Knowing You

"Do you really want to know how I learned how to drive?"

  "Was it illegal?"

  "Yes."

  "Maybe I shouldn't know. Not yet." And with a heavy exhale, he pulls out his keys. "How's your hand?"

  "Sore but fine. Won't affect my driving, I swear," I reply eagerly

  "And you know how to drive stick?"

  I nod, my eyes twinkling. He sets the keys in my hands, holds on to them for a contemplative second, and finally releases them. I throw my arms around him and squeal like Kaely.

  "Why are you two still here?" Nancy asks. "If you don't want to be cut--"

  "We're leaving right now," Grant announces.

  "I'll meet you in the parking lot," I tell him as I enter the event locker room to change.

  Grant tries to remain calm when we pull out of the parking lot. It takes me a few gear changes to get used to his clutch. He traps his commentary behind pursed lips with every grind of the gears and jolt of the car. But I figure it out fast enough, and we fly through the wooded roads, the day settling into twilight. Grant probably wouldn't have agreed to let me drive if it was already dark.

  He soon figures out that I need more notice than a "turn here" if he doesn't want to be forced to grip the outside of the door as I squeal around the corner. When we finally reach the firefly field, he visibly exhales like he hasn't been breathing the entire car ride.

  "Who taught you to drive?" he asks, stepping out of the car and taking another deep breath to settle his nerves.

  "Um, I did," I tell him. "You want to know the rest?"

  "Give it to me," he says, bracing himself.

  "One of my best friend's brothers used to steal cars, just to take them on joy rides. Sometimes we were with him. And sometimes he'd let us drive."

  "You had a very interesting childhood, didn't you, Lana?" he replies, trying to make light of it. I can't tell if he really is this easy going about my illegal escapades or he's hiding his shock really well. I still question if this much honesty is good for him. Or me.

  "Maybe you shouldn't hear too much more about my colorful life," I tell him. He retrieves the blanket from the trunk and takes my hand to walk out into the field. "Grant, you realize you and I are from complete opposite worlds, right? I mean, they write stories and stupid movies based on characters like us. We couldn't be any more cliche if we tried."

  He spreads the blanket on the ground and sits, waiting for me to join him. "Why? Because I come from a stable home, and yours is a little more ... free-spirited?"

  "That was the nicest way of describing my insane life that I've ever heard," I say, laughing. "Then again, it's kind of what Ashton said when she called us unrated."

  He gives me a questioning look. "Basically the same thing," I tell him. "My mother and I don't have the typical parental relationship. Maybe because she was so young when she had me. Or maybe because I pretty much grew up overnight." I shiver.

  Grant swaths me in an embrace and rubs my arms to warm me up, thinking I'm cold.

  "I had to help pay the bills after my grandmother died, so it's been a crazy few years. And my tendency to get into fights hasn't helped with the crazy."

  "But you have people who care about you, right? Your mom? Your friends?"

  "I do. My mom is a kind and generous person. I worry about her because people take advantage. I love her, so I do what I can to protect her."

  "Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

  "Maybe in your story. But in mine, we look out for each other. And since I tend to be more cynical and distrusting, I end up protecting her from herself."

  "What do you mean?"

  "My mother's curse is Belief. She believes true love will find her. But that's never going to happen. I've watched her believe she's found the one so many times. But he ends up breaking her heart, leaving a little less of her behind each time. Eventually, there's not going to be any of her left to give to anyone."

  Grant is quiet.

  I wonder if I've finally said too much. But he did say he prefers honesty ... even if it's unfiltered.

  "So these curses, they're the thing we want the most?"

  "Essentially. It's the virtue we value above all others. Honesty is my curse, so I can't lie. Yours is Integrity, because you always do what's morally honorable."

  "But why are they curses?"

  "Because they're also our weaknesses. For example ... Maybe someday you'll be forced to make an impossible decision that challenges your integrity. But then that choice is hard to live with."

  "And you ..."

  "The truth is already ruining my life. It's the reason I'm at Blackwood." I quickly add before Grant can question me, "Please don't ask me about it. I can't tell you."

