Knowing You_The Cursed Series Part 2 Page 13

  “My heart needed that,” Ashton tells me with a warm smile when she eventually releases me. “Thank you.”

  How does a person respond to that? Then again, who says things like that?

  “Uh, sure. No problem.”

  “And if you ever need to scream again, and I mean really scream, I have the perfect place. So just let me know, okay?”

  I blink. “You have a screaming spot?”

  “Everyone should have a screaming spot.”

  I smile, appreciating that she’s here right now. “I may need it a lot.”

  “Then let’s go now.” I don’t argue and follow after her.

  Ashton doesn’t ask what’s wrong, or if I want to talk about it, as she takes me by my hand and practically drags me after her. I think she may be so used to hiding her truth from the world, that she feels like she doesn’t have a right to ask another person theirs. And for someone who is so careful with the truth, it makes me sad for her, to be so lost in a contrived life. She’s learning, in her own quirky ways, to interact honestly. It explains her riddling comments and bouts of candor; she’s trying to let the world see her, underneath all of the glamour and beauty. And that’s when it occurs to me, her curse is Authenticity. And maybe that’s why I instantly felt connected with her, even if she is strange. We both seek the same thing, to be honest with who we are. I just hope I don’t have to witness her destruction when her curse comes for her.

  When we reach the foyer, we go through the doors of the main entry—that I have yet to use. We descend the stone steps and cross the gravel drive found outside the circle of buildings. I stop to take in what’s before us.

  A large field stretches out until it suddenly falls away. And all I can see beyond that is water—what seems like miles upon miles of water.

  “It’s Blackwood Lake. The same lake Lily’s and Stefan’s houses are on. Except they’re farther north,” she tells me. “In Kingston, everyone either lives on the lakeside or the mountainside. In the middle is the downtown. We are, obviously, on the lakeside.”

  “I always thought we were surrounded by woods. But I guess I never really explored the campus beyond the Court.”

  “This is one of my favorite places. Maybe because no one does come out here. It’s like they forget there’s anything outside of the buildings once they enter.”

  The field is bigger than I originally thought, and it takes us a while to reach the edge, and that’s exactly what it feels like—a preschooler took scissors to the edge of the grass, cutting it off in a jagged line, leaving behind a steep and drastic drop to a rocky shoreline.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe out, experiencing a slight heart-palpitating sense of vertigo. There isn’t a fence or any sort of protective barrier. If someone were to keep walking, they would plummet and land on the jagged earth below. I look down to see the lake water softly lapping at the sharp angles.

  “This way,” Ashton beckons, walking toward the woods. Oddly, the wrought iron fence extends all the way to the end of the property, determined to separate us from the other side.

  Ashton unexpectedly takes a step off the edge and my heart skips a beat. It looked like she walked off the edge onto nothing. But considering, I can still see her, cut off at the knee, there must be something there. I have to walk all the way to the end of the grass to view the flat slabs of rock jutting out haphazardly. Each rocky shelf protrudes from the sheer cliff-face and looks like they might snap if jumped upon. They form a torturous path all the way to the water.

  Ashton walks along the ledge until she reaches the furthest point that hangs over the water. Just watching her stand on the edge of the world quickens my pulse.

  When I haven’t moved from the safety of the grass, she laughs. “C’mon. It’s not as scary as it looks.”

  I carefully lower onto the slab. Focusing on each step in front of me, I fear the slightest falter will cause me to fall to my death. I glance up to find Ashton. There’s a slight breeze off the water, causing wisps of her hair to float around her head.

  “This is Screaming Point.”

  “That’s what it’s called?”

  “It is now. As of today. Because it’s what we need it to be.” She takes my hand. “Ready?”

  I look out at the dwindling light dancing on the dark surface like the lake is capturing every last bit of the sun before it disappears. I close my eyes and find that place inside that is always angry. That hates my curse. That needs Allie to live. And Vic to burn. That wants to hurt every man who has ever broken my mother’s heart. Or touched what wasn’t theirs. And every person who has ever lied when they claimed to love. I don’t have to search for long, because it’s always there, waiting to explode.

  I open my eyes to look into Ashton’s sapphire blue ones, and nod.

  We face the water and inhale deeply, giving our anger, frustration and sadness a breath of life before we unleash it onto the world in the most powerful scream that’s ever been launched from this cliff. And it’s freeing. More than I ever thought possible. I allow my heartache to take flight, releasing it into the setting sun to be dragged down beneath the horizon.

  And what’s left when there aren’t any more screams to give is a radiant smile. Ashton and I face each other, our hands still clasped, and we start laughing. It’s a true, bonding laughter because we just shared something sacred. If anyone were to witness it, they would think we’re insane. And maybe it’s that crazy within each of us that makes the laughter louder and deeper, until I have to wipe away the tears creeping out the corners of my eyes.

