“I need your help,” I murmur to Arden.
“Anything, my love,” she answers soothingly.
“How do we take down a monster?”
Arden holds up a finger, her dark eyes scanning the room. She leaves and returns with a strange-looking device. It beeps when she turns it on. Walking around the room, she waves it over every surface, holding up a hand to interrupt Grant when he opens his mouth to speak. The device squeals and shrieks as red lights dance along its surface.
Brendan watches with an expression of amusement. Ashton takes a sip from her drink, waiting patiently.
Once Arden’s scanned the entire room, she turns off the device. “You’re clear.”
“Of what?” Grant asks.
“Bugs,” Brendan answers for her. “Where’d you get that? I’ve been trying to get my hands on one of those for years.”
Arden just quirks her brow. “What kind of monster?”
“One with money,” Ashton says, “and a powerful family.”
“Who is reckless and potentially deadly,” I add.
Arden tightens her eyes in contemplation.
“I have an idea,” Brendan intercepts before Arden can bestow her insight upon us.
“Your plans suck,” I admonish. “They’re what got us into this mess to begin with.”
“No,” Brendan counters, “that was our parents.”
“Whatever,” I huff. “You definitely made it worse.”
“You don’t—”
“Enough,” Grant interrupts him. “If you two don’t stop, someone’s going to get hurt.” He looks pointedly at Brendan.
Ashton laughs. Brendan collapses against the couch with a breath of annoyance. Arden waits patiently to regain our attention.
“What’s your idea, Brendan?” Arden asks.
“I have these hi-tech body cams that I can attach to each of our costumes.”
“Great, so we can watch each other die,” I quip.
“Lana,” Arden says calmly, “let’s hear what he has to say.”
“He’s going to confront one of us,” he continues, ignoring me. “And if we can get him to confess, I’ll have it on video. As long as we don’t go anywhere alone and stay in the crowd, he won’t be able to hurt us. He’s really not that smart. He’s been lucky and has had help up to this point. We play off his arrogance.”
“Why can’t we use the video you already have?” I snap, fed up.
“Because it can easily be disputed,” Brendan answers angrily. “I didn’t use the best equipment—the signal was sketchy, and the image is a step above what they had at the convenience store. It’s not easy to identify him, and it’s pixelated when you zoom in.”
“But you can see his tattoo!” I argue. “Even if his face isn’t fully in focus, you can still clearly make out the tattoo on his head!”
“It’s not real,” Brendan says with a heavy sigh.
“What?” I stare at him, stunned.
“It was temporary. He had someone draw it with ink, thinking it would throw the police off if he was seen without his hood on. And, well … it was one of the only smart ideas he’s had.”
I thump my head against Grant’s chest. “So the video is useless?” I want to cry. Maybe I will cry. Seems to be the only thing I can do lately.
“I don’t know,” Brendan says. “But it’s not indisputable. And if we’re going to get him charged, it has to stick.”
“How do you plan to get him to confess?” Arden asks, redirecting the conversation.
“Provoke him,” Brendan suggests offhandedly like he hasn’t given this part much thought.
“This is why your plans suck,” I chide.
“He believes he’s untouchable,” Arden says, looking pensively at the ceiling. “That he is above any consequence. And someone will protect him to save his family name.”
We stare at her, waiting for her to return from her trance.
“I know how to trap your monster,” Arden says, blinking back from wherever she went.
The bathroom door bursts open.
Joey stumbles in, panting, his phone in his hand. “Allie’s awake!”
The mirror doesn’t lie. Nor does it reflect life. I haven’t been alive since that terrible night.
The morning of the Ball, the dining hall is noisier than ever, especially now that the rest of the students are back for fall term. But it’s also because everyone’s excited for tonight. Everyone, except me.
Ashton scares some lower classmen out of our seats when we arrive at our usual corner table. “Yvette’s team is arriving at noon,” she informs me, setting down her tray of pancakes topped with whipped cream, scrambled eggs and a side of bacon.
“Who?” I ask, sitting across from her with my breakfast burrito and strawberries.
“She’s my stylist.”
“She needs a team? I didn’t know dressing for a dance was a sporting event,” I note with sarcasm.
“Two for hair, two for makeup and one for nails,” she explains, ignoring my tone. “So be in my room in a robe by two. You won’t need as much time as I do.”
“That’s still five hours,” I calculate, completely baffled. “I told you, I can do my own—”
“No, you won’t,” Ashton scolds as Arden and Lance join us. “You’re going to have the full experience if I have to drag you to my room and strap you down.”
“Fine. I’ll be there,” I reply unenthusiastically. I direct my attention to Arden, curious if everyone needs as much time as Ashton claims we do. “What time are you getting ready?”
“Six thirty,” Lance answers, earning an eye roll and a gasp from the two girls.
“Noon,” Arden replies, still shaking her head at Lance. “But they’re arriving now to set up the equipment.”
“Equipment?” I question, wondering why everyone’s going crazy over this one night.
“Body paint,” she explains simply.
Arden directs her gaze over my shoulder as Brendan approaches and sits next to me with a plate of smoked salmon, capers and a bagel with cream cheese. I scrunch my nose, fighting not to lose my appetite. How is it possible we’re related?
“Is everyone all set with the plan?”
We all nod.
“I told Lily to meet you in Lana’s room at six,” Lance says. “And Parker will be in Brendan’s room then too.”
“And why is Lily part of this again?” I ask, wishing I could keep her out of everything.
The more distance I get from the night of the dinner at the lake house, the more bitter I become. They claim time heals. In this instance, time deepens the wound. I can’t help wondering if Lily’s fingerprints are on some of the little unsolved events that have occurred—the door to the study room shutting, my dead Blackwood phone while I was lost in the Court and Blackwood knowing I wasn’t at the country club that night with Grant. Was that Lily too? Or maybe the still-unknown person who’s been sending the notes and pictures?
What bothers me the most is, like her father, I believed her. I thought she was a friend. And I hate being deceived more than anything.