Before Ivy could say anything or react at all, Layla’s arms were around her again, her face buried in Ivy’s hair. “Ives, what’s going on? I’ve been calling you all day! Why haven’t you answered your phone? It’s your birthday.”
Ivy started crying even harder and tucked her chin into Layla’s shoulder. She didn’t want to—she wanted to push her sister away—but she was so tired.
Until she saw Gigi hovering behind Layla, holding an umbrella.
“What is she doing here?” Ivy yelled over the wind, yanking back from Layla.
“What?” Layla asked.
“Gigi.” Ivy pointed at her. “Why is she here?”
Layla frowned, and Gigi took a step away from them.
“Ives,” Layla said. “She’s helping me look for you. You wouldn’t answer your phone, and Mom called Taryn’s house. We didn’t know you were staying the night at June’s. We didn’t even know you went to the dance. We had to hear it all from Taryn’s mom and Dr. Somerset. Then your friends told us you’d left. Mom and Dad are out looking for you too. What’s going on?”
“But you were mad at her,” Ivy said, warm tears running down her face. Her voice sounded like she’d swallowed sand. “Before the storm, you were fighting. I heard you fighting that night, and you haven’t talked for weeks because Gigi likes girls and you’re mad at her.”
It all tumbled out. Layla’s eyes widened, and Gigi’s mouth fell open.
“Oh, Ives. You heard us that day?” Layla asked.
“I came to your room to show you something, and I heard you crying, and I didn’t mean to hear it.” Ivy was sobbing now. “But I did and I don’t understand, and I hate you because you were mad.”
“Ives.” Layla put her hands on her sister’s shoulders, but Ivy smacked them off. Layla sighed and glanced over her shoulder at a freaked-out-looking Gigi. “I wasn’t mad because Gigi likes girls. I wasn’t. I’m not.”
“Then why? She was crying and you haven’t talked in forever. I know you haven’t. Not until the night Mom and Dad went out.”
“No, we hadn’t talked in a while. But not because of who Gigi likes. I was upset because…” Layla sighed and rubbed her forehead.
“It’s okay, Lay,” Gigi said. She knelt down next to Layla, shielding them all with her big umbrella.
Layla nodded. “I was a terrible friend to Gigi, okay, Ives? I was mad because Gigi didn’t tell me, and I heard it from some guy I barely knew. I was hurt that Gigi didn’t trust me with that. Not because she likes girls.”
Ivy blinked at her. “Really?”
Layla nodded. “But even that was wrong of me because… well, coming out is hard, and I have no idea what that’s like, and I should’ve just let Gigi do it the way she needed to. It wasn’t about me. I should’ve supported her no matter what.”
Gigi reached out and grabbed Layla’s hand. Then Gigi grabbed Ivy’s too.
“Ives.”
Ivy looked up into Gigi’s brown eyes. “Why did this make you so upset?” Gigi asked. “The idea that Layla might not be my friend because I like girls?”
Layla curled a piece of wet hair off Ivy’s cheek, tucking it behind her ear. It made Ivy cry even harder.
Ivy nudged her bag out from under her legs and took out her purple notebook. She flipped through the remaining drawings, all her explanations so clear. Layla and Gigi waited patiently, and Ivy was glad. She needed the time to look.
To see herself.
As she looked at all her stormy treehouse drawings, all those pictures with her tucked away inside with some nameless girl, she noticed something else. In between all the treehouses were other drawings too.
Drawings of things Ivy loved, like the little cape off the Gulf of Mexico where her family went the summer she was ten, water like a sapphire under the sun. Ivy remembered she’d used every blue she owned to make the sea look like that. There were drawings of delicate purple violets and bright yellow tulips; a sketch of Ivy’s mother, pregnant belly full and round as she drew in her own notebook; Layla, her head thrown back and laughing; Taryn with that peaceful look on her face she got whenever she and Ivy pondered mysteries together; a stack of books with a cup of tea set on top; this very oak tree, as viewed from Ivy’s old attic room; Aaron’s and Evan’s tiny hands reaching toward each other as they napped on a blanket in the living room; Ivy, her foot resting on top of a black-and-green soccer ball and her arms crossed, her expression triumphant.
