Ashton makes a face. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Sorry, I’m all out of wit.” I brush a branch out of my face. “His fault.”
When we reach the administration building, I send Ashton in to see if Grant is there, trying to figure out how to arrive on campus from inside the building. When I hear her scream, I rush in, expecting to discover a body.
She’s on the far side of the foyer, pointing at the corner while shrieking at the top of her lungs. The security guards are surrounding her, trying to get her to speak coherently. When I’m halfway across the floor, a hand grabs my arm. I’m about to shove the palm of my hand into his Adam’s apple when I realize it’s Grant.
“Omigod. You scared me.”
“Here.” He shoves the phone in my hand as we pretend to rush to Ashton’s aid.
“Did you see it?” she asks, fanning herself. “I swear it was the biggest rat I’ve ever seen.” She finds me staring at her, confused. “Oh, get me away from here. I can’t. I just can’t. It’s so revolting.”
“Uh, I have to check in first,” I stammer. “Meet you outside?”
“Hurry,” she says, placing the back of her hand to her forehead like she’s about to swoon.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Grant coughs to hide a laugh.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” he says casually. His performance is much more convincing than Ashton’s.
We walk back to the guard’s desk at the entrance now that everyone’s back in position. He gives me a brief kiss on the cheek before taking off.
Ashton’s sitting on the swing in the birch forest when I walk outside. I sit next to her.
“Acting isn’t your thing,” I tell her, smiling.
“Overacting definitely is,” she remarks, winking. “Now what the hell happened today?”
I look down at the phone in my hand. Without saying anything, I walk to our tree and hide it in the jewelry box, holding my palm out to silently demand Ashton’s. She forfeits it with a loud sigh.
When we’re back on the swing, she says, “You’re as bad as Brendan.”
“Learned my lesson the hard way … again.”
Then I proceed to catch her up on the latest drama that is my life. The part that pertains to Vic’s homicidal tendencies anyway. I still don’t know how to tell her about Brendan’s involvement or the fact that he’s my dumbass brother. But I feel like I need to … if he won’t. When I assure her for the hundredth time that no one’s hurt, she hugs me fiercely, cursing Vic under her breath.
“Do you want to go scream it out?” Ashton offers when we’re walking back to the dorm, our phones in hand.
“I’m too tired,” I say, dragging my feet. “Have you seen Sophia lately?”
Ashton thinks about it for a moment. “No. Why?”
“Just wondering. I saw her the other day, and she looked frazzled. Didn’t know if I should be worried.” The only person I’ve told about Sophia’s involvement in breaking into Brendan’s room is Grant. I don’t want to be the reason Ashton keeps a secret from Brendan or force her to betray me if she tells him. It’s better she doesn’t know.
Ashton sends a text. A moment later, her phone lights up. “She’s in a study room in the library. She has a final tomorrow. Maybe that’s it. She gets a little worked up during finals.”
Yeah, I hope that’s all it is.
I wish I could hate you. It would be so easy to deflect the truth, like I did most of my life. But I can’t.
I slip into a false sense of security over the next two weeks.
Who am I kidding?
I’m looking over my shoulder every other second, thinking every snapped branch or shadow is Vic—even with Grant, Ashton or Arden by my side practically every minute. Brendan keeps his distance, probably to avoid getting punched again.
And Ashton was right about Sophia.
She’s hopped up on some sort of amphetamines, talking a million words a minute with pupil-blown eyes, a book or tablet always in front of her during the week of finals. Just watching her stresses me out, and I don’t care nearly as much as she does about grades. But I survive the week, like Grant promised I would—with him as my brilliant tutor.
I wish I could say the same about the preparation for the Ball and the infestation of designers on campus for not only this stupid dance, but to also transform every dorm room into some rich kid’s fantasy suite.
I beg Grant to take me off campus when the fall students start to arrive after finals. But he has a crazy schedule for crew with two conditioning practices each day on top of a session in the weight room every morning. So I go to the one other person who can help me escape this insanity.
“What are you doing today?” I ask Lance at breakfast. “Take me anywhere you’re going.”
We pick up Kaely at her adorable home with lacy white gingerbread trim and a turquoise door. No wonder she’s always smiling.
“Thought we’d float on the lake today,” Lance proposes, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Text Grant to come over when he’s done.”
Sending the message to Grant, I eye Lance. He’s leaving something out. And I know exactly who that is when I walk in and find Parker leaning against the island counter while Olivia puts groceries away in the refrigerator. I was prepared for Lily, who flounces down the steps in a fitted tennis outfit. Not the other two.
It’s not that I don’t like Parker. He’s just a reminder of everything that sucks in my life because it all coincidentally involves him. And Olivia is a reminder of my mother and Niall, who I’ve refused to call back since returning to Blackwood. Let them wallow in their guilt. Or at least, that’s what I’ve convinced myself they’re doing.
“Hi, Lana. Kaely,” Olivia greets us. “What a nice surprise.”
“What is there to eat?” Lance asks, rifling through the food she just put away despite having finished breakfast at Blackwood less than two hours ago.
“Hi, Mrs. Harrison,” Kaely chirps happily. “Lance, I’m gonna change. I’ll meet you guys outside.” She disappears down the stairs to the changing rooms.
I smile awkwardly and turn to follow.
“Lana,” Parker beckons after I take a step. “Uh, can we talk a second?”
I close my eyes and brace myself. “Sure.”
Parker exits onto the deck, holding the door open for me and then shuts it behind us. We continue to the lower deck, so we’re out of earshot.
“What’s up?”
“How are you feeling?” he asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
He looks like he’s prepared to play tennis too. I’m hoping they’re about to leave and not just coming back.
“Better,” I answer, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze.
“I finally spoke to Nina,” he says, gaining my attention. “Not sure if she believed me, but I told her the truth. That it was all a misunderstanding—between her and me … and what she saw between us. Told her I was sorry.” He exhales forcefully. “She’ll probably never talk to me again, but she may talk to you. I don’t know. The thing is, someone texted her pictures of us before we arrived at Stella’s.”