  "It's that bad?"

  "It's one of a few truths I need to protect. Hopefully not always, but for now."

  "Protect?" he ponders, almost to himself. "So it has to do with someone else." I remain silent.

  "You don't see the world, and probably don't even live it, the way the rest of us do."

  I strip a blade of grass from the ground and suddenly find it riveting.

  "That's why I'm so drawn to you, you know? You're honest with who you are. No apologies. No excuses. You're different than everyone I've ever known. You said you have a colorful life, and that's just it ... you are colorful. Every single one. I don't know how else to describe it." He laughs. "You told me you're more honest with me than anyone, and I'm not sure why that is, but I want to hear your truths."

  "For now," I warn. "Grant, knowing the truth isn't always a good thing."

  He contemplates this for a moment. "But it's not the wrong thing either."

  "Did you lick the batter from Squirrel's brownie bowl? Because you're opening up a whole other conversation that I may need another brownie to participate in."

  Grant laughs. "I just mean, it is what it is. Either you accept it, deal with it, forgive it ... or you don't. It's pretty much that simple."

  "You really have been hanging out with Squirrel too much," I tease.

  Grant dips me so I'm facing him. "I trust you." I stare at him, dumbfounded.

  "What?"

  "I trust you." He lowers me so my head is on his lap and I'm looking up at him. He runs a finger along my cheek, sweeping loose hairs away.

  "Where did that come from?"

  "I don't know. But I needed you to know." He smiles down at me. "So you really don't believe in true love?"

  "True love? What does that even mean? I can barely even say the word love without vomiting in my mouth."

  Grant laughs. "Wow. Okay."

  I sit up to really connect with him as I explain.

  "I don't know ... I don't think true love exists. It's all an illusion we're sold in bookstores and movie theatres to keep us hoping for our own happily-ever-after ending. To convince us that love is all we need to solve our problems."

  "Are you going to start singing?" He chuckles.

  I shove at him playfully. "Anyway, I didn't believe in it."

  "Didn't? And now?"

  "Well ... after the magical brownie ride, I heard what Squirrel said. His explanation made more sense, and I can't believe I'm saying that. But it did. More than anything else I've been fed. When he said love isn't something we're given outside of ourselves. That we don't need anyone else to experience it, because ... we are it--I understood that. I just wish he could have called it something different. Because everyone else's love gets all tangled up in romantic gestures and waiting for someone to come rescue them. I've seen what that can do to a person."

  "Your mother?" he asks quietly.

  I nod. "I won't be her." I let out a slow breath. "True love is bullshit."

  Grant's deep, raw laughter, that I adore so much, rumbles around us. "Then I'll just remain an idiot." I smile at him. He glances at me affectionately. "If it really bothers you, I won't say it."

  I swallow. "Doesn't this feel like it's happening too fast? We've only known each other a few weeks. How can we know it's re
al?"

  Grant looks out at the fireflies and watches them for a bit. I fear I've been too honest again. I don't want to dismiss whatever is happening between us, because I know it's something. I'm overcome by it, and even though the word love drives me insane because of its commercial misuse, I know that's where this connection comes from. But ... it's only been a few weeks, so how is it possible? How can I honestly believe it'll last? How do I know it'll be strong enough to withstand anything? Even something as simple as the start of the school year?

  "How long have you known Ashton?" he asks, still focused on the fireflies.

  "As long as I've known you."

  "And you tell her things, right? You trust her with your truths?"

  "Most of them."

  He turns toward me. "But you care about her. Feel protective of her. If you used the word, you maybe even ... love her?"

  I nod slightly.

  "It's the same amount of time as you've known me. So why is it different? When you're connected to someone, time doesn't matter. It can feel like you've known them forever. And even though I don't know your details, like when you lost your first tooth, or your favorite ice cream flavor, I know you. The rest is just ... well, details. The most important thing is that feeling I have that lets me know that I can trust you. That you're a good person. That allows me to see through your cynicism and recognize that you really do believe in love. You just don't like what other people have done to abuse it.

