Knowing You

  "Yeah. My dad told me."

  "I hope that doesn't make things awkward for you. But I see you the most, and right now, you're the only brother I can tolerate for any length of time."

  Lance laughs. "No. It's fine. Seems like we're going to the same places most of the time anyway. I'm sure we can work it out if something comes up. My dad trusts me, but I am at Blackwood for a reason."

  "Because you covered for your brother."

  "Exactly. So if you ever need me to cover for you, I'm an expert."

  I grin. "I won't get you in trouble. That's not why I wanted to talk to you. It's just that we don't have a way of communicating without phones. You and I don't have classes together, and you don't work at the country club, so ... how can we make plans to go off-campus?"

  "Uh, right." Lance quietly contemplates this for a moment.

  "You can always hide notes," Ashton suggests from the other side of the top hat-shaped topiary.

  "Ashton, what about be quiet and listen did you not understand?" Brendan scolds. The two of them emerge from behind the shrubbery. I cross my arms and glower at Brendan.

  "What?" Ashton defends. "It's not like she's telling him something we didn't already know. And I can help. It's actually something I've always wanted to do since I started coming here, but everyone I mention it to thinks it's stupid. They prefer to pass notes, which is so 1990."

  "And hiding them probably puts us back another century," Brendan says with an exhausted sigh.

  "But this way, we can all see it," Ashton sneers playfully at Brendan. "Like a group text. Especially since most of the time, we'll be going together anyway. Like tomorrow, Lance can leave a note letting us know when Lily's picking us up ... if she can."

  Lance looks to me for approval. I shrug. "It's better than the no idea I had."

  "Where?" Lance asks Ashton. Her Cheshire smile emerges, and I know she already has a spot picked out.

  We follow her to the birch forest. I can't say I'm surprised by this. Nor am I surprised when she pulls out the vape and sealed box from within the hollow of a birch tree. The hole is small, barely large enough for Lance to fit his hand inside. And because it's so small, it blends in with the rest of the black marks on the trunk. But it's also deep, hiding whatever's inside below the line of sight.

  "How do you possibly remember which tree it is?" Lance asks, looking around at the trees that all blend together in their scattered white and black pattern.

  "I remember the number five," Ashton explains simply.

  When we all stare at her in bemusement, she continues. "Three over from the edge of the swing and two forward."

  "I ... guess," Lance says, like he can't quite see the pattern. But I have to smile, because only Ashton would remember it this way. And because it is so arbitrary, we'll probably never forget.

  "I have an old jewelry box that will fit in there perfectly. We can leave the notes inside."

  Ashton and I sit on the swing, sharing her vape, while we work out the mechanics of secret note passing in a tree. I had no idea the complexities that would go into signaling that a note is hidden, and indicating who sent it and read it. But we eventually work it all out, and it's hopefully easy to remember. And the fact that we're resorting to hiding notes in trees to pass along messages is sad in its own right. But it's better than throwing hollowed acorns in each other's windows.

  When we return to the main path, I pause at the entrance of the rose trellis, watching Brendan and Lance continue toward their dorm. Ashton already left us to go to the library. Brendan must sense me lingering because he looks over his shoulder just before they disappear. A few seconds later, he re-emerges, without Lance.

  "I'll answer five of your questions, if you answer five of mine." Maybe it's the mellowing effect of the THC that's making me so accommodating, because originally I was only going to answer three.

  He grins. "Why five?"

  "I was inspired by Ashton," I reply with an inadvertent giggle.

  "These questions cannot be left inside the birch tree," he stresses. "It's in-person only."

  "Of course," I say like he's crazy for even having to say it. "I would never want the others to know, or have it in writing."

  "Good," he says in relief. "I'll figure out where and when and let you know."

  "Okay."

  "Why'd you change your mind?"

  "Because I have a thing for knowing the truth."

  "It's the only thing worth knowing." He winks before disappearing around the corner.

