Knowing You_The Cursed Series Part 2 Read online

  Niall hesitates, looking to me. I glance away, still unable to meet his traitorous eyes. “Lana?”

  “It’s fine. Go,” I grumble.

  I can sense that he’s reluctant to leave, even without looking at him. “Okay. Well, I’ll check in on you this Sunday. Call me if you need anything.”

  I want to tell him not to bother. That I don’t need or want anything from him. But he’s my only connection to the outside world. To my mother. To Allie’s case.

  Niall hasn’t asked me more about that night, but he’s kept me updated regularly on the investigation and Allie’s condition. As of three days ago, she was still in a coma. I don’t expect the police to make any progress in finding out who pushed her. I won’t reveal the truth without Allie’s account to support mine. I can’t. Not as long as it’s my word against Vic’s.

  I look over my shoulder just as Niall disappears into the foyer, dread sinking like lead into the pit of my stomach. I want to yell, “Take me with you!” But swallow the panic.

  I follow the Warden into her office—because as of right now, this is my prison.

  The door makes a definitive click when she closes it behind me. She gestures to the white Victorian style chairs with black velvet padding, positioned in front of her elaborately carved, white, wooden desk. “Please have a seat, Lana.” She lowers onto a black, high-back chair on the other side. It’s more reminiscent of a throne than an office chair. How fitting.

  Her office is just as immaculate as the previous room. Everything in its place, like it’s never used or touched, and all in black and white, from the abstract art on the wall to the white bookcase and black filing cabinet in each corner. Even the carpet is a dizzying pattern of black and white fleur-de-lis. The only color is her vibrant red hair pulled up into smoothed barrel curls on top of her head, like a crown. I feel washed out in this setting, like all of my color has been drained away.

  “This won’t take long. Your life advisor will review what’s expected of you in more detail, but I’d like to go over the most important guidelines.”

  “Um, what’s a life advisor?” I ask, having heard her say it twice now.

  “Every student is assigned someone to guide them. Your life advisor will help you make the best possible choices while you’re here. But more importantly, he’ll provide you with the confidence and skills to continue to make positive life decisions long after you’ve left us. We want you to succeed. To Thrive. To be your absolute best self. And we’re here to make sure that happens. We pride ourselves on educating and transforming young people into responsible and contributing members of society.”

  I may have just thrown up in my mouth because it’s all bullshit. Every word. This woman’s only concern is making sure her checks clear to cover her Botox injections. She sure as hell doesn’t give a damn what happens to me, while I’m here or long after I’m gone.

  And this is when I disconnect. Everything that flies out of her smiling mouth becomes a buzz of rhetoric. I watch her lips move with a pained expression, my cheeks ache just looking at her. Not a single line moves on her face other than her mouth. Maybe the smile is surgically altered. A facelift gone wrong. It’s weird considering how animated she is … like a Disney character on crack. Overly sweet and unbelievably fake. I guarantee there isn’t a single authentic thing about this woman. Not her personality. Her gleaming white teeth. Her perky boobs. Or her emblazoned red hair.

  The sourness in my stomach intensifies the longer I sit here, watching her shiny pink lips stretch and contort. With every word, the disingenuousness is revealed, like peeling an apple to find it’s rotting underneath its shiny red flesh. It’s all a façade. The truth is concealed within the twist of her words.

  “To help you focus and be in the moment, we don’t allow students to have their own personal cell phones or computers. You may use the computers in the study hall and library, but they do not grant access to social media sites or personal email accounts. We want you to be fully present in your studies and engage with your peers at Blackwood.

  “I know it’s a bit of an adjustment, but soon, you won’t even miss the distractions.” She says this without pause, as if she was prepared for me to have some sort of adverse reaction. I’m sure most students do when they learn they’ll be disconnected from the rest of the world. But I wouldn’t have access to a phone or a computer in juvie either. It’s not that big of an adjustment for me. It just sucks that I can’t contact Tori and Nina to let them know where I am.