  "We're connected, Lana, and despite where we came from, who are parents are, or what we were doing a month ago, it brought us here ... together. And that's pretty fricken amazing if you ask me. Because I didn't know you even existed until a few weeks ago. But the moment I met you, it was like you've always existed in my life. You always belonged there. So we don't have to say love, but I feel it."

  My chest is thumping so hard, I wonder if he can hear it.

  His words linger in the air between us. They come from a place so real and honest; it's like I can reach out and touch them, hold every letter in the palm of my hand and believe in them.

  "I feel it too."

  I don't just say the words; I give them back. I want him to hold them too. To believe as much as I do.

  I reach up and brush my fingers along the sculpted lines of his jaw, over the definition of his cheekbones, and through his hair. He blinks his eyes closed, absorbing it. I lean in and taste his lips. Gentle and soft, a breath of a kiss. He inhales a broken gasp. His hands cup my sides, leaning me into him, until I have to adjust, placing my knees on either side of his thighs. His eyes ease open as if he's been dreaming--they look into me, through me, beyond me.

  My heartbeat has taken over my entire body, pulsing and thrumming through my core to my toes. Our eyes remain locked for a slow inhale, then I close mine and find his mouth again, pressing harder, running my tongue along the tender give of his lower lip. His hands slide across my back and cradle me like I am the most precious thing they've ever held. I can feel his pulse pounding in time with mine. His lips skim along the sensitive flesh of my jaw to my neck, nipping at the beating under my skin. My hands slide into his hair and I move into him, closer, tighter.

  He lowers me onto my back, gazes down at me, observing, admiring, searching. I am exposed beneath his stare, but I don't shy away. I let him see me, because this is the truth. And as he said, it can't be changed. His mouth captures mine, our pace increases. Our wanting becomes need. His hand skates along my hemline. He pulls back before he removes the fabric. "Is this okay?"

  "Yes."

  He lifts is over my head. And before he can ask, I remove the bra as well. His hands are warm; his tongue is gentle. I reach for the edges of his shirt and ask, "Is this okay?"

  He grins and answers, "Yes." So I pull it over his head. He is smooth and hard lines, dips and grooves. I run my hands over every inch, and then my lips follow. Our mouths meet in our exploration. His heart covers mine, flesh to flesh, beat to beat. I swear they are talking, communicating, conspiring, belonging. Light pumps through them and into every cell of my being.

  When I reach for his button, I hesitate, seeking permission. But before I can ask, he answers. "Not yet." Instead, he lays beside me and cradles me against his chest and I listen to his heart pound against my ear.

  "I trust you too," I tell him and kiss the spot where his heart tells me the truth.

  As the beast lay dead upon the forest floor, Thaylina bent down over his body. She did not see a handsome face, or a charming smile. Only the truth of what he truly was, a horrific monster. She lowered her mouth to his deadened ear and hissed, "I wanted this."

  I groan at the annoying wanting to stay lost in my dream--flashes of fireflies and ... well, Grant.

  Please come to the front office of the administration building immediately.

  That's not a good message to wake up to.

  Within a second, my thoughts jump to my mother. That she's hurt or sick or something bad has happened.

  I scramble out of bed, still disoriented, and start throwing on clothes. With my shirt half over my head, it occurs to me that maybe they have my drug results. My movements slow. Isn't it too soon for the results? I've never had a blood test before, but it seems fast.

  Whatever the reason, I'm pretty sure it's going to suck. And as soon as I enter Dr. Kendall's black and white throne room, I'm positive it is.

  Seated in front of her desk is Niall. And standing off to the side, looking miserable with his arms crossed, is Mr. Garner. He flashes his eyes to me quickly before continuing to scowl at the floor.

  Niall stands when I enter, his expression stoic and controlled as usual. And Dr. Kendall has her lips pursed, accentuating the expression lines around her mouth, cracking her plastic veneer.

  I look from one to the other and am tempted to walk back out of the room.

  "Have a seat, Miss Peri," Dr. Kendall instructs, her sugary demeanor cast aside.

