The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew, Page 2

  It’s only one week. I’ll survive.

  Then again … I never thought a week could go by so slowly. It’s literal torture.

  I wake every morning to Mr. Garner’s face. Spend the morning punching the crap out of something—which may be my only salvation—or breathing deep in search of Zen and never finding it. Eat in my room and only go outside to walk to class. The few people in my classes are the only faces I see. The in-between times are mind-numbing. I think I’ve attempted every hairstyle in existence and performed so many makeup techniques that I could start my own YouTube channel—just to keep some thread of sanity. I listen to music in my room. Or work on my assignments. But that’s it. No books. No people. Nothing but my thoughts. And they’re not helpful.

  I keep expecting Brendan or Ashton to knock on my door, but they don’t. Maybe they’ve been warned to stay away. I’m losing my mind, staring at the walls of my stunningly decorated room. Until Friday, when an envelope slips under my door and slides across my floor as I’m sitting on it, painting my toenails.

  I stare at the bright yellow paper.

  I twist the brush back onto the bottle and reach for it. Psycho or friend? Honestly, they could be the same person. But considering the flowers drawn on the cover, it’s not the psycho. I tear it open.

  Jail break tonight after final check-in. Be ready.

  The print is scrawling and feminine.

  Ashton.

  I’m not sure what to expect. Or when. Or if I’m willing to risk being kicked out of Blackwood for whatever she has planned, but when the light tapping on my door stirs me from my boredom a little after eleven, I am desperate for anything. I cannot spend a single second more stuck in this room.

  Ashton pushes her way in, quietly shutting the door behind her. “Omigod, I swear See-er was right behind me. Security is extra tight for some reason. What the hell did you do? Murder someone?”

  I raise my brows. “Uh, hi.”

  She laughs. “Sorry. I haven’t seen you all week. I thought they had you locked in solitary somewhere. We’ve all been warned not to come near you or else we’ll be confined to our rooms for the next month. Seriously, what happened?”

  “Are you kidding?” I scoff at the major overreaction. “They knew I left with Grant last weekend after the wedding. I don’t know how, but I’m stuck on campus for the rest of the month and haven’t been able to leave my room other than to attend class and go to the gym with Mr. Garner.”

  “Really?” She looks baffled. “That’s what this is all about?”

  I shrug. “I know. I don’t get it either. I take it, this isn’t typical?”

  “I mean … I don’t know. I’ve never been caught. How do you think they found out?”

  “My phone?”

  Ashton cringes. “Maybe. I didn’t think of that. I’m so used to leaving it in my room when I do anything off campus.” She sits on my couch, crossing her long legs beneath her. “I need to get out. Will you come?” After taking in my wary expression, she adds, “You don’t have to. I get it. It’s just that …” Ashton sighs dramatically.

  Now I can see it. The strain in her smile. The sorrow in her eyes. The crease between her brows. The brokenness barely visible behind her feigned nonchalance. It’s familiar … heartbreak. I can recognize it easily—living with my mother has made me an expert.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, taking a seat next to her. “Is Brendan being even more of a dick than usual?”

  “I don’t know,” she responds solemnly. “He’s been … distant.”

  I try to look concerned. Because I am … for her. But I suck at hiding how I really feel. She can do better.

  “I know. You don’t get why I like him.” She leans deeper into the cushion. “I’m in love with him,” she states matter-of-factly. “And I don’t know what to do. He’s been avoiding me all week and hasn’t talked to me in, like, three days. I keep trying to figure out what I did wrong and—”

  “Wait.” I stop her. “What you did wrong?” I can’t keep the anger out of my tone. “I’m sure you did nothing wrong. He’s an ass.”

  She stares at me for a few seconds, unconvinced. “He’s always been honest with me about not being exclusive. I knew the risks going into this. I just wish he’d stop avoiding me and tell me what the hell’s going on.”

  “Ashton, if he can’t be mature enough to talk to you, then fuck him.”