  She sets a small black phone on the desk. “We offer our own phone service so that we may communicate with you and support your positive choices. These phones will contact the administrative office, the security team and your approved contacts. We’ll periodically check in. It’s part of our exceptional security protocol. We want to keep you safe and will make certain the choices you make do just that.”

  What? I almost say it out loud, but catch myself. Why are they concerned about my safety? We’re in the middle of the fricken woods! Why do they need to stalk my every move? What kind of trouble could I possibly get into? Who needs this much supervision?

  “Can the phones call out?”

  “Yes. But they’re monitored and can only call your approved contacts.” She drags her mouse and makes a few clicks. “You’re able to call Faye Peri or Niall Harrison.”

  “What about my friends?” I’m doubtful they’re listed, but I have to ask.

  “They aren’t approved right now. But they may be added at a later time, once we’ve all agreed they’re not going to deter from your success.”

  My success? What exactly are they expecting? This is sounding more like a reprogramming facility where they feed everyone bullshit and convince them it’s candy. Exactly how do they plan to bring out our best selves? I’m actually afraid to find out. Especially when she keeps talking about how transformative this will be. This place is starting to freak me out.

  The Queen Warden continues, but I’m lost in my head, trying to calm the cataclysm of emotions roiling inside of me. When she finally stands, handing me the phone that I left untouched on her desk, I can’t look at her. I’m too busy chanting, it’s just six months, over and over in my head. It’ll be painful, like electroshock therapy, but it won’t last forever. I can do this. What other choice do I have? But thinking that only pisses me off all over again.

  A knock turns me around.

  “Perfect timing.” She walks to the door. “Sophia, thank you for being so prompt.”

  “Of course,” a pleasant voice says from the other side.

  “Please, come in.” The Queen Warden takes a step to the side and a girl with shoulder-length black hair held back by a floral scarf greets me. She has big, round grey eyes that are striking against the light brown of her skin. Even though she’s a few inches taller than me, she seems more delicate, like a doll, wearing a powder blue gingham skirt, a short-sleeved white blouse and sandals.

  “Lana, this is Sophia,” the Warden says. “I’ve asked her to give you a tour of the campus and to accompany you to dinner.”

  Sophia smiles so wide I can see all of her teeth. “Hi.”

  I nod without saying anything, not feeling very right now.

  “You girls enjoy the rest of this beautiful day.”

  I brush past Sophia without a glance.

  “Hold up,” she calls, following after me into the foyer.

  I’m pacing in front of the main doors, trying to wrap my head around what kind of messed up school I got sentenced to, by the time she catches up.

  “It’s different than you were expecting, huh?” she asks calmly, but with a tone of understanding. “It is for everyone when they first get here.”

  I stop and stare at her. “Where is here? I have no idea where I am.”

  Her eyes tighten in confusion. “They didn’t tell you?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t even know the name of the school until I arrived. I know I’m not in Massachusetts. But where? New York? Connecticu
t?”

  “Vermont,” she answers. “In a town called Kingston. It’s not a large town. The students from the two private schools and the skiers in the winter months bring in more people than probably live here year-round. But we pretty much keep to ourselves.” She motions toward another set of doors on the opposite side of the foyer. “Want to take a walk around?”

  I shrug in indifference.

  When we’re through the doors, I’m struck by an overwhelmingly sweet fragrance. Across the small rectangle of grass is what appears to be a tunnel formed by wisteria vines.

  “We call this the Court. I suppose it’s meant to be short for courtyard. It connects all of the buildings together.”

  The emerald green lawn stretches the length of the building, interrupted by hedges that are a story tall. We’re caged in by the shrubbery and the only way out, other than going back into the building, is through the flowers.

  I look over the top of the hedges and wisteria at the surrounding buildings. The one directly opposite of us is so far away, I can barely see it. The rest are evenly spaced to form a perfect circle around the Court.

