Free Shade by Jeri Smith-Ready

Newgrange megalith in Ireland, including one of a girl my age—Eowyn Harris. All dated a year before my birth. All written in my mother’s handwriting.
    By this point, I had memorized Mom’s journal entries.

Thursday, December 20

It’s true what they say about Ireland—this place is magic. I never believed in any of that mystical crap before, not even Gina’s supposed “ghost sight,” but now I wonder. It feels like I was meant to come here, like my soul is home.

Nah, I’m probably just jet-lagged. Getting up early for the solstice sunrise tomorrow—woo-hoo!

Friday, December 21

There are no words to describe what happened this morning in Newgrange. But so, so, SO many questions.
    Someone had torn out December 22’s entry, but who? My mom? Aunt Gina?
    Rather than making me feel gloomier, thinking about my mother and the stuff she left behind calmed the cyclone in my head. I was on my way to finish her quest.
    Zachary and I arrived at the University of Maryland fifteen minutes early—good thing, because it took ten minutes of driving around the humongous College Park campus to find the right building.
    I reached between the seats to get my book bag, then caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. Mistake.
    “Gross, I’m so zombiefied.” I pulled my matted hair forward to cover my puffy eyes. “Dr. Harris’ll think I’m strung out or hungover. Great first impression.”
    “Amazing, though.”
    “What?”
    Zachary started to answer, then brushed his lips with the side of his finger. “No, it’s stupid.”
    I’d never seen someone use so much of their mouth for that word. “What’s stupid, besides your mind games?”
    “Okay, but if I start, you let me finish.” He spoke to the radio instead of meeting my gaze. “The pieces of you are complete shite today, the bloated eyelids and splotchy skin and your hair all”—he waved his hand—“you know, and all together you should look pure hackit, but somehow you’re more bonnie than ever.”
    I rewound his sentence in my head. Zachary’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, and I must’ve seemed pissed, because he said, “Sorry,” and reached for the car door handle.
    “Wait. What’s ‘hackit’? What’s that mean?”
    “Ugly. But ‘bonnie’ means—”
    “I know what ‘bonnie’ means.”
    Zachary held up a hand. “I’m no’ flirting with you, not with your boyfriend just passing. I’m only making an observation.”
    I took off my sunglasses to see him better. He didn’t look like he was trying to come on to me. He looked kind of pathetic, actually, for someone who was himself so, uh, bonnie.
    “Thanks,” I said, partly because I knew it would shock him if I didn’t get offended. But mostly because his words made me feel better, seeing as I was, objectively speaking, pure hackit.
    We stood in the doorway of Dr. Harris’s vacant office. A midnight blue silk tapestry covered the ceiling, speckled with golden spots representing stars in their constellations. An MP3 docking station onthe windowsill behind the desk played a hypnotic synthesizer tune.
    Posters and paintings of ancient megaliths were stapled or nailed to the bookshelves, covering all but a few spaces, which held miniature replicas of standing-stone formations. The famous Stonehenge sat next to the grassy dome of Newgrange, which gave me a shiver of recognition.
    Dozens of books were stacked on the floor next to the shelves. On the desk facing the door, more volumes stood in foot-high piles along the perimeter. It looked like someone had started to build a fort.
    I clutched my book bag strap with sweaty palms.
I might actually get some answers today,
I thought.
I wish I still cared about the same questions.
    Zachary checked his watch. “We’re on time,” he whispered. “Where is she?”
    “If by ‘she,’ you mean me”—a head popped up from behind the book fort—“I’m right here.”
    I almost jumped at the sight of the … professor? She looked only a