"I want to review your plan and provide you with your summer course schedule." He flips open another three-ring binder that's nearly as thick as the "best self" script. Colorful tabs stick out between sectioned off stacks of papers. I lean over to read a couple: Academics, Health, Legal ... I lean back when Mr. Garner finds the page he's searching for and returns his attention to me.
"Because this latest arrest was for possession, you'll be subjected to random drug tests. If you fail them ..."
"I'll fail for at least the next thirty days."
He closes his eyes and sighs. "Thank you for admitting you used, but that's not helping us, Lana."
"I'm just saying, no sense giving me one since it's not going to be clean for a while. Just trying to be helpful."
He presses his lips together to keep from smiling. "I don't schedule them. But I will see what I can do. That doesn't mean you have a free pass over the next thirty days. They may have you take one anyway as a baseline, and just anticipate the positive THC level, since I assume that's what needs thirty-days to cleanse from your system."
"You would know," I say, the insinuation notable.
He doesn't react. "Since you've had multiple infractions involving fighting over the last three years, you'll be assigned to group therapy focused on healthy emotive expression, beginning this fall."
"You can seriously say that with a straight face? Why can't they call it anger management like the rest of the world?"
Mr. Garner bites his lower lip to keep the smile from forming. I know he thinks this is just as ridiculous as I do. "It's been advised that you partake in," he swallows before reading, "an exhaustive physical activity or calming meditative practice."
"They want me to have sex?"
Mr. Garner's head whips up, his neck and cheeks emblazoned in a deep red flush. "Join some sort of sport or club. Something to use as an outlet to help keep you calm that doesn't involve drugs, fighting ... or sex."
"So you're saying I can't have sex?"
He removes his glasses and closes his eyes, rubbing them with his fingertips. "I cannot and will not advise you to have sex. But I will ask you to be safe and use some form of protection if you choose to."
"Aren't you so glad you accepted this position, Mr. Garner? Think of all the life advising you'll be offering me."
"Honestly, I think you could probably advise me."
I laugh. "So you're not having sex, Mr. Garner?"
"Lana." It's the stern voice again. The one I know all too well. It comes out as a warning, like I'm about to cross a line. But we both know it really means, I already have.
After breathing in and out slowly through his nose, he closes my binder and directs his attention to me. "I've read a lot about you. I know why you're here. But I don't feel like I really know you. You hide behind sarcasm and shocking candor. But I am here ... for you. Whenever you need me. I hope that you know that whatever you say to me is between us. Unless, of course, it puts you or someone else in danger. You can let me see you, Lana."
I don't respond. I know he's sincere about every word he just said. But I don't know if I'm ready to be that honest.
A half hour later, with my course schedule in hand, I leave Mr. Garner in need of Prozac and a shot of whiskey. I'm only taking three classes, but considering it's summer, it sucks. Predictably, they're the classes I did the worst in at Sherling High: chemistry, American government and French.
The first hidden message is waiting for me as I pass the birch forest and spot the red ribbon tied to the swing. And because no one else has made their mark on the back of the note, I know I'm the first to see it.
L is picking us up at 1:00. If anyone needs more time, leave a note.
Lance leaves his ? mark as a signature. The strategy behind the symbols is that if the box is ever discovered, we don't want anyone to know who it belongs to, so we each mark the note with our symbol upon sending and receiving it. I take out the marker and draw [?] on the back, indicating I've read it.
After showering and dressing for class, I grab a Mountain Dew and a bag of popcorn chips as my breakfast substitute, since I didn't have time to get to the Great Hall. Then I'm off to chemistry, the class I'm scheduled to attend on Mondays and Wednesdays. I have to use Sophia's buildings map to figure out where it's located, and end up running into a few dead-ends on my journey through the Court. One of them being a strange garden filled with marble statues. I come to an abrupt stop, feeling like I've stepped onto a stage and am standing in the spotlight. Except my audience is a bunch of creepy statues in various stages of fracturing, arranged in curved rows. I back away and turn at the last minute, feeling like one of them might start walking after me. I practically run back to the path I was on before I made the wrong turn. I'm never going to get used to this place.