There were dozens of pictures, drawings of the things that made Ivy happy, self-portraits, all the colors of her world, all the things that made her feel like her. Liking girls was part of that, but it wasn’t everything. It was one piece in a bigger puzzle, and when you put all the pieces together, there was Ivy.
“This is me,” Ivy whispered. She slid her notebook into Layla’s lap. “This is me.”
Layla didn’t say anything. She just took Ivy’s offered notebook, being sure to keep it protected under Gigi’s umbrella. Then she turned each page, carefully and gently, taking her time on each drawing.
“These are beautiful, Ives,” Gigi said, and Ivy felt herself smile.
When Layla was done, Ivy handed her the yellow notebook, open to the picture of her and June in the treehouse. Layla’s eyes softened with recognition.
“That’s why you’ve been so upset with me lately,” Layla said. “Because you thought I’d be angry with you like you thought I was angry with Gigi.”
Ivy’s throat ached. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Layla said, gliding her hand over Ivy’s hair. “That wasn’t your fault, okay? It was mine.”
“I should’ve just asked you,” Ivy said. “But I was scared.”
“I know. I’m really sorry, Ives.”
Ivy slid her purple notebook back into her own lap. She flipped through the drawings again. They all looked different somehow. Different from even a couple of weeks ago. They were a little splattered with rain, and the storm around them bent the trees and shook the earth, but the drawings were safe. As she looked at them, treehouse pictures and all the ones in between, she didn’t feel so stormy anymore.
She felt relieved.
This is my letter to the world that never wrote to me.
Suddenly, she knew exactly what Emily Dickinson had meant. It wasn’t about whether or not June liked Ivy back, and it wasn’t about Taryn or Mom or Layla or what anyone thought about who Ivy was. It wasn’t about the world at all.
Emily still had things to say.
And so did Ivy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Belonging
Mom curled up next to Ivy on the bed at the Calliope Inn. Layla was tucked in on Ivy’s other side, her fingers moving slowly through Ivy’s wet hair. Dad sat at the end of the bed, and he kept patting Ivy’s leg under the pink-and-white floral quilt, like he was making sure she was still there.
Aaron and Evan slept in their little bassinets.
Everything looked the same as it did before Ivy left to stay at Taryn’s. The room was a mess, all their hand-me-down clothes and toys and towels slung over the backs of chairs and piled on the desk. It smelled the same—like baby powder and toothpaste and peanut butter.
But everything was different.
Earlier, when Layla and Ivy got back to the hotel room, Mom and Dad attack-hugged both of them. Then Mom made Ivy change out of her wet clothes and tucked her into bed. When Ivy was warm and dry, her parents brought over a double chocolate cupcake with a candle sticking out of the top and a small wrapped rectangular package.
Ivy devoured the cupcake, and now the package was on her stomach, still wrapped.
“I really think you should open your present,” Layla said, nudging the package with her knuckle.
Ivy didn’t really care what was inside. It didn’t matter all that much anymore, but she opened it anyway. The wrapping paper was sky blue and sparkly, so pretty that it was almost a shame to tear it.
But Ivy was glad that she did.
Ins
ide was a pack of beautiful, brand-new, dream-come-true, dual-tipped brush pens, the exact same ones she’d lost in the storm. Ivy hugged them to her chest like a lovey.
“I missed our 10:33 date,” Mom said quietly after Ivy hiccuped out her thank-yous.
“Yeah,” Ivy said just as quietly.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I tried calling after lunch, but I know it’s not the same. I know I messed up.”
“Why did you forget?”
Mom sighed. “I don’t have a good reason. It’s been a lot to deal with, Ivy. The house and then Aaron getting sick, and everything felt off after we sent you to Taryn’s.”
Ivy frowned, wanting to believe that. Not that things had been hard, even though she knew they had been, but that maybe her family didn’t feel like her family without her.
“Is Aaron okay?” Ivy asked.
“He’s much better,” Mom said. “He misses you.”
“He does not,” Ivy said.
