“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 questi
on 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.
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