineties. The lads always just have to climb in through the window.”

  “Who are the lads?” I asked. As if that were the most important question that needed answering.

  Ian hoisted his backpack in and slithered through the window before reaching for his suitcase. I lunged for it, but he managed to pull it in. “Addie, just go read my note. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  I clamped my hands onto his window frame. They were shaking. “Ian, were you not in the car yesterday? Didn’t you hear what Mom said about us not messing up? This is the definition of  ‘messing up.’ ”

  His shoulders slumped. “Come on, Addie, you said it yourself. You don’t want me to come to Italy, and I get it. I even respect it. So you go have your trip, and I’ll have mine. The only way we’re going to get in trouble with Mom and Dad is if we tell them, and let’s be honest, neither of us is going to do that.”

  “Ian—”

  “Just stopping by Electric Picnic,” Rowan added in the kind of soothing voice you’d use on a rabid dog. “We’ll be done by Monday morning. Nothing to stress about, ninja sister.”

  “Electric what?” The Hypnotized Cat looked at me pityingly. My voice sounded hysterical. Strangled.

  “Electric Picnic. It’s the biggest music festival in Ireland. It happens every year. Lots of indie and alternative stuff. But this year is special. Guess who is headlining?” Rowan paused, his smile suggesting that I’d just dangled something warm and cinnamony in front of his nose.

  “Not Ian,” I answered weakly.

  “Yes, Ian,” Ian said. “Definitely Ian. And you won’t even care because you’ll be off in Italy having an incredible time.”

  “Titletrack will be at Electric Picnic,” Rowan said, his tone a clear indicator that we’d both just let him down.

  Titletrack. It took me a second, but my mind leapfrogged to a massive poster hanging over Ian’s desk. Four guys, four brooding expressions, and an admittedly unique sound that I’d actually started to look forward to on the mornings when Ian drove me to school. “That band you love. From the U.K.”

  “Now you’ve got it,” Rowan added encouragingly. “Only they’re Irish, not British. And Ian’s planning to—”

  “Okay, Rowan, that’s enough. Addie, have a great time in Italy.” Ian cranked at his window, but I threw myself on top of it, using all my weight to keep it down.

  “Ian, stop.” Rowan looked disapprovingly at my brother. “You were just going to roll the window up on her?”

  Ian shrank under Rowan’s stare, and he dropped his gaze to his fidgeting hands like he was trying to decide something. “Addie, I’ll explain it all later. Just make sure Mom and Dad don’t find out, and everything will be fine. You’ll figure out a way.” He took a deep breath, delivering the next part in a rush. “You’ve been lying to everyone all summer anyway, so this will be easy.”

  The lin
e was rehearsed. He’d been carrying it around in his back pocket in case of emergency. In case I got in his way.

  “Ian . . .” Tears prickled my eyes, which of course made me furious. I couldn’t lose it now—not in front of this oddly dressed stranger and definitely not when Ian was already settled in the oddly dressed stranger’s car. “Ian, there’s no way we’ll pull this off. You know they’re going to find out that you didn’t make it to Italy, and then we’ll have to quit our teams.”

  His gaze collapsed to the dashboard. “Come on, Addie. Sports aren’t everything.”

  “Sports aren’t everything?” Now my breath was catching in little bursts in my chest. What was he going to say next? Fainting goats aren’t hilarious? “Who are you?”

  “This is my only chance to see Titletrack in concert. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but I’m going.” The edges of his voice set hard and crinkly, his eyes a steely blue. The look set off a chain reaction of panic in me. We had officially entered the Defiant Ian stage, better known as the Never Back Down Ever stage. Unless I did something drastic to stop him, he was going to that concert.

  Now or never.

  I dove through the window and grabbed the keys out of the ignition, then shimmied out before either of them could process what was happening.

  “Addie!” Ian yanked his seat belt off and scrambled out the window. I was already on the other side of the car, the keys imprinting in my palm. “Are you seriously doing this?”

