Why I Let My Hair Grow Out by Maryrose Wood Page B

Colin would call a nice person like me a bitch.
    â€œO-kay,” she said, after a minute. She was still riding next to me. “But they did ask us to stay in pairs. For safety.”
    â€œI’m fine,” I said. I started to pedal harder. “I’ve got the phone. I’m totally fine.”
    Did I have my phone? Or had I left it on the ground with my helmet? I couldn’t remember, and I didn’t care.
    There was a split in the road up ahead. Lucia was falling a bit behind me now. I picked up more speed.
    â€œSee you at dinner, then!” I heard her call. “Morgan, wait! The map says bear to the right!”
    I barreled down the left-hand road, into parts unknown. I put my head down and my ass in the air and pedaled as hard as I could, just like I was Lance Armstrong in the Tour de fekkin France.
    â€œMorgan!” I heard her call. “Morrrrrrrgannnnnnn!”
    And then I couldn’t hear her anymore. Just the wind rushing past my ears.
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here be dragons. that’s What it says When you fall off the edge of a map.
    But I didn’t see any dragons. Just green grass and rolling hills dotted with animatronic cows. The road went up and down like dunes at the beach but overall I seemed to be climbing in altitude, and the terrain was growing more rocky and less green. There was a strange hill in the distance with a pronounced bump on top, even and symmetrical in shape, almost as if it were man-made.
    My veer into unmapped territory was not premeditated, but how else was I supposed to shake my sad, nosy buddy? At least this way I’d have some privacy. When I got tired or felt like I’d gone too far, I would just head back the way I came and then follow the map till I caught up with the group.
    So what if I arrived at tonight’s inn after dark? This wasn’t Connecticut, where no one under the age of twenty-one is allowed outdoors unsupervised and there are photos of kidnapped children on the sides of milk cartons and Amber Alerts on the news at night. This was Ireland, where you could knock on strangers’ doors to use the bathroom, and you could ride your bike down the middle of the road for hours without seeing a single Lexus, Hummer or SUV.
    This is Ireland, I thought as I pedaled. I’d crossed the ocean but I was still miserable and a loser. I still felt outclassed and outgunned by every random female who crossed my path, and I was still making up daydreams about happy romances with guys who clearly were just not that into me .
    This was Ireland, and my family was glad to be rid of me and I didn’t know where I was or in what direction I was heading. Worse, I had no idea where Raph was or what he was doing right this very minute. All I knew is that wherever the two of us were, I was the one thinking, missing, longing and wondering about him. No way was he thinking about me. Raph? Please. He’d have his brainiac-camp girlfriend all picked out by now.
    This was Ireland, and my butt was starting to chafe and a cool wind was kicking up, and it was starting to look like it might rain. As much as I hated to admit it, I was stupid to have gone off on my own. It was time to turn back.
    And I slowed and made a sharp U-turn, but I hadn’t slowed enough and my bike started to skid out on the pebbled ground. I stretched one leg out for balance and the baggy fabric of my sweatpants got tangled in the chain.
    And first I was flying and then I was falling, falling, falling.
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i Was On the ground, but i Wasn’t sure how long i’d been lying there. I opened my eyes.
    The long gray muzzle of a horse was pushing gently against the side of my head. I felt its hot breath on my cheek.
    â€œFergus!” the horse cried. “Look who’s come back!”

eight
    Quick recap, here: there Was a horse talking to me. Strange, right?
    And there was a young man—named Fergus, if you can believe what the horse was saying. I had never met anyone named