“He does too!” Dad said, wiggling Ivy’s foot. “You’re the only one who can pull off a good enough monkey face to make him laugh. I’ve tried, trust me.”
Ivy smiled, but her heart still hurt. She felt more like herself than she had in a long time, but did this new Ivy—the real Ivy—still fit with her family?
“That picture I found,” Mom said. “The one you drew of all of us that I liked so much?”
Ivy swallowed and looked at her mother.
“That drawing is not perfect, Ivy,” she said. “Not by a long shot.”
“Mom, way to be harsh,” Layla said, but Ivy squeezed her sister’s hand.
“You don’t think so?” Ivy asked Mom.
“Nope.”
“What picture?” Dad asked.
Mom lifted a brow at her. Ivy pushed back the covers, messing up their Aberdeen pile, and scooted off the bed. She found her messenger bag near the sofa and took out her yellow notebook, flipping to the back. There, she removed a folded piece of paper and handed it to her dad.
He unfolded it, his forehead wrinkling up as he looked at it.
“No,” he said. “Definitely not perfect.”
“Why are you guys being jerks?” Layla asked, huffing through her nose.
Dad smiled and handed the drawing to Layla. She snapped it out of his hands, her eyes widening as she took in the details.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes finding Ivy’s. “No, this is far from perfect.”
Ivy took the drawing back and looked at it. It was her family. They were all there. Except for her.
But now, she saw where she should go. Right next to Layla so that they were sandwiched in between their parents. Maybe Aaron should be in Ivy’s lap so she could monkey-face him if he got upset. She looked at all the colors in her new brush pens, and she could see herself, pink-haired and maybe wearing her favorite green Beatles shirt that Layla had given her but was now lost. A girl could dream. Ivy was very good at dreaming.
It wouldn’t be perfect. Ivy wasn’t sure that perfect existed. Because this family stuff, this life stuff, it was messy. Maybe perfect was just another word for belonging. For feeling like yourself. It didn’t mean things weren’t hard. It just meant they were right. It just meant that eventually things would get better, and make more sense, that your heart wouldn’t always feel so lonely.
It meant safe.
It meant okay.
Ivy found her purple notebook in her bag and placed it in Mom’s lap. Layla reached out and squeezed Ivy’s hand, and she didn’t let go as their parents flipped through Ivy’s life. Layla didn’t let go as they turned the pages of Ivy’s heart, as Dad teared up and Mom ran her hand over her drawings with a little smile on her face. Layla didn’t let go when they looked at all the treehouse pictures, when Ivy explained what they meant to her, when her parents wrapped her in their arms, pulling Layla with them, and they were a big, perfect Aberdeen pile again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Resilient Ivy Aberdeen
The Kellerman Gallery was packed. Most of the town had shown up to see Resilient Helenwood, and all the artwork that usually hung on the walls was replaced with a cornucopia of colors and mediums, words and photographs.
Two weeks ago, after the Spring Dance and Ivy’s move back to the Calliope Inn with her family, Mom helped her go through all her drawings and pick out the ones she wanted to submit to Ms. Lafontaine for the show. They chose ten treehouse drawings, along with a new drawing of Ivy all alone, which would be at the center.
Alone, but not lonely. In the drawing, she was standing on a green lawn that looked exactly like the yard she’d spent the past twelve years playing in and running through. Campouts and hide-and-go-seek. Picnics and cartwheels. Storm clouds rose up behind her, dark and threatening, but a powerful sun peeked through, sending coppery rays through the whole drawing. And Ivy was smiling.
When Ivy handed all the drawings over to her homeroom teacher, she told Ms. Lafontaine that they were supposed to be seen as one piece, one story. She laid out the drawings on a few desks and told her teacher how she wanted them displayed.
Unframed.
Ripped edges of the paper intact.
Water splotches and wrinkled corners left alone.
Pinned with thumbtacks in a circle, all those stormy treehouse drawings surrounding one strong, smiling girl.
A girl who was sure about who she was. A girl who wasn’t afraid or ashamed, even if a time came again when she wasn’t so sure anymore. Because Ivy knew that wondering was what life was all about. Wondering was how you found yourself.