  “Wow. You people are really entertaining. Like sitcom-level entertaining.” Rowan reclined his seat noisily.

  I squared toward my brother. “Ian, you can’t do this. You know I have to play soccer if I’m going to get into a good school. Don’t ruin this for me.”

  “Your college plans are not my problem.” His voice fell halfway through. He was trying to play the tough guy, but the real Ian was under there, the one who knew how hard I tried—and continued to fail—at school. Sometimes I got the impression that he felt guilty about how easily things came to him, when nothing ever seemed to come easily to me.

  We stared each other down, waiting for the other to make the first move. Ian stepped toward me, and I bolted in the opposite direction, using the car as a buffer.

  Ian groaned. “Sorry, Ro. Let me just get this out of the way and we can head out. Minor bump in the road.”

  “Don’t you mean glitch in the system?” I asked, purposely making my voice snide. “And ‘Ro’? You already have a nickname for this guy?”

  Ian shoved his hair back, edging toward me. “I’ve known him for more than a year.”

  “How?”

  “We met online.” Ian lunged at me, but his foot slipped on the gravel, giving me plenty of time to make it around to the other side of the car. He rose slowly, holding his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. You win.”

  “Ian, give me some credit. I’ve fought with you for sixteen years. You think I don’t know that the fake out is your go-to move?”

  He just raised his hands higher. “Look, even if Mom and Dad do find out, that just means we’re even. I have to deal with the fallout of you messing around with Cubby, and you have to deal with the fallout of me staying in Ireland. Now give me the keys.”

  “I told you to stop talking about Cubby,” I said. “And you being embarrassed in front of your friends is not a fallout.”

  Rowan’s voice floated out the window. “Is Cubby your oldest brother?”

  “No,” Ian said shortly, his eyes on me. “That’s Walt.”

  “Oh, right. Walt.” Rowan cracked his door and got out, clutching a jumbo-size box of cold cereal that read SUGAR PUFFS. “Look, guys. As entertaining as this is, we all know you can’t keep this up forever. So why don’t we head inside and grab a real breakfast?” He shook his Sugar Puffs winningly at Ian. “Or something stronger if you need it. A pint? We could talk it through.”

  I shook my head. “We aren’t old enough for a pint. And there’s nothing to talk about—”

  In a flash of dark hair, Ian slid across the front of the car and clutched my wrist. We settled into a death grip, Ian fighting to wrench the keys from my hands while I curled up like a pill bug, channeling all my energy into keeping my fists closed. Another classic Addie/Ian fight move. In junior high we’d once maintained this position for eleven and a half minutes, and that was over an Oreo. Walter had timed us. “Ian . . . let . . . go.”

  Rowan leaned back against the car, popping a handful of cereal into his mouth. “You two are the best argument I’ve ever seen for single-child families.” He crunched for a moment, then swallowed. “Okay, here’s a wild idea. Addie, what if you relinquish the keys to my custody and then join us on our first stop?”

  “Not a good idea,” Ian said, leveraging his shoulder against mine.

  “What do you mean join you?” My elbow plunged directly under Ian’s rib cage.

  “Addie,” Ian groaned. “That hurt.”

  “That one’s my signature move,” I said proudly.

  “Hear me out.” Rowan raised his Sugar Puffs into the air. “The first site is not too far from here. Less than an hour. Addie, you can come with us and learn a little more about what Ian’s doing. Then you two can come up with a solid plan to avoid detection by your parents, and then Addie can be on her way. No death matches involved. ”

  First site. Did that mean there was more than one? Curiosity bit into me, but I wasn’t about to start asking questions. Not about a trip Ian was not taking. And especially not when every bit of my energy was currently being channeled into maintaining possession of Rowan’s keys. “We can’t risk missing our flight,” I said, putting a heavy emphasis on the “we.” “Not seeing Lina is not an option.”

  “Who’s Lina?”