  “Thank you, Ashton,” I tell her as we start back across the field. “My soul needed that.”

  She smiles at me brighter than the sun, and I smile back. And without a doubt, I know, she is the best kind of friend. The kind who will always create places to scream, and reasons to hug, to make the pain easier.

  When I get to my door, there’s a Post-it waiting for me. “Open the box!”

  “Crap,” I mutter, realizing that I forgot to open the gift, too caught up in my screaming breakdown.

  So, that’s the first thing I do when I enter. And inside, is a phone. I smile. “Thank you, Lance,” I say out loud, picking up the note that’s tucked beside it.

  Don’t turn this on while on campus. They will find it. As soon as you can, CALL ME. ~ Joey

  “Look into my eyes, tell me what you see,” the handsome man requested. “What is it that my heart desires most? What is my intention?”

  Thaylina struggled to move within the wrap of the silken fabric. But she still did not fear him. Not until she peered into his eyes and saw the truth.

  I barely roll out of bed in time to make my life advisor appointment. After a quick brush of my teeth, I throw on a pair of cut-offs and a tank top and rush out the door. Thankfully, I’m faster at crossing the Court, otherwise I’d really be late.

  When I reach the second floor of the administration building, I find a woman sitting at a desk at the top of the stairs, where the common room is located in the dorms. The rest of the room is filled with club chairs where a couple other students are waiting. From the petrified looks on their faces, they’re either in trouble or they’re new.

  “Hi, I’m Lana Peri. I have an appointment.”

  “Take a seat.”

  I hesitate a second to make sure she’s actually human, considering how detached and flat her tone sounded. She didn’t even look up at me, her eyes fixed to her computer screen. Someone hates her job. Or people.

  I haven’t even reached a seat when I hear, “Lana?” I freeze. I know that voice … too well. I slowly turn with a ginormous smile plastered on my face. Queen Warden would be proud.

  “Mr. Garner. Wow. Are you stalking me?”

  He flounders, “Wha-What? No.” He lets out a forced laugh, his eyes glancing nervously to the woman behind the desk. Her attention torn from the screen, she studies him suspiciously. “You’re funny. Um, why you don’t follow me.”

  I whisper as I pass her desk
, “Totally stalking.” Her suspicion darts to me, and I practically jump back from the assaultive glare.

  “Lana,” Mr. Garner scolds from down the hall.

  I follow him into an office the size of a dorm room. They really weren’t original with their building designs, were they?

  There’s absolutely nothing on the beige walls and there’s barely any furniture in the room either, other than a desk and few chairs.

  “Minimalist. Who knew,” I say, spinning around.

  “I haven’t had a chance to do anything yet. I arrived late last night. It’ll look different next time we meet.”

  “Why are you here, Isaac?”

  Mr. Garner’s face remains expressionless but his eyes harden just enough to let me know I pissed him off. Then he shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose under his glasses, like I’ve already given him a headache. “Can we please not start off this way?”

  “What do you mean? We go way back.”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Why don’t you have a seat.”

  “Not until you tell me why you’re here. I don’t believe in coincidences.” Then it occurs to me. “Niall Harrison got you hired here, to watch over me, didn’t he?”

  “He may have let me know about an open position and provided a letter of recommendation. It’s a great opportunity, so I accepted the offer.”

  “How do you know Niall?”

  “I told you, I grew up in Oaklawn. It’s hard not to live there and not know the Harrisons in some way. His wife was actually one of my professors at Dartmouth. They’re a very—”

  “Powerful?”

  “I was going to say influential family, but even that sounds wrong. They’re … invested.”

  “In what? Me?”

  “I suppose you’re a type of investment. They want you to succeed.”

  “What is up with that word? Succeed! And who’s going to determine when I have succeeded? When I have a college diploma? A six-figure salary? It’s such bullshit!”

  “You don’t want to go to college?”

  “I don’t know what I want. But I’m sick of everyone wanting it more than I do.” I’m so worked up by this point, I’m pacing the room.

  “That’s fair,” he says calmly.

  His answer stills me.

  “No one can make you want something you don’t. They can’t force you to study. Or be invested in your academics. They can hope you find something you’re passionate about and explore it. But the only one who has to want it is you.”

  “I’m impressed, Mr. Garner,” I say, finally coming around to sit across from him. “Did you learn that in one of Professor Harrison’s classes?”

  He laughs. “I’m actually supposed to go by this script” —he places his hand on a three-inch binder— “as a Blackwood life advisor. I’ve been trying to memorize it the last couple weeks, and between you and me, I can’t. Right now, you’re my only student. I’m going off script. So don’t get sent to my office every other class period or else they’re going to start questioning my methods.”

  “I keep telling you, I try to stay away.”

  “Maybe here the teachers will be more equipped to handle your … honesty.”

  “We can only hope.”

  “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.