I pause with a tilt of my head, not sure how to answer, because Ashton and I were definitely on a different plane than everyone else last night.
"And what are you doing here?" Mr. Garner demands, focused behind me.
Brendan is standing in the doorway. "Helping to clean up." He holds up a box of garbage bags.
"I've got it!" Ashton proclaims, still in the hall. "This is the perfect bed for your ..." Her excitement deflates when she stumbles in to find Mr. Garner. "I have permission!" she declares, holding up the tablet with a furniture site on the screen.
Mr. Garner sighs. "Why does everyone know, but me? Lana, I'm supposed to be the person you go to when things like this happen."
"I knew you'd be worried," I tell him. "And look, you are. So I was right!"
He sighs. "Let's go." He directs me out of the room. "I also came to escort you to your first drug test."
Brendan laughs. He seriously laughs. I really am going to punch him in the face. At least Ashton is kind enough to look horrified on my behalf, which probably isn't helpful either ...
I'm really hoping I get a free pass and they use it as my baseline test, as Mr. Garner thought they might when we first met in his office. I honestly have no idea what they're going to find, especially after last night. Mr. Garner walks me into the nurse's clinic inside the administration building in silence, although I can tell he's internally battling with whatever it is he wants to say or ask.
Blackwood doesn't mess around when it comes to their drug testing. That's apparent as soon as I see the test tube next to the rubber tourniquet. It's basically impossible to hide drug use in a blood test.
"Meet me in my office when you're done," Mr. Garner requests and disappears out the door, leaving me with the emotionless nurse.
She doesn't say anything other than directives. She doesn't even warn me when she's about to insert the needle. And for the benefit of thoroughness, she administers a saliva test as well. I've only ever provided urine tests in juvie, and those can easily be switched. So this is intense. Guess I'm going to be sober for the next five months.
I automatically think of Grant. Suddenly sobriety isn't a bad thing. Not at all.
The nurse must think I'm high. I'm still sitting, all dreamy-eyed with a stupid smile on my face when she's done.
"You can leave," she tells me with a scrutinizing squint of her eyes.
Mr. Garner's office looks nothing like the cavernous space I first entered a few weeks ago. It almost resembles a guy's dorm room with its comfortable furniture, a basketball hoop hung on the back of the door, and photographs of Mr. Garner with random people on mountain tops, in a kayak in what looks like the jungle, and other exotic locations covering the wall. Except he has a desk in place of a bed.
"Well, hello, Mr. Garner," I say, admiring the space. "Who knew you were an actual human being."
"Shut the door, Lana," he instructs, sitting down behind his desk. I comply. "Tell me what's been going on? You've had quite a few mishaps in the short time you've been here."
"What are you talking about exactly?" I'm getting nervous about how much he knows, or what the security cameras may have caught.
He starts counting them off on his fingers. "You almost miss curfew on your second night. You get locked out of the building because your phone wasn't charged properly a week later. And now, your room is completely vandalized by someone who you've obviously upset. What else am I missing? Oh! Right, the drugs that you claim that we'll find in your system after being here for only a weekend. I won't make you tell me where you got them, but c'mon, Lana! Any fights you want to confess to while we're at it?"
I look down.
"Really?" he exclaims in exasperation. "I am obviously sucking at my job."
"This has nothing to do with you," I protest. "You're doing great! Dragging me out of my bed first thing in the morning to make me hit stuff, or seek inner peace. It's really helping, I swear. I don't want you to lose your job over me."
Mr. Garner closes his eyes with a shake of his head. "That's not what I'm worried about. Being here is supposed to be your opportunity to experience something better. Not to bring all of your chaos with you."
"Maybe I am my chaos," I offer with a shrug. "It comes with me wherever I go."
He rubs a hand over his face. "You exhaust me."
I bite back the smile. "I could say the same. I will only get out of bed at crack of dawn for you, Mr. Garner."
"Do you know who is targeting you?" he asks with a sigh, ignoring my snarky retort.
I shake my head.
"I need to hear you say it."
"No," I state clearly ... for the record ... in case his office is bugged and that's why he insisted I say it out loud.
"I'm going to speak to security, again, about their interior patrols. Maybe they'll post someone outside each entrance of the dorms on the Court-side."
"Good luck," I tell him, standing because I presume we're done.
"Call me if anything strange happens, or you find yourself in a predicament that won't look good on your record. No matter what time. No matter where you are. I'll come get you. And if I can, I'll keep it between us." He stands to walk me out. "I really am here to help you, Lana. You're my entire job."
"Sad, isn't it?" I say with a smirk.
"Get out," he says with a chuckle. "Don't do anything stupid."
My phone beeps on my way back to the dorm with a message from my chemistry teacher.
Chemistry tutor rescheduled for 7pm on Thursday.
This day just keeps sucking. But I guess rescheduling makes sense. We haven't had class since our test and there isn't any new material to cover. I was just really looking forward to seeing Grant, and maybe kissing him ... if he'd let me. Then again, he takes his responsibilities so seriously. He probably wouldn't. But his integrity and dedication are also what make me ... I hesitate. How exactly was I about to finish that sentence?
