Olivia, Mom and Niall are seated in the private room when I walk in. They look serious, and I’m tempted to walk back out.
“How are you feeling?” I ask my mother, sitting on the purple chaise next to the window so I can keep them all in sight. Not that I’m worried they’re going to attack me—not physically anyway. But the tension is palpable. It’s like sitting in a room with strangers, pretending we know each other.
“I’ll be okay,” she assures me with a tentative smile, her hand reaching for the chain around her neck. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Olivia is seated next to her on the couch while Niall is in a black leather high-back chair off to the side, like he’s presiding over the room.
“I guess I’m not sure what’s going to send you spiraling anymore.” I want to be sympathetic; I do. But the part of me that’s fed up is in control.
Olivia looks stunned, whereas my mother ducks her chin in shame.
“I know you’re trying to be a supportive friend. And I’m happy she has you to help her now,” I tell Olivia, “but you haven’t been living with her for the past three years, forced to make sure she gets up for work or remembers to buy milk because she’s too devastated to function. Someone had to step up and be the adult. It was better for a while, when Nick was around to keep her happy, but apparently, the only way she can live is if there’s a man involved. I’ve never been enough.”
My mother gasps, tears brimming on the edges of her lids.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Olivia defends passionately, taking my mother’s hand. “She loves you.” But the words don’t come from the person who is meant to say them.
“She wants to,” I correct. “Doesn’t mean she does.”
The anger that has always lived right under the surface runs deeper now. It’s like it’s been waiting for this moment to rise up and take over.
“Do whatever you have to do to be happy. Like you said, you don’t need me protecting you anymore. And it’s time I stop coddling you. I hope you figure out you’re worth so much more than how you let these men treat you or else life will keep sucking.” I stand. “And don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself, like I have since Grandma died.”
And that’s my exit. An emotional punch to the gut, and I see it in their slack-jawed expressions. My mother has a hand to her heart like I just ran her through. I don’t stick around for the empty excuses.
I walk directly to the gym, needing desperately to pummel the shit out of something before I explode. And I do until my knuckles are sore and I’m showered in sweat. Thankfully, the boxing area is vacant, and there aren’t many people in the gym today—I probably sounded like a dying animal with each grunt and howl as my fists connected with the bag. When I’m too exhausted to lift my arms is the moment Mr. Garner decides to make his appearance. I’m sure he planned it that way, so I wouldn’t take a swing at him.
“What do you want?” I bark, unwrapping the tape from my hands.
“I owe you an explanation,” he says, looking guilty but not exactly sounding it.
“You don’t owe me anything. Whatever the reason is you’re at Blackwood, it doesn’t matter. Spy on me for your brother. Try to keep me under control for my mother. Whatever. You do you.”
“But I’m not here for them. I’m here for you. Lana, I really do want to help.”
I laugh in an obnoxious are-you-kidding-me way. “By deceiving me? That’s awesome. You’re such a Harrison.” I run a towel over my face and toss it in the laundry bin. “You’re incapable of fixing my life, Isaac.” I move to walk out the door.
“What if I told you I could help Allie?”
I spin around, narrow-eyed, suspicious. “What do you mean? Did you see what happened that night?”
“No, but I know,” he answers regretfully. “And there’s a way to prove she didn’t fall and you didn’t push her.”
I purse my lips, waiting for him to continue. Because I know there’s proof too.
“There’s a recording … of the incident.” He breathes out, like it was painful to say out loud. “I don’t have it, but I may be able to get it.”
“How the hell do you know about it?” I accuse, every muscle tense.
He adjusts his glasses, surprise flashing beneath his lenses. Everything is starting to come into focus, and it’s not making me feel good. If anything, it only adds gasoline to the flames already raging inside me.
“It was … brought to my attention recently.” He evades, clearing his throat like he does when he’s not being completely truthful.
“Parker?” But I don’t need the answer. It’s obvious it was him now that I know they’re related. “And why wasn’t it given to the police from the beginning?”
Isaac looks everywhere but at me. “There’s a lot at stake. We … they wanted to protect the recording until it was absolutely necessary to turn it in.”
I growl in frustration, my hands on my head. “I can’t believe you’re one of the fucking organizers! Why the hell are you involved with them? You know they’re morally inept, right?”
Isaac only stares at me, fighting to keep the guilt at bay.
I tap my lip, sorting through the dynamics of their illegal enterprise. To try to understand why Isaac is involved other than he was expertly manipulated.
“So Parker’s the personality; he gets the members. Brendan’s the brains; he has the tech skills to keep it quiet and run background checks on members. Probably to blackmail them into silence. And you … what? Provide moral support?”
“Money. I help fund it. I’m not really involved in the operations.”
I close my eyes, wishing he hadn’t just said that. “Why can’t Parker handle the money?”
“He doesn’t have access to his trust fund until he’s twenty-five. The idea was to test it out in Sherling to create a model. Then we can do whatever’s necessary to make it legitimate in more populated areas. That’s why we were so careful about who got access. No one underage was allowed to enter, no matter what. Until …”
“Your system’s flawed,” I answer.