  The first thing I do when I reach my room is dump out my personal possessions onto the bed, hoping my phone is inside and Niall overlooked it. But of course he didn't. The most valuable thing in it is my leather jacket, which I'm thrilled to have back. I'm shocked to find the tip money in a sealed plastic baggie. I lift the wedding band from the small pile of rings and bracelets I was wearing that night.

  "Fucker." Of course I mean the man and not the ring. I wonder how Nick explained its absence to his wife. Which then makes me think of my mom.

  And even though--or maybe because--I'm high, the worry that swarms inside of me feels as heavy as storm clouds. My mother isn't inept, but she's not responsible either. We looked out for each other. She calms me when I can't see beyond my own rage, which is usually incited by someone who hurt her. And I do everything I can to keep her from being hurt.

  Now ... she's hurting and I can't be there for her.

  I'm stuck here, unable to help her heart heal. She can't hear my words telling her she's so much better than half the people in her life. That they don't deserve her kindness or forgiveness. That I wish she didn't believe so easily. And she in return would say that she wishes I would trust more. That I should allow more people in so they can experience how caring and loving I truly am. I would then shrug off her words, allowing the anger to grow until it billows out and I end up in a fight with someone who says the wrong thing, or takes advantage of space that doesn't belong to them, or touches a part of me no one has a right to touch.

  My mother would be waiting for me with an ice pack and a sorrowful expression. But never a lecture about how disappointed she is. She doesn't need to. Her eyes tell me more than that. They tell me she blames herself for who I've become, only making me angrier. Which makes being here that much worse, because right now we can't be there for each other. And I really need her now, probably as much as she needs me.

  The heaviness of the storm swirling inside me turns volatile quickly. I let out a growling scream of frustration and tear the mountain of decorative throw pillows from the bed and pelt them across the room.

  "I don't belong here!" My words are filled with anger, desperation, and helplessness.

  I collapse on the bed and scream into a pillow at the top of my lungs. I keep screaming until there isn't any air left and the sound chokes out of me. I don't realize I'm crying until I lift my face and see the wet marks left behind.

  A knock draws my attention. "Lana?" Ashton calls from the other side. "Can I come in?"

  I brush the dampness from my cheeks and let out a long breath to collect myself before answering.

  There's a woeful look on Ashton's face when she enters, and before I know what's happening, she's bending over and wrapping her arms around me. She practically suffocates me within her fierce hug, my face pressed into the sharp angles of her shoulder. I'm too shocked to do anything but hang limply with my arms by my side. When it's obvious she doesn't plan on letting go, I hug her back.

  "My heart needed that," Ashton tells me with a warm smile when she eventually releases me. "Thank you."

  How does a person respond to that? Then again, who says things like that?

  "Uh, sure. No problem."

  "And if you ever need to scream again, and I mean really scream, I have the perfect place. So just let me know, okay?"

  I blink. "You have a screaming spot?"

  "Everyone should have a screaming spot."

  I smile, appreciating that she's here right n
ow. "I may need it a lot."

  "Then let's go now." I don't argue and follow after her.

  Ashton doesn't ask what's wrong, or if I want to talk about it, as she takes me by my hand and practically drags me after her. I think she may be so used to hiding her truth from the world, that she feels like she doesn't have a right to ask another person theirs. And for someone who is so careful with the truth, it makes me sad for her, to be so lost in a contrived life. She's learning, in her own quirky ways, to interact honestly. It explains her riddling comments and bouts of candor; she's trying to let the world see her, underneath all of the glamour and beauty. And that's when it occurs to me, her curse is Authenticity. And maybe that's why I instantly felt connected with her, even if she is strange. We both seek the same thing, to be honest with who we are. I just hope I don't have to witness her destruction when her curse comes for her.

  When we reach the foyer, we go through the doors of the main entry--that I have yet to use. We descend the stone steps and cross the gravel drive found outside the circle of buildings. I stop to take in what's before us.

  A large field stretches out until it suddenly falls away. And all I can see beyond that is water--what seems like miles upon miles of water.