  It takes a few seconds for my words to penetrate the wall of self-blame. Then her demeanor transforms—her eyes shine as a grin spreads across her face. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m done torturing myself. He can either tell me what his deal is, or … Fuck. Him.” Her signature Cheshire smile emerges. “So … go out with me tonight. Pleeease.”

  I laugh. “Fine. Where are we going?”

  “The barn.”

  I dress for the party while Ashton sits at the open window with her vape. I select a pair of fitted jeans and a black tank top with Does it look like I care? scrawled in silver glitter. I spin for her approval.

  “Oh, the attitude is coming out tonight,” she admires when she reads the words swooping across the curves of my chest. “I like it.” She’s in a red silk duster that parts up to her navel and billows dramatically when she walks. She’s paired it with dark skinny jeans and flat-soled, thigh-high black boots.

  “Lead the way,” I prompt, securing the door’s latch open with a strip of duct tape—Ashton’s contribution to my prison break.

  We steal down the stairs, passing a couple girls sneaking into a room on the junior floor. They pretend not to see us, and we do the same.

  We somehow make it to an office in the back of the kitchen without getting caught by Mrs. Seyer or me having a heart attack in the process. But I was definitely holding my breath the entire way.

  “I set up the stepladder under the window after dinner,” Ashton whispers as she eases it open. “Hopefully it’s still there. I had to change locations after almost getting caught last time.”

  The ladder is waiting for us several feet below the window, hidden from view by the hedges surrounding the building. Ashton climbs out first, shimmying out the window and down the ladder in a matter of seconds. I’m not nearly as stealthy as I dangle out the window, my toes searching for the top step. Ashton reaches for my hips to help ease me down.

  “I forget how short you are sometimes.” Ashton laughs when I’m finally on the ground. “Because you don’t act small. You know?”

  “On the inside, I’m ten feet tall.”

  Ashton smiles. “Yes, you are.”

  She grabs my hand and leads me around the building. We crouch behind the shrubbery until we reach the corner that faces the lake.

  “We have to make a run for it.”

  “Running? Seriously?” I groan. “Why must there always be running?”

  I take a deep breath, preparing to sprint. Thankfully, I’m wearing boots with a small heel. I honestly had the hardest time deciding what to wear to walk in the woods and party in a barn. Just as I leap forward, Ashton yanks me by my belt loop. I crash backward through the bushes and land on my butt with a grunt.

  “What the—”

  She covers my mouth with her hand.

  “I said to the kid, ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ The arrogant prick told me, ‘I don’t go here,’ like that explained why he was walking around campus like he owned it. I told him to get the fuck off the school’s property before I arrest him.” The voice gets louder as the patrol passes in front of us. And then slowly fades as they round the corner. “Telling you, these fucked up kids need to have their asses beat, not sent …”

  I push myself off the ground when we can’t hear him any longer. Sighing, I brush my hair out of my face. I am forever going to be plucking green needles out of my hair. Seriously, I’m not made for this covert bullshit.

  “Let’s go,” Ashton whispers, taking off across the field without me.

  Did I mention how much I hate running?

  A
shton leaps across the expanse of tall grass toward Screaming Point like a gazelle. In extreme contrast, my short legs pump wildly beneath me with way less grace. I’m huffing and holding a stitch in my side when I finally reach Ashton. She’s squatting by the wrought iron fence. Not even winded.

  “You have to be careful to only touch the last bar,” Ashton instructs, “or else you’ll set off an alarm. Maybe even get electrocuted.”

  “What?!” I exclaim, only registering alarm and electrocuted.

  “It’s just a rumor, but I’d rather not find out,” she says as she holds on to the last bar of the wrought iron fence and swings her left leg onto the other side in a fluid motion, setting a foot down and then lifting the other leg to follow. It only takes her a couple seconds.

  I stare at her through the bars as she waits expectantly for me to do the same.

  “Your turn.”

  “To die!” I practically shout.

  “Shh!” she hisses, panic-stricken as she searches over my shoulder. “It’s not hard. I do it all the time.”

  “But you also have legs that reach my shoulders,” I argue. “There’s no way I can do that.”

