“Because she’s basically a Harrison,” Brendan explains, “which means she has a target on her back like the rest of us.”
“So?” I mutter.
Ashton gives me a questioning slant of her head. I focus on my food, recognizing I’m being a brat.
“Do we know who the monster’s date is yet?” Arden asks.
“No,” Brendan replies. “I’m still working on it.” He leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “But … I did find out something that’s weird.”
We all stare at him, waiting for him to continue.
He sets an old-fashioned lunchbox lined with aluminum foil on the table. “Phones.”
After our phones are sealed in the Star Wars lunchbox, Brendan darts his eyes around before looking directly at me. “Thorne Industries has a bunch of shell companies. Don’t ask me why, but a little over a year ago, one of them bought the house you’re living in.”
I sit back in my seat, not sure how to react. That seems to be a thing with me today. I’m a ball of discombobulated emotions, not knowing what to think or feel about anything. It’s like I’m at war with myself. Angry one minute. Nervous and anxious the next. And now, maybe surprised. But am I really? I don’t feel like anything should shock me anymore.
The entire table stares at me, anticipating a reaction that doesn’t come.
“Does anyone have a theory why—other than to have access to me and my mother?”
“But they bought it before the night at The Point,” Ashton notes. “Way before any of this happened to you.”
“Something special happen a little over a year ago?” Lance asks, trying to connect the dots.
I meet Brendan’s gaze. Two things happened around that time … Morgan Wolfe was murdered. And Julia Thorne died, having written me into her will.
Brendan doesn’t say either of these, although I know he’s thinking them. “Maybe they want to tear it down, build condos. Gentrify the neighborhood. And why not start with the home of the woman who knows a secret that involves their family?”
“What secret?” Lance asks, enthralled, like he’s listening to a grueling fairytale.
“That is the question,” Brendan replies dramatically.
I sigh and reach for the lunchbox, removing my phone to effectively end the conversation. It buzzes as soon as I lift it out, making us all jump. A message appears on the screen.
I look around the table uncertainly. “Uh, there’s someone in the admin building for me.”
“I’ll go with you,” Arden declares. Before I can protest, she adds, “No one should go anywhere alone today, remember?”
“It’s my brother,” Lance says. “Joey just messaged. I’ll go. He has something for me too.”
I walk toward the entrance while Lance shovels his omelet into his mouth and almost collide with Sawyer on his way to our table.
“Lana,” he says like he’s been expecting to see me.
“Sawyer. Hey,” I say, having completely forgotten he was starting at Blackwood. “I heard you were transferring here. How have you been since … that night? Grant said you were okay, but …”
“Grant? Oh, he’s the guy who brings out that beautiful smile,” Sawyer says with a slight tilt of his mouth. I shrug in affirmation, pressing my lips together to keep them from bursting into that same ridiculous smile that the thought of Grant tends to ignite. “The next day … sucked. But I’m okay.”
“Guess you have a dark side after all if this was their choice for you,” I tease.
“Honestly, my parents like this place for the security. And there isn’t a school that will tell them no.” Sawyer looks around the dining hall, inspecting who he’ll be stuck with for the upcoming school year. “How bad can you guys be? Although … I have been asked to wear a camera to the dance tonight.” He laughs in that infectious opened-mouth way he does, like the odd request is amusing.
“What? Who asked you?” I ask, glancing back at our table.
Lance is chugging his orange juice, holding up a finger to indicate he’ll be another second.
“Brendan,” Sawyer says, nodding toward the group. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” He leans in. “My parents … they’re kind of big into surveillance anyway.”
“What are they, spies?” I am kidding. But Sawyer presses his lips together in subtle confirmation. “Are you serious?”
“Ready?” Lance asks, coming up beside me. “Hey, you’re Sawyer, right? I’m Lance.”
“Howdy, Lance,” Sawyer says in greeting with a tip of his head as if he were wearing a cowboy hat. Then he leans down and whispers in my ear, “FBI.”
I shoot my brows up in a no-shit expression.
“My dad,” he confirms with a nod. “See you tonight, Lana.”
Once we’re outside on the paved driveway, Lance asks, “Are you nervous … about tonight?”
“I’m not sure if it’s nervousness exactly. I just want to get it over with. You know? This has become my whole life, and I don’t want it to have control over me anymore.”
“I get that,” Lance says thoughtfully. “This will work. Don’t worry.”
I release a breath, hoping he’s right.
The driveway’s lined with a caravan of box trucks and vans. An army of people unloads flowers and table linen and who knows what else.
“This is seriously insane,” I observe, almost running into someone lugging a stack of milk crates containing china. “All for a dumb dance. Have you ever been to one?”
“Nope,” Lance says. “This is my first year, like you.” He nudges my shoulder with his arm. “Maybe he won’t show, and we can actually have a good time? You deserve that—you know, to have fun.”
“Maybe,” I say, but I don’t want to live one more day waiting for him to try to mess with my life or hurt my friends. This needs to end … tonight.
We reach the administration building. It’s buzzing with security and people directing staff by pointing to locations on a map of the Court.
“That would be really useful to have tonight,” I whisper to Lance.
He eyes the layout of the Court a designer is holding, the full maze drawn in detail with its gardens and whatever else they have planned within its hedged walls.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he responds. “You go talk to Joey first. Let me do what I do best.”
“What is that exactly?” I ask curiously.
Lance laughs. “Be unassuming.” He winks. “People tend to underestimate me, Lana.”
I widen my eyes in recognition of that statement because … he’s right. Lance is the laid-back, easygoing guy who likes video games and his recreational—sometimes illegal—activities. He performs his stereotypical role perfectly. But there’s more to everyone than can be seen on the surface. We only unveil the truth when we come to accept who’s beneath the mask. Everyone wants to be seen for who they are.
I walk into the room off the foyer. Joey immediately stands from the chaise where he’s been watching the staff come and go.