Eventually, I find the entrance to the science building--two Greek-style marble pillars that are at least ten feet tall, with tangles of ivy crawling up them.
The interior is similar to every other building I've been in, except the stairs are covered in a navy blue rug and the walls are decorated with abstract geometric art. From what I can see at a glance, the Quiet Room on the first floor is reminiscent of a study room in a library with rows of tables lined with small lamps. On the other side of the foyer, where our dining hall is, are closed doors with nameplates on them.
There are only three students in this class when I arrive. And that's all there is, just the four of us. We're given tablets during class that recognizes us with our thumbprint. And for the next hour and a half, I try not to fall asleep face first onto my desk.
When we're finally excused, I'm overcome with a burst of energy, like it's been dormant and just waiting to be set free. And my mouth and cheeks battle to let that stupid smile emerge in anticipation of seeing Grant.
I stop by the Great Hall and grab a lunch to-go so I can get ready for the party. While I sort through my clothes, I try to talk myself out of this absurd excitement. Whatever's overtaking my entire being at just the thought of him needs to go away. I want control back, especially of my own emotions.
Lily's waiting in a silver Lexus SUV in the drive after we check out to leave for the day. Her hair is a silken sheet of blonde held back by a thick coral headband, making her look even more sophisticated than she does naturally. It's a style I've never been able to pull off because my hair refuses to be tamed no matter what products or straightening irons I use. I have mine twisted into a side bun to keep it contained.
When we arrive, people are spread out everywhere. Stefan's cabin has the more traditional feel of logs and beams with a giant stone fireplace and a wrap-around upper level with bedroom doors off of it. It's big and open and easy to navigate, mostly because it's one giant room with the exception of the kitchen and dining area, but even the entries leading to them are wide and expansive.
Just about everyone is outside, for good reason. This house is on a hill overlooking the lake with a huge backyard and a set of wooden stairs between it and a private beach. The first thing I think when I see it is that it reminds me of a playground. There are people playing corn hole, lawn darts, football and bocce spread out all over the grass, and sand volleyball on the beach. It's kind of a ridiculous setup, especially when I notice the trampoline floating on the water with people jumping on it or bouncing off into the water.
The scent of barbecue fills the air as a guy turns food over on two huge black grills. Music is blasting through speakers on the wrap-around porch. It's so much different from Lily's party. It's playful and filled with laughter and shouts of sportsmanship. There's nothing pretentious here.
"Let's get a drink," Lily suggests, leading the way back into the kitchen before I can linger too long, scanning the faces. I think I'm doing okay not thinking about him until I finally admit that I've never really stopped. It doesn't mean I like what's going on inside of me, but maybe I'll get over it eventually.
"Lemonade?" Lily offers, holding up a glass pitcher. "Do you want me to add v
odka to it?"
"Sure," I reply. She hands it to me after she dumps in a shot. "Thanks." I take a sip and nearly spit it back out.
"What's wrong?"
"I think it already had vodka mixed in," I say with a body-shuddering cringe.
"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry," Lily says, biting her lower lip. "Do you want to dump it?"
"No, it's okay. I'll add ice. Maybe it'll water it down a little." I scoop some ice out of a bucket in the freezer and drop it in my cup. I try to stomach a couple more sips until the initial shuddering reaction goes away. It doesn't take long before there's an intense swirling in my head.
Brendan and Lance disappeared pretty much as soon as we arrived, so Lily, Ashton and I stand on the porch and take in the mayhem of lawn games before us. And that's when I see him, playing football with a bunch of guys and girls, most running around shirtless or in bikini tops and bare feet. He's one of the few with a shirt still on, thankfully. I watch as the ball is passed to him and he dodges hands as he runs toward the goal, tagged last minute by a girl who chooses to wrap her arms around him versus tapping him.
A tearing pain flashes through my chest. "Fuck."