  "It's Blackwood Lake. The same lake Lily's and Stefan's houses are on. Except they're farther north," she tells me. "In Kingston, everyone either lives on the lakeside or the mountainside. In the middle is the downtown. We are, obviously, on the lakeside."

  "I always thought we were surrounded by woods. But I guess I never really explored the campus beyond the Court."

  "This is one of my favorite places. Maybe because no one does come out here. It's like they forget there's anything outside of the buildings once they enter."

  The field is bigger than I originally thought, and it takes us a while to reach the edge, and that's exactly what it feels like--a preschooler took scissors to the edge of the grass, cutting it off in a jagged line, leaving behind a steep and drastic drop to a rocky shoreline.

  "Holy shit," I breathe out, experiencing a slight heart-palpitating sense of vertigo. There isn't a fence or any sort of protective barrier. If someone were to keep walking, they would plummet and land on the jagged earth below. I look down to see the lake water softly lapping at the sharp angles.

  "This way," Ashton beckons, walking toward the woods. Oddly, the wrought iron fence extends all the way to the end of the property, determined to separate us from the other side.

  Ashton unexpectedly takes a step off the edge and my heart skips a beat. It looked like she walked off the edge onto nothing. But considering, I can still see her, cut off at the knee, there must be something there. I have to walk all the way to the end of the grass to view the flat slabs of rock jutting out haphazardly. Each rocky shelf protrudes from the sheer cliff-face and looks like they might snap if jumped upon. They form a torturous path all the way to the water.

  Ashton walks along the ledge until she reaches the furthest point that hangs over the water. Just watching her stand on the edge of the world quickens my pulse.

  When I haven't moved from the safety of the grass, she laughs. "C'mon. It's not as scary as it looks."

  I carefully lower onto the slab. Focusing on each step in front of me, I fear the slightest falter will cause me to fall to my death. I glance up to find Ashton. There's a slight breeze off the water, causing wisps of her hair to float around her head.

  "This is Screaming Point."

  "That's what it's called?"

  "It is now. As of today. Because it's what we need it to be." She takes my hand. "Ready?"

  I look out at the dwindling light dancing on the dark surface like the lake is capturing every last bit of the sun before it disappears. I close my eyes and find that place inside that is always angry. That hates my curse. That needs Allie to live. And Vic to burn. That wants to hurt every man who has ever broken my mother's heart. Or touched what wasn't theirs. And every person who has ever lied when they claimed to love. I don't have to search for long, because it's always there, waiting to explode.

  I open my eyes to look into Ashton's sapphire blue ones, and nod.

  We face the water and inhale deeply, giving our anger, frustration and sadness a breath of life before we unleash it onto the world in the most powerful scream that's ever been launched from this cliff. And it's freeing. More than I ever thought possible. I allow my heartache to take flight, releasing it into the setting sun to be dragged down beneath the horizon.

  And what's left when there aren't any more screams to give is a radiant smile. Ashton and I face each other, our hands still clasped, and we start laughing. It's a true, bonding laughter because we just shared something sacred. If anyone were to witness it, they would think we're insane. And maybe it's that crazy within each of us that makes the laughter louder and deeper, until I have to wipe away the tears creeping out the corners of my eyes.

  "Thank you, Ashton," I tell her as we start back across the field. "My soul needed that."

  She smiles at me brighter than the sun, and I smile back. And without a doubt, I know, she is the best kind of friend. The kind who will always create places to scream, and reasons to hug, to make the pain easier.

  When I get to my door, there's a Post-it waiting for me. "Open the box!"

  "Crap," I mutter, realizing that I forgot to open the gift, too caught up in my screaming breakdown.

  So, that's the first thing I do when I enter. And inside, is a phone. I smile. "Thank you, Lance," I say out loud, picking up the note that's tucked beside it.

  Don't turn this on while on campus. They will find it. As soon as you can, CALL ME. ~ Joey

  "Look into my eyes, tell me what you see," the handsome man requested. "What is it that my heart desires most? What is my intention?"