Underneath the piece, one single white card would read:
My Letter to the World
Medium: Ink on paper
Artist: Ivy Aberdeen
Ms. Lafontaine loved it. The school’s principal loved it, and the elementary and high school art teachers and principals loved it. Ivy didn’t know if they saw what those treehouse pictures meant to Ivy. Maybe they just saw two good friends, a portrait of community and bravery and safety, while the world went wild around them. And that was okay because that’s what the drawings were—dreams that got Ivy through a storm.
Now Ivy stood before her piece as the gallery filled up and up and up. People came by, tilted their heads at her drawings, and Ivy held her breath while they inspected all the little bits of her heart.
But in the end, it didn’t really matter what they thought. Ivy loved each and every speck of color on those drawings, and that’s all she really cared about.
Still, it was nerve-racking having everyone see so much of her, and she was glad when she spotted her mom’s pale red head weaving through the crowd. Layla and Dad were right behind her, a baby boy strapped on each chest.
“There’s my girl!” Mom said as she reached Ivy. Ivy threw her arms around her mom’s waist.
“Looks like it’s going well,” Dad said, ruffling Ivy’s hair.
“I think so,” Ivy said.
“Duh, you’re brilliant,” Layla said, grinning at Ivy.
Ivy made a monkey face at Aaron, his feet dangling from Dad’s carrier, and he giggled before stuffing his fist into his mouth.
“So proud of you, sweetheart,” Mom said. “When we get settled at Jasper’s mom’s place, will you help me figure out my next Harriet story?”
“Really?”
Mom nodded. “Absolutely. And I think it’s time for you to start writing your own stories too.”
Ivy smiled. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”
“June’s piece is really nice,” Layla said. “Have you seen it?”
Ivy’s smile dimmed a little, and she shook her head. Ivy hadn’t included the drawing of her and June in the treehouse as part of the show. The short-haired girl was very obviously June, and Ivy didn’t feel right about putting it out there for everyone to see. For the past two weeks, Ivy and June hadn’t really talked. Ivy didn’t know if that was because of June or herself, but she pretty much avoided June, spending her lunch time in the library. June hadn’t tried to talk to her either.
Ivy wasn’t sure there was anything left to say, and she guessed that was okay.
She guessed it had to be.
Ivy’s parents said they were going to look at the other art pieces, and Layla met up with Gigi while Ivy hung around her piece. She was supposed to stay close to it in case anyone wanted to “discuss” it. It seemed weird to Ivy, the idea that someone would want to discuss her drawings.
It wasn’t long before Taryn slid up next to her. She was wearing a gray dress with tiny pink flowers. Just as with June, Ivy hadn’t talked to Taryn since the night of her birthday. Taryn had slipped a few apology notes into Ivy’s locker, but Ivy never responded. She didn’t feel mad, but she didn’t feel not mad either. She felt… hurt.
They stood there for a long time, just looking at Ivy’s piece.
“Pondering mysteries?” Taryn finally asked.
Ivy let herself smile a little. “Pondering a lot.”
Next to her, Taryn exhaled. “How does ink come out of pens?”
“Parallel universes. Freaky.”
“We only use ten percent of our brains.”
“Area 51.”
“Boys, ugh.”
Ivy laughed, but then it faded quickly. “Friends.”
Taryn’s smiled dropped away too. “Those are a mystery.”
“They shouldn’t be.”
“No, they shouldn’t.” Then Taryn turned and faced Ivy. “I’m so sorry. Taking your notebook and keeping it from you, writing you all those notes without telling you who I was, that was wrong. Really, really wrong, and I’m so, so sorry.”
Ivy nodded. The hurt didn’t go away, but she thought about Layla and Gigi and why Layla had handled everything so badly.
“I’m sorry I pulled away from you this past year,” Ivy said. “I didn’t know I was doing it, but you’re right. I did. But I really wasn’t ready to talk about it, Taryn. I wasn’t ready because I was figuring it out. And even though I know that I like girls… well, I’m still figuring it out. Figuring me out. I’m not sure that ever goes away for anyone. It’s a lot. But I need you to know it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. It wasn’t about you at all.”
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