"What's wrong?" Ashton asks, trying to look at what I am, but I turn around and lean my butt against the railing instead.
"I'm just hating my body right now."
"Why?" Lily says like she's offended for me. "You have one of the best bodies I've ever seen. Seriously."
"Oh, that's not what I mean exactly. But thank you." I've actually never been body conscious. I'm short, and maybe a little too top heavy for my height, but the rest of me fits into the clothes I like, so that's all I really care about. I don't work out other than rushing around at the diner. Well, and the boxing gym, but that wasn't a regular thing. It was something Tori's oldest brother, Javier, took me to every once in a while. He said if I was going to be fighting anyway, I might as well have proper form. I actually enjoyed going, to be honest.
"Then what?" Ashton asks.
"Forget it," I tell her, but refuse to turn around. I need to get this under control; it's driving me insane.
"Hi!" I hear from the stairs. We turn to find Stefan walking up to greet us. "So happy you're all here. Help yourself to anything. Play with whatever or whoever you want," he says with a flirty crooked smile, "and just ... be happy." He offers each of us a hug and brief kiss on the cheek. If anyone else were to say or do this, I would think they were a creep. But there's a genuineness to Stefan that keeps it from crossing the awkward line.
"Thank you," Lily says sweetly. "We promise to behave."
"Mostly," Ashton adds with a smirk.
Stefan laughs before finding more faces to greet and bodies to hug.
"Want to go float in the lake?" Ashton offers.
"Yes," Lily responds enthusiastically.
"Um, I'll meet you down there," I say, not ready to get wet just yet.
The girls disappear down the sloping grass toward the water. I take a couple more gulps from my cup, barely tasting the vodka any longer, which isn't the best sign. But maybe it'll help me calm the hell down and act like a normal human being. And that thought lasts as long as it takes Grant to cross the lawn and hop up the steps to greet me. "You made it!"
Damn him and his gorgeous smile.
"Yup," I say, my mouth winning the war with my cheeks and smiling just as big.
"Where's your chaperone?"
"I actually have no idea," I say, looking around for Lance.
"Does that mean you can get in trouble?"
"Is that an offer?" The corner of my mouth raises flirtatiously.
He laughs.
"We were about to start a game of whiffle ball. Wanna play?"
I make a face of dread.
"Have you ever played?"
I shake my head.
"We won't judge. C'mon." He offers his hand and I take it, my chest tightening at his touch. "Do you know the general rules? They're pretty much the same as baseball."
"I think so."
"Then you'll be fine." We walk to the other end of the yard where a guy is laying down rubber bases and a large group of players wait to begin. Grant introduces me by name but leaves the individual introductions up to everyone to do themselves.
Thankfully, I'm on his team, and we're up to bat first. I watch the batters and plays, Grant providing a bit of insight. I've been forced to play softball in gym for what feels like my entire life, so I know the general concept of how to swing the bat, although I find this plastic one extremely light, and the unpredictability of the pitches impossible to hit. I get on base a couple times, earning a trumpet of cheers from my teammates. And I even make it home once when a huge guy on our team slams the ball--it's declared a home run when it makes it past the azalea bush. The rest of our team awaits with high fives as we run across home plate, and Grant wraps his hand around mine when I slap his hand.
"Not bad," he says, pulling me toward him.
"It might be the vodka," I tell him. "Makes me better, just like playing pool. I improve with a buzz."
"Oh," he says in surprise, and maybe a little disappointment. "I didn't realize you were drinking."
"Are you?" I ask, his answer strikes me as odd. I know he does. I saw him with a beer at Lily's.
"I wasn't, but sure, I'll get a beer. Want another drink?"
My cup is tipped over on the grass. There wasn't much left in it anyway. "Please."
We walk back to the house, trying to stay out of the way of the other games being played.
"This is fun," I say, looking around.
"You say that like you're surprised."
"I've never been to a party like this before. I come from a kind of small city. Most people don't have backyards."