Respect him. Yup. That's what it does. I groan and want to smack my own head. Where's Ashton when I need her?
Come to my room.
A sticky note is stuck to my door. I assume it's from Ashton and not Brendan. When I enter her room, I'm shocked to find Lance and Brendan too.
"Did Ms. Seyer let you up?" I ask.
"We're part of the devastation crew," Lance explains with a cunning grin. He has his feet propped up on a hot pink, leather ottoman, lounging on the couch, playing a handheld video game.
"The what? You know what, forget it."
"Let's go," Ashton announces. "We're going to pick up your mess and move your things in here for when Serge arrives tomorrow."
"Who?"
"My designer. His team is coming to transform your room tomorrow."
Sometimes I forget that Ashton is super wealthy. Granted, she has that air of prestige emanating from her. Now that I consider it, it's more of a glamorous vibe, like wind should be blowing in her hair as flashbulbs go off every time she enters a room. Underneath all of that, she's pretty chill. She's not bitchy or snooty. Nor is she pretentious or superior. So when she talks about her designer and his team, it's like being splashed in the face with ice water--a not-so-subtle reminder that we come from completely different backgrounds, even if we currently find ourselves in the same place.
We spend the afternoon cleaning up my room. I would mourn the loss, except it never really felt like mine. It does piss me off that the psycho tore the head off of the adorable zebra Joey gave me and ripped up the pictures of my friends and family. It seems so ... senseless. What could I possibly have done to make someone hate me? Because that's what if feels like.
I haven't been here long enough to bring on this level of disdain. So it had to have followed me from home. Everyone I know at Blackwood, except for Ashton and Sophia, has some tie to my life; some even before I was born. And this includes Brendan and Mr. Garner. I can't believe I even have to consider Mr. Garner as a suspect. I can't believe I'm using the word suspect.
And if it isn't so
meone from Blackwood, as Brendan believes, then I am completely at a loss. I never met the others until I arrived. And unless I did something without knowing it to gain an enemy ... Well, that really is a possibility. My candor isn't always appreciated. But when I factor in all the messages, and now the picture ... I'm back to being utterly confused.
"I hate the mind games," I growl in frustration. "Just fricken tell me what you want!"
Everyone stops.
"But the melodrama is the best part," Brendan quips.
I chuck a throw pillow at him that has its guts hanging out.
"Want one?" Ashton asks, gummies in her hand. "Will make this more fun."
Lance takes one. Brendan shakes his head.
"I can't," I tell her regretfully. "I'm the official sobriety poster child."
"He must be an amazing kisser," Ashton muses like she envies me.
"Are you talking about Grant?" Lance asks. "What's going on with you two? Is it serious? Are you going to ditch me every time we go off campus now? Because I'm responsible for knowing where you are. And nights like the carnival can't happen all the time."
"Why don't the two of you have to take drug tests?" I ask, deflecting what was starting to sound like an overprotective interrogation. Lance really is taking his chaperoning role way too seriously. "You were both busted for drugs."
"My parents won't allow it," Ashton explains. "They don't want it on record in case it gets leaked to the press."
"My dad won't allow it either," Lance repeats. "Doesn't want it potentially used against me."
"But I have to?" It's not that I need the drugs, but I hate my every move being monitored ... by Lance and the school. I don't need anyone dictating what is best for me, or questioning where I go, with whom.
"Yours is court ordered," Brendan says.
"Why do you know that?" Lance scowls at him. "I'm seriously starting to wonder if we should be trusting you."
"Don't," I interject automatically.
Brendan scoffs. "It's an obvious conclusion to make. She's the only one who has a record among the three of you, so I'm sure there were conditions to her sentencing."
"I think we're done," Ashton announces, assessing the room and trying to deflate the growing tension.
"Thanks for helping me," I tell them all. The guys don't say anything; they just nod awkwardly. Ashton chooses to hug me and give me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Ashton and I carry the only two bags of clothes that survived the attack, while the guys leave with trash bags filled with the remains.
When I'm lying on Ashton's couch that night, she asks, "Tell me about everyone's curses again. What is Brendan?"
"Perception. He sees everything."
"Except how I feel about him."
"That's part of his curse too. He can't see what's most important to him, that's why it'll eventually ruin him."
"Yeah." She yawns. "What about Lance?"
"Lance is cursed with Nobility. He's a good guy, but may not always stand up for the right people."
"I like Lance," she mumbles. "Tell me more."
I list everyone and their curses until we're too tired to open our mouths any longer.
Mr. Garner wakes me for a yoga and meditation class first thing the next morning, followed by a detox session (his words) in the sauna. Ashton decides to join us, and I hate them both for their ability to stand on one foot, with their eyes closed, in a still tree pose. I look more like sea grass blowing in the wind than a tree. Peace and I did not find each other once again. But the hot steam of the sauna did help leach the toxins from my body. I haven't felt this clear-headed in forever.
Grant isn't working when we arrive at the country club. I should probably ask Sophia for a copy of his schedule. Or maybe I could just ask him. But that would be weird.
No. I'll ask Sophia. Also weird, but not as bad.
I finish my shift at The Deck and find Grant clocking in on my way to the locker room.
