Chapter Thirty-Seven

January 2006

Her classes hadn't started yet, but Mandy scheduled some time in the art lab. It had been three days since New Year's, and since then, Mandy had felt lighter. As though for the first time since being in Europe things might be okay. She hadn't completely forgiven herself for what she had done to Isa, but it was in the past. She couldn't change it. She just had to live with it. And living wasn't really something she had let herself do. Before, she was surviving at best, but Sophie was right, Mandy had been punishing herself, and she likely would for a long time, but for now…for now she was going to try.

A blank canvas sat in front of her along with three different paint colors. Black, white, and blue. With them she could make a hundred different shades. She didn't need all the colors of the rainbow to express the thing she had been feeling in her heart. And so today, without judgment, or an assignment, or anyone else's voice in her head, Mandy was going to try to paint what she felt. It seemed simple enough, but that's what made getting the first stroke onto the canvas so hard.

Just like painting, emotions weren't easy—and expressing them, especially recently, had been practically impossible. Mandy sucked in a long breath and then pushed it all out, ignoring the sour smell of paint that lingered. Ignoring the sound of cars that passed on the street outside. Ignoring the pounding of her own heart and absorbing the silence. Not long before now, the silence was what she was most afraid of, but she couldn't be afraid anymore. Being alone wasn't a punishment, it was a gift, and Mandy had been wasting it. She had been so afraid that if she got used to the silence it meant it would always be that way. She didn't want to accept that she would never hear certain things again—like pots and pans in the kitchen and cooking chorizo, or Isa's voice. Mandy feared accepting things meant she would have to be alone forever, but would that be the worst thing?

She had never, not once, stood solidly on her own two feet. There had always been someone to lean on until now. And while that seemed slightly terrifying, it was also empowering. Mandy could do this. She could prove to herself that she alone was good enough.

She picked up her brush and started to paint.

As common as pubs were in London, Mandy wasn't sure she would ever get used to going to them. It still felt so weird being able to walk up to the bar and order a drink with no questions asked. Mandy still had a couple of years before she would be able to do it back home. When she strolled up to the bar this time, she couldn't help feeling like she was doing something naughty.

"Pint of Guinness?" Mandy made it sound like a question even though it wasn't one.

Luckily the bartender, a middle-aged white man—who ironically looked like every bartender in every British movie Mandy had ever seen—didn't even blink an eye before picking up a glass and filling it. He didn't say anything as Mandy paid for the drink. Not tipping was also something that still felt strange, but Mandy had learned her lesson on that and collected all her change before heading back to the tables where her friends were.

That was another thing that was different now. Mandy had friends. Maybe because she was sticking around, or because she no longer scowled at everything and everyone, or maybe because Mandy had gotten attention from a couple of her professors already this semester based on a few of her early projects and her classmates had finally started talking to her—or maybe she was finally listening. Either way, they invited her to join them at the pub, and Mandy said yes.

This pub was one many of the nearby art students went to. Sophie had suggested several times in the past that Mandy meet her there, but she never did. So it was no surprise that Mandy found her there with some of her friends and they all joined together into one large group.

"Mandy," Finny shouted. His name was actually Nigel Montgomery O'Connell, but for some reason, no one ever called him that. "Wanna play?" He wiggled a dart at her.

"Sure, why not?" Mandy shrugged. She'd been saying yes a lot more recently, and so far, it'd been working out for her. "I have to warn you though. I've never played before."

"Like never, ever? Not one single time?" Finny asked.

Mandy shook her head. "Nope."

"You hear that?" Finny called. "I might actually win a game."

The table erupted into cheers.

Finny draped an arm over Mandy's shoulder. "We are going to become great friends." He was much taller than Mandy, with bright red hair he liked to wear in a Mohawk and extremely tight jeans.

"What if I'm a natural at this?" Mandy set her beer down on a high-top table and picked up the second set of darts.

"I'll lock you in my boot and claim victory anyway."

"You're that bad, huh?"

"Total shit."

Mandy took a sip of her drink. Guinness was one of the few beers she enjoyed. It had more flavor than many of the lighter ones. "Am I supposed to aim at any certain number?"

"If you can hit the board, you've already got a leg up on old Finny here." Rafe, another classmate and Finny's best friend, joined them. In looks, Rafe was Finny's opposite. Dark skin and hair—but they dressed similarly, in too-tight pants and the same loafers with no socks. Where Finny completed his look with a T-shirt, Rafe wore button-ups.