  Thaylina struggled to move within the wrap of the silken fabric. But she still did not fear him. Not until she peered into his eyes and saw the truth.

  I barely roll out of bed in time to make my life advisor appointment. After a quick brush of my teeth, I throw on a pair of cut-offs and a tank top and rush out the door. Thankfully, I'm faster at crossing the Court, otherwise I'd really be late.

  When I reach the second floor of the administration building, I find a woman sitting at a desk at the top of the stairs, where the common room is located in the dorms. The rest of the room is filled with club chairs where a couple other students are waiting. From the petrified looks on their faces, they're either in trouble or they're new.

  "Hi, I'm Lana Peri. I have an appointment."

  "Take a seat."

  I hesitate a second to make sure she's actually human, considering how detached and flat her tone sounded. She didn't even look up at me, her eyes fixed to her computer screen. Someone hates her job. Or people.

  I haven't even reached a seat when I hear, "Lana?" I freeze. I know that voice ... too well. I slowly turn with a ginormous smile plastered on my face. Queen Warden would be proud.

  "Mr. Garner. Wow. Are you stalking me?"

  He flounders, "Wha-What? No." He lets out a forced laugh, his eyes glancing nervously to the woman behind the desk. Her attention torn from the screen, she studies him suspiciously. "You're funny. Um, why you don't follow me."

  I whisper as I pass her desk, "Totally stalking." Her suspicion darts to me, and I practically jump back from the assaultive glare.

  "Lana," Mr. Garner scolds from down the hall.

  I follow him into an office the size of a dorm room. They really weren't original with their building designs, were they?

  There's absolutely nothing on the beige walls and there's barely any furniture in the room either, other than a desk and few chairs.

  "Minimalist. Who knew," I say, spinning around.

  "I haven't had a chance to do anything yet. I arrived late last night. It'll look different next time we meet."

  "Why are you here, Isaac?"

  Mr. Garner's face remains expressionless but his eyes harden just enough to let me know I p
issed him off. Then he shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose under his glasses, like I've already given him a headache. "Can we please not start off this way?"

  "What do you mean? We go way back."

  "You know exactly what I mean. Why don't you have a seat."

  "Not until you tell me why you're here. I don't believe in coincidences." Then it occurs to me. "Niall Harrison got you hired here, to watch over me, didn't he?"

  "He may have let me know about an open position and provided a letter of recommendation. It's a great opportunity, so I accepted the offer."

  "How do you know Niall?"

  "I told you, I grew up in Oaklawn. It's hard not to live there and not know the Harrisons in some way. His wife was actually one of my professors at Dartmouth. They're a very--"

  "Powerful?"

  "I was going to say influential family, but even that sounds wrong. They're ... invested."

  "In what? Me?"

  "I suppose you're a type of investment. They want you to succeed."

  "What is up with that word? Succeed! And who's going to determine when I have succeeded? When I have a college diploma? A six-figure salary? It's such bullshit!"

  "You don't want to go to college?"

  "I don't know what I want. But I'm sick of everyone wanting it more than I do." I'm so worked up by this point, I'm pacing the room.

  "That's fair," he says calmly.

  His answer stills me.

  "No one can make you want something you don't. They can't force you to study. Or be invested in your academics. They can hope you find something you're passionate about and explore it. But the only one who has to want it is you."

  "I'm impressed, Mr. Garner," I say, finally coming around to sit across from him. "Did you learn that in one of Professor Harrison's classes?"

  He laughs. "I'm actually supposed to go by this script" --he places his hand on a three-inch binder-- "as a Blackwood life advisor. I've been trying to memorize it the last couple weeks, and between you and me, I can't. Right now, you're my only student. I'm going off script. So don't get sent to my office every other class period or else they're going to start questioning my methods."

  "I keep telling you, I try to stay away."

  "Maybe here the teachers will be more equipped to handle your ... honesty."

  "We can only hope."