  “Okay,” she says, gathering her patience. “Take it step by step. I’ll help you. Hold on to the bar.”

  I do, which is the easiest part. It goes downhill from there.

  “Now get as close to the edge as you can, but do not look down.”

  I think I might throw up because, of course, I look down as soon as she says it. I stare motionless at the dark, glistening water lapping over sharp, tooth-shaped rocks, waiting to impale me.

  “Lana! Look at me!” Ashton grabs my chin and redirects my gaze to her face. “Focus.”

  I swallow hard and nod.

  “Now swing one leg over, so you’re straddling the fence, and lift the other right after. It’s all about momentum.”

  I close my eyes, silently swear a thousand curse words and then open them as I swing my leg across. My foot slips as soon as it makes contact with the dirt, pebbles scattering beneath my boot. I can feel myself falling onto my ass, except there’s nothing beneath my ass.

  “Whoa!” Ashton calls out, her hands tight around my waist. “Let go!”

  That sounds like the most insane thing in the world to do right now. But instinct takes over, or maybe it’s blind trust because I release my white-knuckle grip of the bar just as Ashton tugs me toward her. Momentum, as Ashton said it would, sends us both to the ground. Ashton on her butt and me face-first beside her.

  My heart is in my throat along with a lungful of dirt.

  “Please don’t make me do that ever again.” I push up onto my hands and knees, waiting for my breaths to even out.

  “Well … we do have to get back,” she says apologetically. “But maybe you’ll turn into a gymnast after a few beers.”

  I brush the dirt from my chest and my jeans … again. “They better have something stronger than beer if you’re expecting miracles.”

  Ashton pulls out a small LED flashlight from her front pocket. It’s the size of a pen but surprisingly bright when she twists it on. I walk slightly behind her, focused on what little I can see of the ground so I don’t trip.

  “How do you know where to go?” Everything looks the same, especially in the dark.

  “There are breadcrumbs,” Ashton answers elusively. But then she shines her light on a blue plastic ribbon tied onto a branch. It’s impossible to see it without the light. “And I’ve walked this route so many times since I arrived at Blackwood; the path is practically worn down from the fence to the barn. I’m surprised the secret service hasn’t detected it yet. They’re not nearly as good as they claim to be.”

  “I’m sure tracking delinquent teenagers wasn’t part of their military training.”

  “Probably not.” Ashton laughs.

  “Ashton,” I say softly, tugging on her arm so she pauses to face me. “I’m sorry for how Brendan’s treating you. He’s being stupid. But I don’t understand … Why do you put up with him?”

  She shrugs with a weak smile. “He’s the reason I’m here.”

  “At Blackwood?”

  “Yeah.” She begins walking again.

  I stare after her before scurrying to catch up, my toe catching on something that causes me to stumble with my arms flailing. Somehow, I don’t end up sprawled on the ground.

  Ashton turns at the sound of the commotion. “You okay?”

  “Um, yeah.” I sigh. “What do you mean, he’s the reason you’re here?”

  Ashton hesitates. She’s reluctant to say anything, which may be why this is the first time I’m hearing about it. “Brendan introduced Niall to me after … well, after my incident at the club. And Niall arranged for me to attend Blackwood. He convinced my parents it was what was best.”

  “Wait. Brendan introduced you to Niall?”

  “Yeah. We better hurry up before they run out of beer.” Ashton continues off into the dark.

  My head is spinning because, according to Brendan, he started at Blackwood a year after Ashton. So that means he knew Niall before coming here, but he claims to never have been arrested. Then again, he could be lying. I wouldn’t know. I’m usually so good at picking up on when someone isn’t being truthful. It’s a gift of my curse. But Brendan’s impossible to read. Hell, everything he says could be a lie.

  “Did you know the Harrisons before Blackwood?” I ask her back.

  She’s increased her pace—either to hurry and get to the party or to escape my questions.

  “No. But I heard about them in social circles in New York. Well, mostly Parker. There was always some kind of story going around about him. I didn’t really pay attention. Gossip isn’t my thing.”