I’m pretty sure we weren’t the only ones there who were underage either. I highly doubt Allie’s twenty-one. She looked maybe a year older than me.
“Evidently.”
“So … when do you decide it’s necessary to hand in the recording? When she dies?”
Isaac blinks hard as if I just slapped him. “I haven’t seen the video, Lana. I swear. If I had access to it, it would already be in police possession.” He rubs the back of his neck, where the color is spreading, warring with his conscience.
“I don’t participate in the orchestration of the events. That was the first one I’ve attended. I wasn’t told anything about it until she was already at the hospital. And I was assured she was fine.” He breathes deep, his naive mistake evident on his tortured face. “I should have done more. I’m sorry.”
“So if she lives, he gets away with it?!” I pace back and forth with my hands on my hips, unable to keep still, forget about calm.
“No,” he answers firmly. “That’s not going to happen. We’re figuring it out. It’s just … it’s hard to get to him. His family is protected. But he won’t get away with it, I promise.”
“I don’t believe you,” I snarl.
And if I could lift my arms, I really would punch him in the face. I push through the doors and leave, unable to look at him a second longer.
The pounding has stopped by the time I return to my room. There’s still a jabbering of voices next door as they do whatever it is they’re doing, but it’s not nearly as chaotic. I shower and throw on a pair of cutoffs and a tank top before calling Grant.
“Do you remember when you said I should call you before I lose it and punch someone? Well … this is me calling. I want to punch everyone.”
I tried to make him see love still waited for him. But he refused to love me.
Grant was stuck working at the country club all day, and although he tried
to talk me down over the phone, it wasn’t nearly as effective as him in person. So I went out to Screaming Point with Ashton and let loose until I was hoarse.
“Whoa! What the hell happened this weekend?” Ashton asks after I collapse on the rock, my arms and legs splayed. “That was pretty impressive, my angry pixie.”
“Everyone’s so … selfish,” I declare, not knowing how to put my vexation into words. “They only care about protecting their secrets, no matter what it ruins.”
“Secrets suck.”
I roll my head to the side and watch as she finishes weaving an intricate ring of wildflowers she picked along the perimeter of the lawn. She’s wearing the one she made during my screaming episode. Holding the finished flower crown in the air, she silently prompts me to come to her. Conceding, I get on my knees.
“I appoint you guardian of the wounded. Protector of the defenseless. And officially my best friend.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “Thank you. Although I’m not so sure I’ve protected anyone.”
Ashton shoots me a contradictory look.
“You’re one of my best friends too.” I adjust the ring on my head, so it’s not poking me. “Do you hear from any of your friends in New York?”
“Only Hala and I are still close. The rest were … accessories. Wearing masks to smile pretty for the cameras.” Ashton leans back with her arms extended behind her, her voice taking on a dreamy tone. “We were an entourage of beautiful characters, using each other to get into parties and appear important. All the time, we hid our ugliness behind public perfection—addictions, eating disorders, insecurities. I got lost in drugs and alcohol … sometimes, I still do. They were never my friends, and I wasn’t much of one to them either.” She stands and stretches her arms above her head with the grace of a dancer. “What about you? Do you still have friends from back home?”
“Yeah. Tori and Nina. They’re cousins. We’ve gotten into so much trouble together. But we always protect each other, no matter what. And I never have to guess what they’re thinking.” I wish they were here right now. I could use their candor and straight talk about this whole insane situation. They’d have no problem telling everyone where they could go with their secrets and lies. “I miss my girls.”
“Would I like them?” Ashton asks, stepping forward ‘til her toes curl around the edge of the rock.
I can feel my heart speed up.
I stand in case I need to pull her back from the edge. “Um … I think you like everyone.”
Ashton considers it for a second. “Just about. Would they like me?”
I press my lips together, not sure how to answer. “You may be a lot for them, to be honest. They’re pretty intense, and you’re a little strange.”
“I’m not everyone’s flavor. I get that.” She shrugs like she is completely at peace with it.
“But you’re mine,” I assure her. “And you don’t have to wear a mask or hide behind the drugs for me to see who you are. I like your quirky flavor.”
Ashton twirls suddenly, her black hair fanning out around her. My breath hitches when she teeters on one leg. She sets both feet down on solid ground, and I exhale.
“I am delectably bizarre, aren’t I?”
“Definitely,” I agree with a laugh. “Wanna see who’s moved in next door before you give me a heart attack?”
“Yes!” Ashton cheers. “Should I bring her a flower crown to welcome her?”
“No,” I answer simply. “We need to see if she meshes with our flavors first.”
We return to the dorm to find the door next to mine propped open. Ashton walks right in without announcing herself or knocking. I step barely inside the door, prepared to leave if the occupant starts screaming at us to get out.
The transformation the room underwent in just half a day is insane. Our rooms really aren’t huge. I mean, they’re bigger than my bedroom back home, but this space feels like it’s been magically stretched and altered. It could have something to do with the shimmery crystal curtain dividing it in half.