"Hi," he says. I smile like I just inhaled helium. "What happened to you yesterday?"
I frown. "What?"
"Our tutor session? You didn't show."
A flash of panic shoots through me. Did I read that message wrong? "I got a message from my teacher that it was changed to tomorrow."
"You did?"
I nod. "Why didn't you call me?"
"I don't have your number. At least not until you call me first."
"I'm sorry." Now I need to find a reason to call him. I can't really remember the last time I called a guy to talk. Maybe because that was never.
"Weird I didn't receive a message," he says, looking concerned.
"But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" I ask, hoping he doesn't already have a commitment.
"Uh, yeah. Tomorrow." He still looks bothered by the mess up in scheduling.
"Are you okay?"
"I was ... a little worried ... that you were distancing yourself again. Monday was ... Well, a lot was said."
"I remember," I say, offering a gentle smile.
"All of it?"
"Yup," I tell him. "Even the parts when I was in Wonderland. It feels like I'm looking at those memories from a thousand feet in the air, watching myself. But I remember."
His face becomes thoughtful, almost pained actually--like he's struggling to find the words to ask a question he's afraid to know the answer to. So I stretch up on my toes and kiss him, hoping that gives him the answer. His mouth eases into a smile even before my lips leave his.
A throat clears.
We turn to find Cary standing behind me. "Uh, as much as I'm a fan of young love, I will have to kindly ask you to refrain from expressing it while you're working."
I bite my lip, my cheeks blossoming with color.
"We're not," Grant chokes out, his eyes flashing to me nervously. "It's not ..."
"Relax, Grant. I'm not scolding you like I'm your father. You're not in trouble." Before he walks away, he adds, "I'm actually happy for you both."
Grant closes his eyes and grimaces. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how to fix that, to keep him from thinking ..."
"It's okay. We can't control what anyone else thinks. As long you and I know what we are, or what we're not."
Grant relaxes a little, but the worry lingers in his eyes. I'm not sure if it's because we were caught by Cary, or if it's what I said. "Okay. Then I'll see you tomorrow?"
I nod and watch him walk away. I guess it is a little complicated, to be together but not. Except that's the whole point; it's not something that fits in a box. The more we think about it, or what everyone else will think about it, the more complicated it will be. And it's not complicated ... or it's not supposed to be. And now ... I'm confused again.
I'm not allowed to see my room until Serge has completed its transformation. He and Ashton spend most of Thursday together. They asked me to join them, but after ten minutes of his exaggerated hand gestures and words flying out of his mouth so fast he sounds like he's speaking in a foreign tongue, I told them I needed to go to the library to work on my American government paper.
Before I reach the library, I receive a message.
You have a guest at the administration building.
When I enter, I find Parker waiting for me. He smiles as soon as he sets his brilliant blue eyes upon me. I sigh, hating that he still captivates me.
"Hi," I greet him, surprised to find him in Kingston. "I thought you'd be in Nantucket with your family."
His brows scrunch. "How do you know my family's in Nantucket?"
Crap.
"Your brother," I say, trying to play it off. I'm not sure what his deal is with Joey, and I really don't want to be the reason they continue with their stupid squabble. So it's probably best if Parker doesn't know I've been in contact with Joey.
He nods in understanding. "Right, Lance couldn't come this year because of classes." Then he says, "I came back early. I found out something that I wanted to share with you."
"You didn't have to end your family t
rip for me," I say, not even knowing what it is, but overwhelmed that he chose to come here to see me.
"I did," he says almost excitedly. "We found her." He looks around, realizing we're still in the foyer. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?"
I lead him to the room where I met with Niall when I first arrived.
"Found who?" I ask as soon as the door closes.
"Mara, the girl from the stairwell."
My mouth has a hard time forming words for a moment. "H-h-how?" I stutter.
"One of my partners is a tech guy. Brilliant. He designed our entry app, and vets the list. He was able to track her down. Something about triangulating and crosschecking ... I don't remember to be honest. But he obviously knows what he's doing, because he found her."
"Does he know why you were looking for her?" Suddenly I'm concerned that one more person knows about my presence in the stairwell.
"I was vague. Obviously he knew about the girl who fell."
"Allie," I remind him, insistent that he call her by her name.
"Allie," he repeats. "Sorry."
"So how do I talk to her?" I ask eagerly.
"You?" Parker scoffs. "You're not talking to her."
"But I need to explain what happened. I don't want her thinking I hurt her friend."
"She's not going to say anything."
"How do you know?" I'm not liking where this is going. He's being evasive.
"Because I talked to her. She understands what's at stake."
"And what is that exactly?"
"Don't worry about it."
My heart skips a beat at his non-response. "You better not have threatened her, Parker!"
He laughs off my reaction. "I told you I was going to help you. So I did. It's done." He looks down at his watch. "I'm driving back to New York, so I have to get going."
"You drove all the way up here just to tell me this?" I ask, suspicious, because he's being really ... strange.
"No. Not exactly."
I wait for him to explain, but he doesn't. I want to scream at him to tell me what the hell is going on.
"Walk me out?" He nods toward the door.