  “Straight across are the dorms. It’s difficult to see them from here. I’ll show you once we get farther in.” We walk through the arching purple blooms. Bees whir overhead. “It can get pretty confusing once you enter because all the buildings are exactly the same, but each one has its own distinct entrance into the Court. I have a map of the buildings that I’ll give to you. But I don’t have one of the Court. It changes a little all the time; there isn’t an accurate map.”

  I’m about to ask what she means when we emerge on the other side of the wisteria tunnel, only to walk into a small forest of birch trees. This is weird.

  “Is this some kind of maze?”

  “They call it ‘an intricate architectural landscape,’ but essentially, yes, it’s—”

  “Fucked up.”

  I spin around, and hidden within the spotted white trunks is a girl sitting on a framed white swing. The kind that belongs on a front porch in a cute town, not in a tiny forest of birch trees.

  “Ashton!” Sophia scolds her.

  “Aw. Did I scare you?” Ashton asks with a Cheshire smile. A cloud of smoke seeps out and around her full lips. She takes another hit from the vape dangling from her fingers. She looks like she belongs in a rock magazine in her leather pants and neon pink bandeau, lounging casually on the swing with one leg dangling, an arm draped over the back. The bare feet are a little strange though. “I’m Ashton.” She smiles again, her attention focused on me. “Is Sophia being the perfect tour guide?”

  “We just started,” I tell her.

  “Oh, good.” She hops up from her perch, leaving the swing rocking in her wake and weaving between the trees to join us. “There’s still time.”

  “For what?” I ask, finally getting a good look at the odd girl. Her sapphire blue eyes inspect me in return. Chestnut hair falls in thick, wavy layers over her shoulders. She’s stunning and could easily be a model with her long legs wrapped in skin-tight leather. She’s practically an Amazon next to me, even in bare feet.

  “Let me translate for you,” Ashton offers, unable to suppress the drug-induced grin.

  “I speak English,” I tell her with an amused laugh. This girl must be seriously high.

  “Not for you.” Ashton looks to Sophia. “For you, because someone needs to tell her how it really is around here. Not the propaganda of lies the administration makes you memorize.”

  Sophia’s mouth opens in offense.

  “Don’t get all pissy.” Ashton half-heartedly pacifies her. “It’s not your fault you try to paint a positive coat of bullshit over everything. I blame your parents for demanding perfection. And since my parents are narcissistic asshats who don’t give a fuck, I’m … me. The complete opposite of you. Which is why I’m the translator.” Ashton looks to me. “Ready?”

  “Translate away.” Everything she just said sounded like a distorted riddle. This should be entertaining.

  Sophia huffs in annoyance but doesn’t stop Ashton from joining us when we begin walking again.

  “So what’s with this place?” I ask. I’m hoping one of them reveals something about this school that will help me understand why the hell I’m here. My bet is on Ashton. Sophia seems wound too tight and may snap if forced to break from her script.

  “The Court or the school?” Ashton clarifies.

  “Both.”

  “What do you already know?” She spins around in front of us, brushing her hands along the branches of the willow tree that drape over the path.

  “Only what I was told when I arrived. No phones. No computers. That they do random check-ins. All to make sure we’re safe and being our best selves. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

  Ashton chuckles. “Oh, you had the Dr. Kendall welcome package. Nice.”

  “It’s not a bad message,” Sophia says, in an attempt to defend … the school? Dr. Kendall? Seriously? If Sophia’s proper and reserved self is the example of “transformed” then I’m all set.

  “The school is an elite institution that helps us reach our best potential. With an education at Blackwood, students become some of the most sought after collegiate candidates,” Sophia explains as if reciting from a teleprompter that I can’t see.

  “Translation,” Ashton interjects before Sophia can continue. “We’re here because our parents failed at being parents and needed someone else to step in and take over. Every single one of us is at Blackwood because no one else wanted us.” Sophia opens her mouth as if to argue, but Ashton stops her with, “Even your parents couldn’t handle the pressure.” This shuts Sophia’s mouth with an irritated snap.