"And I come from a small town where there are yards. And gossip. And status. I've always admired the anonymity of a city actually, even a small one."
"Feeling judged?" I ask light-heartedly.
"Feeling the weight of expectation," he says seriously, opening a cooler on the porch to pull out a bottle of beer.
We continue into the kitchen and I look at him from across the island, pouring the vodka-lemonade from the pitcher, minus the extra shot. "Do you feel pressured to be perfect? You kind of have a reputation for being a good guy."
He chuckles and his neck flushes slightly. "You say that like it's a bad reputation to have. I actually hope that I am a good guy, but I'm far from perfect. What about you? I know you must feel the pressures of expectation being a student at Blackwood. It's not an easy school to get into."
I want to laugh, and bite my tongue to keep from saying, easier than you think--all you have to is majorly screw up, or in my and Lance's cases, cover for someone who has. "Yeah, I guess. But fuck their expectations. I'm going to do whatever I do."
Grant smiles wide. "Not sure I completely understand, but I like it."
Somewhere between Grant going to the basement for more ice and me having to use the bathroom, we lose each other for a while. I meet up with the girls who are floating in chairs on the water, choosing to sit on the dock with my feet hanging off instead of going in. Up until Lance sneaks up from behind, scoops me up and jumps off the end with me in his arms.
I peel off my tank top and cut-offs and let them dry on the dock while I join the girls in a floaty chair. We kick water at Lance and a few other guys who playfully try to tip us over. Eventually, we make it back up to the house to grab some food when the late afternoon drifts into the evening. The kiss of the sun can be felt in the tightness of my skin, and I'm hoping it doesn't turn into a burn despite the multiple applications of sunblock. Thankfully my jean shorts are dry from baking on the deck, and I pull them over the hot pink bikini bottoms, choosing not to cover up the strappy bikini top.
"Receive any more love notes?" Brendan asks, sitting next to me on the blanket we laid out, while the others are loading their plates with food.
And just when I thought I could spend a day without having to worry about
who's out to ruin me, Brendan has to remind me of my reality. "Not unless you've hidden one for me that I haven't found yet."
"I'm telling you, it wasn't from me," he says, holding his hands up in innocence. "Doesn't it concern you a little?"
"Maybe if I knew what the hell it's was about." Which reminds me ... "I'll be right back." I stand, leaving my plate of food on the blanket and walking through the house in search of my bag that I tucked under the porch on the driveway side of the house.
Because it provides more privacy, I stay on this side when I pull the phone out of my bag and turn it on. Joey's is the only contact listed. I think about texting, but know we really need to talk.
He picks up on the second ring and answers like he's been expecting me. "Hi, Lana."
"Hi," I say quietly.
"I'm glad you called," he says, the low tone of his voice shoots right through me with a shiver. I shake it off. "I've been worried about you."
I close my eyes, fighting the urge to hang up because just hearing him speak is affecting me, and I hate it. "Where's Vic?"
"He's in Europe for the summer. He left last weekend."
"Will he be returning to Printz-Lee?"
"I don't know. Are you worried?"
"Only about Allie," I tell him.
"I know," he says quietly. "Me too. She's still in a coma."
"How do you know?"
"Because I check every day. Lana, after you told me the truth about what happened that night, I searched the hospitals to find her. I've been struggling with what to do. I hate not being able to do anything to help her."
"Me too. But I don't know what other choice we have until she wakes up."
"Let me tell my father about the convenience store."
"No," I say adamantly. "Besides, that doesn't matter now. And it won't prove that Vic hurt Allie."
"But if he's arrested for the armed robbery, he'll be off the streets."
"Will he? Really?"
"I don't know." I can hear the defeat in his voice.
I sigh. "Let's not do this, okay? I'd rather focus on Allie. She's the one who needs us."
"What do we do?"
I rub my forehead. "I don't know. But there has to be a way to prove he did it, even if she doesn't wake up." The thought of her not recovering makes me nauseous.
There's silence on the other end.