"Piss off," Finny said.

"And miss the show? Never," Rafe said. "I'll be chalker."

"He means keep score," Finny said to Mandy, and then turned back to Rafe. "We don't need you. So you can still piss off."

Rafe ignored him, set his beer on the table next to Mandy's, and proceeded to the small chalkboard on the wall not far from the dartboard. He was also shorter than Finny and closer to Mandy's height, forcing him to have to reach up just as she would've had to in order to scrawl both of their names across the board. Well, he wrote Mandy and Knob across the top—which Mandy had come to learn meant "dick," not the thing you turned to open a door, although they did have those in England too.

Finny went first. He stood at a line that had been marked on the wood floor, shook out his shoulders, and took aim, extending his arm back and forth a few times before he released the dart. "Sod it." The dart missed the board but not by much, anchoring itself into the wall next to the number twenty on the board.

"Brilliant." Rafe clapped and raised his beer before taking a drink.

"Wanker." Finny pretended he was about to throw a dart at Rafe, but of course he didn't. From the short time Mandy had gotten to know them, that was just how they were. They would tease each other and call each other names, but they were fiercely defensive if anyone else tried to do it. Finny took aim twice more, hitting the board—earning him thirty-two points. However that worked out, who knew. Darts was seemingly more complicated than Mandy had anticipated.

It was now her turn, and since she had never thrown a dart in her life, she wasn't sure how hard to throw it. Unfortunately, her first attempt never even hit the board—or the wall for that matter—it almost did though.

"Blimey. There's a chance for you, Finny boy," Rafe said, practically spitting out his beer in the process.

"Beginners get a do-over." Sophie pulled up a stool next to Rafe. "I've read it in the official rule book."

Mandy was pretty sure this was a lie, but Rafe fancied Sophie—Finny's words, not Mandy's—so it was no surprise Rafe responded with, "I think I've read that too." Followed by a wink.

"Whose side are you on?" Finny complained.

"Hers, obviously." Rafe tipped his head toward Sophie.

Finny retrieved the dart and gave it back to Mandy for her do-over. When she tried again, she threw it too hard, and it sank into the wall with a thud.

"I take that back. I'm with her." Rafe pointed to Mandy. "She's terrifying."

They all laughed, and Mandy threw her next two darts, earning her fifteen points.

About twenty minutes later—and with no end to the current match in sight since they were both shit—they abandoned the game to get more drinks.

"You're saying they don't have Jaffa Cakes in America?" Finny said. They had gotten on the discussion of the differences between Britain and the United States, and the conversation of course went straight to food.

"No, but we have Oreos." They were both a chocolaty snack—one a cookie, the other a cake the size of a cookie (or what the Brits called a biscuit). Although there was also some contention about that too, whether a Jaffa Cake was a cake or a cookie—but Mandy wasn't about to get into that. Both were chocolate, except one had fruity jelly and the other had cream in the middle. Mandy thought they were both delicious.

"Never heard of them. Must be tosh." Finny cracked a knowing smile. He was on team Britain Is Better, so even if he did know what Oreos were—which likely he did—he wasn't giving up that easy. "But on a more serious note, what do you miss the most?"

Mandy tapped her fingers on the dark wood bar top. "My family, mostly."

Finny rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. But like what else?"

This one was easy. "Mexican food."

"Now that's what I'm talking about. Tell me more." Finny was a total foodie. He loved to eat, and according to Rafe would drag him to the dodgiest places.

"My friend's grandmother would make the best pozole. It's basically this soup with meat and chilies and hominy, and then you put avocado and lime in it, and OMG, it's so good. And then she makes these tortillas and this salsa. Oh, and her enchiladas are amazing, and when corn is at its peak, she makes elote…" Mandy's mouth watered just thinking about it.

"So the ground beef tacos at Jose's don't cut it?" Finny kept a straight face for about two seconds before busting out laughing. It was pretty common knowledge that Britain was not the place for Mexican food, and the place he named was known to be the worst.

Mandy shook her head and laughed along with him, but what she didn't want to do for the first time just thinking about Isa or Abuela was cry.

The bartender nodded his head in their direction, and Mandy held up four fingers and called out, "Four pints." He acknowledged her with one sharp up and down of his head.

Mandy smiled to herself. Maybe she would actually be okay.