  Did Brendan know the Harrison brothers before coming to Blackwood? There was this crazy tension between him and Joey when we were in Brendan’s room last weekend. I could tell it wasn’t the first time they’d met.

  “It doesn’t seem like Lance and Brendan know each other well,” I note casually, not ready to give up just yet.

  “No, not really. I’ve only ever seen Brendan talking to Parker. But I wouldn’t exactly call them friends. Brendan just does stuff for him.”

  “What kind of stuff?” I ask, the eagerness in my voice heightening.

  Ashton shrugs. “There’s a lot Brendan doesn’t tell me, remember? Which is why we need to get to the barn—so I can forget about him for one night. Besides, I thought you couldn’t stand him or the Harrisons? Why do you care?”

  It’s my turn to shrug. Ashton hasn’t been filled in on many of my family drama details. She thinks some psycho is messing with me at school by destroying my room and writing stupid messages on my wall. She has no idea how twisted it really is. And Brendan must not have confided about our mothers being close friends on Nantucket when they were teenagers.

  I stop walking.

  Nantucket.

  The Harrisons have a summer house on the island, and that’s where Brendan grew up. That has to be the connection. But why Parker? He’s, like, four years older than Brendan. Doesn’t seem they would be interested in the same things. Why would Brendan know him better than Joey or Lance, who are our age? Then again, Parker is an opportunist, and Brendan can get anything for anyone … or so I’ve been told.

  “No way,” I mutter under my breath.

  What if Brendan’s Parker’s “brilliant tech guy”? The one who created his entry code to get into The Point parties. The business partner who tracked down the girl who had seen me in the stairwell.

  Parker has been visiting Kingston a lot for someone who prefers the city, and I know it’s not because of me—no matter what he wants me to believe. Their business relationship could also explain why Brendan knows details about Allie’s case that never made the police report. And how I was involved.

  But what does any of this have to do with Ashton?

  “Lana?” Ashton calls to me from a distance, having stopped when she discovered I was no longer behind
her. “Are you okay?”

  “Sorry.” I shake off the onslaught of conspiracy theories. “Coming.”

  I follow Ashton’s light, continuing to stumble over the forest floor, and swat at the swarm of mosquitoes hovering around me. Why did I agree to this?

  What seems like an eternity later, I hear the murmur of voices and the tinny echo of music. And then the barn appears out of nowhere. A faint glow giving shape to a large, shadowed structure.

  “There was a farm out here?” I ask, inspecting the silhouetted forest surrounding the abandoned building. I can’t make out remnants of a house or a field in any direction.

  “I don’t get it either. But this barn is old, so who knows.”

  “And you’re positive it won’t fall down on top of us?”

  “There’s some broken boards, but I don’t think it’s going anywhere. They actually knew how to build things back then.”

  As we get closer, I realize there isn’t a road or a driveway leading to it. Only more trees. I spot a couple ATVs, one with a trailer attached to it, along with a few dirt bikes propped against tree trunks.

  “Where does everyone park?” I ask as the twang of country music becomes more distinct.

  “There’s a dirt road a couple miles through the woods. No one lives on it, so there isn’t anyone to complain about the cars. The police probably know about this place, but they don’t come out here. I mean, what are they going to do? Bring everyone in on the back of an ATV?”

  Clusters of people stand outside, leaning against the worn wooden planks. Others sit on boulders embedded sporadically around the perimeter. When we step up to the opening, all I see is plaid—lots of plaid tied around waists or with the sleeves rolled up, slung over T-shirts. Even most of the girls are wearing softer hues of short-sleeved plaid paired with jeans or torn denim skirts. I fight not to roll my eyes.

  The barn is smaller than I pictured. It’s about the size of a large two-bay garage at a gas station but with a second level. Except the upper floor doesn’t have many boards intact. The open space is packed, which surprises me. Teens around here are so desperate to party, they’re forced to walk a couple miles into the woods just to drink beers and listen to music that barely has a bass. If they start line dancing, I swear I’m out of here.