  Crap.

  Niall remains standing until I'm seated. I shift uncomfortably, waiting for my world to end.

  "Let's get right to it," Dr. Kendall says, folding her hands on top of her desk. "It's been reported that you were off-campus without the required chaperone last night."

  I close my eyes and silently curse. Seriously?! I just had the most amazing night of my life, and I'm getting punished for it. What the hell, karma? What did I do to deserve this ... this time?

  "We understand that you were released early from work, but instead of coming directly back to the school, you were ... somewhere else for several hours."

  "But I returned at the same time as everyone else," I say in weak defense. "And I didn't do anything wrong during that time."

  "That's up for interpretation," she snaps. "You are given specific guidelines to adhere to for your safety. And one of those stipulations is that you are not to leave campus unaccompanied except when you're at work."

  I want to argue that I was accompanied, but bringing Grant into this, no matter how stellar his character, isn't the best idea. The last thing I want is to get him into trouble ... because they believe I need a fricken babysitter. And that sitter actively violates the code daily. But Lance isn't at fault either. It's their stupid logic that's to blame.

  "Right," I say. "I screwed up. I left work. I didn't come directly back here. I wasn't with an approved chaperone. But I also didn't steal, take drugs, have sex, or get in a fight. That's an improvement, right? I'm sure Mr. Garner will agree that it's a huge step in the right direction for me."

  Mr. Garner clears his throat, to smother a laugh that's trying to escape. Dr. Kendall shoots him a scathing glance. Niall just breathes in deep and releases it through his nose.

  "The fact that you didn't get arrested or impregnated is not a victory, Miss Peri," Dr. Kendall scolds.

  "Are you sure? I'm pretty impressed with myself," I say with an arrogant shrug. Took that one right out of Brendan's handbook.

  Dr. Kendall's face turns as red as her hair.

  "Lana
, this might be one of those times to practice the silence you're usually so good at," Niall advises calmly. "Dr. Kendall, I understand why the guidelines are in place and respect them. But Lana is admitting she made a poor choice, and she didn't participate in any transgressions while unsupervised. We have a reputable individual who can account for that, if necessary. So, what can we do to rectify this situation?"

  I stare at Niall, my brow raised. Mr. Garner appears just as awed.

  Dr. Kendall runs a hand over her skirt, composing herself. "All off-campus access will be denied, including her work program, for the rest of the month."

  "What the--"

  Mr. Garner has come around to stand behind me and places a hand on my shoulder, easing me back into my seat. "That's fair."

  She glowers up at him. "And I suggest you better acquaint yourself with our life advisor script, Mr. Garner. I hold you directly responsible for her actions."

  He presses his lips together and nods. "Of course."

  I am going to get him fired. Shit.

  "Thank you, Dr. Kendall," Niall says, standing and ushering me to the door. Mr. Garner is just as eager to escape, striding alongside me. "I'm going to speak with Lana before I leave. I'm confident this will be the only time we'll have to address this or any other matter."

  When we reach the foyer, Mr. Garner turns to Niall. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Harrison. I know you entrusted me with Lana's care ... I don't know what to say. Other than, I'll keep a better watch over her."

  "It's okay, Isaac. You can only do so much. Trust me, I know." Niall shoots me a side-eye glare.

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes at them both. "I can take care of myself."

  "No you can't," they say in unison.

  "I'll be in touch," Niall tells Mr. Garner. Then to me, "Lana, a word." He walks toward the doors of the sitting room. I follow with shoulders bowed.

  "I know you're used to having your freedom and doing what you want, but that's also the reason you're here. You have a lot more freedom here than you would in juvenile detention, and you know it. So I suggest you start abiding by their rules. Blackwood has a very limited tolerance for insubordination. You already have a list of minor infractions, and now a major one, within only a few weeks. You have to be more responsible, Lana."

  "I really didn't do anything wrong last night," I say earnestly.

  "I know who you were with, and I know the Philips family. Grant's a responsible individual, and I can only hope that he's more of a positive influence on you than you are a negative one on him."