The side I can see is sterile white, like someone took a can of glossy white spray paint and covered it from ceiling to floor. The school-issued sink and counter have been concealed beneath some sort of high-gloss console. There’s a tall closet of the same finish in the corner where mine is, except it doesn’t have any knobs. I have no idea how she opens it.
A crazy chandelier spiders across the ceiling, and the floor is covered in large white tiles. It lacks any sort of personality. And come to think of it, it’s kind of boring. The only thing that notes her style is a large black-and-white photograph hanging behind a white vinyl couch. It’s a close-up of a pair of lips that have been painted hot pink and then smeared across her face. It’s odd. As is the couch on stilts and the shiny lacquer table in front of it with a fur underside. I examine the wall that it faces but only find another white cabinet. Maybe they’re not done decorating?
The crystals shimmer as the strands part, and a tall, slender girl flows through them like water. She and Ashton are basically the same Amazonian height, making me feel truly like an elf … or pixie—the name is kinda growing on me.
“Arden! Oh, I am so happy it’s you!” Ashton exclaims, embracing the smiling girl.
I take her in as they hug. Her black hair is cut into a bob at chin level, and her dark, exotic-shaped eyes are shaded in vibrant yellow, her lashes painted white. The rest of her face is neutral in tone, including her matte lips. Her round face is contrasted with pronounced cheekbones. She’s peculiar, like a piece of abstract art.
Even her clothes are an extreme contrast in color and design. She’s wearing bright red micro soccer shorts with a white mesh hooded crop top and a lime-green bra beneath. She has the sleek form and sinewy muscles of a dancer. I can’t stop staring even though I know I should. She blatantly takes me in from over Ashton’s shoulder as well.
“Hi, I’m Arden.” She offers me her hand when Ashton releases her.
“Lana,” I respond, shaking it. “I’m your neighbor.”
“Wonderful!” Arden exclaims, her eyes glowing in delight. “I was just making tea. Do you want some? It’s this incredible jasmine blend we picked up in China over the summer.”
“Ooh, that sounds amazing,” Ashton coos.
“Come in.” Arden holds back the curtain to invite us into the other half of the room. “Oh, please take off your shoes first.”
If the first half looked ultramodern and lacking of … everything, this half more than makes up for it. It’s like we’ve walked into a tranquil garden. Somehow, they were able to make a wall of pebbles with water cascading down in a quiet trickle. When I step into the space, my feet sink into the softest white carpet I’ve ever felt. It’s like walking on a cloud.
“Sit,” Arden prompts us as she prepares a tray from a tall, dark wooden sideboard tucked under the window.
I look around for a table but then realize that a small pond at the bottom of the pebble wall is topped by a glass tabletop. Around it are pillows of various shades of pink.
I glance at Ashton, who is soaking in every detail with wide eyes, and lower onto a pillow. I peer through the glass table to admire the pink flowers floating in the pool of water the size of a round coffee table. It’s elegant and serene. Maybe I could actually figure out how to meditate in one of the plush fur-covered pods under the pagoda on the other side of the room. I’m guessing her bed is on top, hidden by a white silk curtain embroidered with pink flowers. The pagoda is lined with long, rectangular boxes of pink orchids and bamboo.
“Your room is truly spectacular,” Ashton says in awe, her eyes continuing to roam around the room. “Who’s your designer?”
Arden joins us, setting down a tray displaying a delicate floral-painted teapot and matching cups. She’s included a bowl with mini sugar cubes and another with honey and a tiny spoon.
“Antonio. He’s a genius.” Arden tips the pot, pouring the tea with such precision, it looks like an illusion.
/> Ashton helps herself to a cookie, catching the crumbs in a cupped hand under her chin.
“Have you been here all summer?” Arden asks me, drizzling a dollop of honey into her cup.
“Sadly,” I answer.
“Yeah, we arrived a couple days before the rest of the summer students,” Ashton explains. “The school felt even more haunted than usual.”
“Wait. Why did you get here early?” I ask Ashton, remembering Grant’s theory that it wasn’t a coincidence.
“Brendan asked me to.” Of course, it was Brendan. “And they wanted me to start at the country club as soon as possible.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Arden says with pure sincerity. “That means you’ve had to put up with the Court being transformed every other minute.” She looks to me. “And this is your first year, right? How did you survive it without going insane?”
“That’s debatable,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Do you mean the Court doesn’t change during the school year?”
“Not like the summer. The Poppy Institute is given restrictions during the school year. They can’t change the pathways, but they can decorate the gardens for the seasons.”
“How come you never told me about this?” I ask Ashton, who’s already on her third cookie.
“Um …” She considers it for a second, chewing on a mouthful before answering, “I guess because the Court always confuses me, no matter what season it is.”
Arden laughs. “The Poppy Institute’s an agricultural school that’s allowed to use the Court for their landscaping installations. I’ll explain it to you later,” she tells me. “I’m going to crash early because I’m suffering from crazy jet lag. But what are you ladies doing tomorrow?”
“I was thinking of going to Stefan’s party. Wanna come?” Then she looks to me and frowns. “Sorry, Lana.”
“Only one more week,” I chant like I’m giving myself a pep talk.
The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew Page 15