  Ashton turns to me. “Privacy’s a big deal around here. No one will ask who your parents are, or why you’re here. At least most won’t. You can tell us if you want. But we get it if you don’t. Whatever you did, it doesn’t matter. Not to us.”

  As much as I appreciate her candor, Ashton still isn’t making complete sense. Obviously this isn’t a typical boarding school. I guess I never thought it would be.

  “Okay,” I reply in contemplation, taking it in as best as I can without prying even though I want to. “So explain the Court. How the hell do they expect people to get around without getting lost?”

  I’ve already lost my way. We’ve passed three different gardens. One featuring a fountain with a mermaid shooting water out of her mouth. Another with a white wooden gazebo in the center of a patch of daisies. And another with hammocks hung within caves of hedges. It’s like I’ve tripped into Wonderland. And I’m apparently surrounded by its main characters. Just waiting for the Mad Hatter to make an appearance, but I suspect there’s plenty of crazy to go around this place.

  “Look toward the building you want to get to, and don’t lose track of it as you follow the paths that will take you there,” Sophia instructs. “And watch for the little signs posted along the way in case you get turned around.”

  “The dumbasses who designed this didn’t make a circular path along the perimeter that connects all of the buildings. Not on the Court side anyway. But walking around the drive on the outside takes forever. It’s like they want us to get lost. Sick fucks.”

  “You shouldn’t walk in here by yourself until you get used to it,” Sophia advises.

  “And never alone after dark,” Ashton adds dramatically, her brows raised in emphasis.

  “Why?” I practically scoff at her ominous tone. Everyone is seriously overreacting with this staying safe bullshit. We’re in a garden, granted it’s a twisted and messed up garden. But it’s not like we’re in Detroit.

  “It’s just easy to lose your way.” Sophia dismisses Ashton’s words with a pleasant smile.

  Ashton continues as if Sophia hasn’t spoken. “Things happen in the dark. Some good, but mostly bad. So don’t wander alone. Newbies get lost out here all the time. You can hear their cries in the dark. Super creepy.”

  “Are you try
ing to freak her out?” Sophia scolds, blinking at me nervously. “Don’t listen to her.” Now I can’t help but be a little freaked out. “The path is paved with luminescent stones, so if you stay on it, you’ll find your way.”

  “It only lights up the path, not the places where you can get lost,” Ashton argues. She is seriously confusing.

  “The Court’s actually really pretty when they decorate it with twinkle lights and lanterns for the balls.” Sophia’s face brightens at just the mention of it.

  “Which only means that they could light it up all the time if they wanted. It’s proof they’re fucking with us!”

  “Balls?” I question. “As in Cinderella?”

  Sophia beams even brighter at the question. “We have a themed ball each month. Everyone dresses in amazing costumes. Sometimes the Printz-Lee students attend too.” She leads us through a line of giant topiaries shaped as animals and teacups that eventually opens into a yard littered with tables shaded by colorful umbrellas.

  “It’s the school’s way of keeping us sane. So we have something to look forward to each month while we’re stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Ashton explains.

  I stare at them with wide eyes, not understanding why a costume party is something to be excited about. It sounds ridiculous to me. “Does everyone have to go?”

  “Yes. But trust me, you’ll want to,” Sophia gushes.

  Ashton nods in agreement but understands why I asked. “If you don’t go, it’s because you got busted for something. And the alternative sucks way worse than getting dressed up and dancing for a night. Again, translation, there are ways to make the balls more fun.” She winks at me and takes another hit from her vape.

  Sophia rolls her eyes. “Put that away before someone catches you.”

  “You need to stop with the innocent act, Sofe,” Ashton mocks.

  Sophia inhales deeply and straightens her spine, struggling to remain composed. “Anyway, this building is the Great Hall. It’s where we dine, gather for assemblies and any big events.” Which explains the tables outside. “Hungry?”