  “My best friend.”

  “Oh, duh. The one who moved to Italy.”

  “What else did Ian tell you about me?” I asked, doubling down on the keys.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” Ian said. “Believe it or not, we don’t spend all our time talking about you.”

  I spun away and tried to run for the hotel, but Ian executed a half tackle, and the keys flew out of my hands, jangling across the gravel. I scrambled for them, but Ian got there first.

  He ran for the car. “Let’s go!” he shouted, tossing the keys to Rowan, but Rowan didn’t follow. Instead, he carefully placed the keys in his pocket, surveying me seriously. “Just come with us on our first stop. The airport’s a straight shot from the Burren. We’ll make it in plenty of time.”

  Burren. Where had I heard that word before? You know where, buttercup, a little voice said. Guidebook Lady. Of course.

  “Are you talking about the place of stone?” I asked.

  He brightened, shoving his glasses up enthusiastically. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “I read about it last night.” Ireland for the Heartbroken had a whole section on the Burren, right after the Cliffs of Moher entry. What were the odds that Ian’s first stop on his not-happening road trip was also in my heartbreak guide? My stance shifted. “You really think we’d make it on time?”

  “Absolutely.” Rowan flashed me a friendly smile.

  Ian made a strangled noise, then positioned himself between us. “Look, Rowan, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but this is a bad idea.” And just in case Rowan didn’t get the point, he kept going. “A really bad idea. We need to stick to the original plan.”

  “It is not a really bad idea,” I protested.

  “But we would be following the original plan, just with a minor detour to the airport. It wouldn’t put us behind at all.” Rowan’s voice was slow with uncertainty, his eyebrows bent. He didn’t have to say it for us to hear it: Why are you being such a jerk about this?

  Ian’s shoulders sagged, and his right hand disappeared nervously into his hair. “But . . . there’s a lot of stuff in your car. Where would she sit?”

  “Easy. She’s a little yoke. We’ll make room.” A little yoke? Rowan lifted his c
hin up to me. “You don’t mind a tight squeeze for an hour or so, do you?”

  I leaned over to look through the back window. Ian wasn’t exaggerating. Not only did the car have the tiniest back seat in existence, but it was packed full the way Archie’s and Walter’s cars were whenever they left to start a new semester at college. A jumble of clothes, books, and toiletries. For once, being tiny was going to pay off. “I can make it work.”

  Ian shifted back and forth between his feet, absentmindedly strumming the zipper on his jacket. He was torn. No matter what he said, he didn’t feel okay about abandoning me at the hotel. The big brother was too strong in him. I was going to have to use it to my advantage.

  “Look, it makes sense.” Rowan held out the cereal box to Ian, but he waved it off. “What you guys need is some time to get used to this idea. Going to the Burren will give us that time. ”

  “This is a bad idea,” Ian repeated.

  “You already said that.” Two scenarios played through my head. Best case, I used the extra time to talk some sense into Ian. Worst case, I saw another guidebook site, and maybe got one step closer to healing my broken heart—that is, if Guidebook Lady knew what she was talking about—before continuing on to Italy alone. My mental Magic 8 Ball tumbled out an answer: All signs point to yes.

  I took an authoritative step toward Rowan. “I need you to give me the keys.”

  “Do not give them to her,” Ian ordered.

  One of Rowan’s eyebrows lifted, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

  “I have to go get my suitcase. And I need insurance that you aren’t just going to leave while I’m gone.”

  “Rowan . . . ,” Ian warned.

  Rowan nodded thoughtfully and threw them to me in one smooth motion, his grin still playing on his face. His smiles felt like a payday. “Sorry, Ian. She’s right: I wouldn’t leave us alone in the parking lot either. And I’m a sucker for a well-thought-out argument.”

  Victory.

  Ian shook his hair into his face and crossed his arms tightly. “Addison Jane Bennett, if you are not back down here in five minutes, I will come looking for you.”