So how can I be anyone’s best friend, especially Ashton’s, when I feel like incinerating everything in my path?
When I leave for class Wednesday morning, I tape a sign on my door that reads Need More Time, kind of like Ashton did when she wanted to be left alone to sleep when she was hurting. I’m hoping this will let her know that I’m not gone, just in a sort of time-out. When I return at the end of the day, after picking up dinner to bring back to my room, there’s a sign beneath it written in what I believe is Chinese.
“What does it mean?” I ask Arden when she appears in black-and-white-checkered leather leggings, a neon-blue soccer shirt cropped below her bustline and five-inch platform white sneakers tied with thick lemon-yellow ribbons. Her eyes are lined in white with blue feather lashes. Her lips are matte black, and her hair is knotted in two buns on top of her head.
I’m not sure what she’s dressed for; maybe she’s throwing a party in her room later. Then again, I’m beginning to suspect that this is Arden … always.
“Peace in chaos,” Arden explains. She pours the floral tea, and my jaw tightens in anticipation of its dreadful taste. “Drink.”
She waits as I do, and I cringe the entire time.
She picks up the tray and walks back through the bathroom, her voice echoing, “Goodnight, Lana.”
The next day is pretty much the same, except I spend a few hours in the afternoon with my chemistry partner, reviewing what I missed on Monday. He’s not nearly as patient with me as Grant.
I miss him. So much. More than I ever thought I could miss a person. It physically hurts, like someone cut out a piece inside my chest. I don’t want him to be angry or disappointed in me for isolating myself. But I don’t want to be around anyone right now … I’m too volatile. Hell, I don’t even like being around myself.
And I’m scared because I know Grant ended a relationship with someone he loved because she pushed him away when all he wanted to do was be there for her. And how is what I’m doing any different? I’ve caught myself several times with my phone in my hand, about to text him some random thought or ask what he’s doing. But when I pull out my phone, I remember ... I can't message him—even if I could bring myself to—and tuck it back in my pocket.
Grant is so good and kind. In contrast, my life is filled with destruction and lies. I feel so selfish, asking him to be a part of my darkness when he deserves to stand in the sun. As I unburdened my secrets upon him, I feared that they would latch on to him and drag him down too. Is it fair of me to ask him to listen but then demand he do nothing? His integrity won’t allow him to stay quiet indefinitely. It’s not who he is. And it’s not right of me to expect him to. It’s cruel.
I’ve been ordered to meet with Isaac every day to deal with this firestorm possessing me … but I can’t stand to see him right now. He knows it too because each morning when I receive a text, asking what time he should expect me, he doesn’t pursue me when I answer, “Never.”
When Arden sets the tray of tea on the coffee table Thursday night, she’s wearing a headband with two glittery yellow balls on springs. Her eyes are smudged with a pinkish-red shadow, and her lips are painted glossy orange. She’s adorned in a white satin robe with a thick hot-pink sash wrapped around her ribs. The colors remind me of the mushroom garden.
Each day, I find myself looking forward to how she’ll present herself. It’s like she’s ever-changing. But always exactly herself at the same time. Kind of like the Court.
“Will you tell me about the Court?” I ask, remembering her promise to do so the first night we met, which was only five days ago yet feels like a lifetime.
Arden looks up from pouring the tea. “What do you want to know?”
“How does it change? I never see anyone working on it.”
A mischievous grin spreads across her face. “I’ll be right back.”
When she returns a moment later, she has a large piece of drawing paper and a stick of charcoal. “I may have dabbled with some magical herbs in my tea before coming in. I was going to light up my floor and meditate, so if I go a little astray, forgive me.”
I nod with a smile. “I will do my best to translate. I’ve had a little practice with magic this summer.”
She eyes me quizzically but doesn’t ask. Instead, Arden lays the paper on the table and begins to sketch peaks of the buildings in a circle. Then the coal swirls to capture the likeness of the grand majestic tree in the center. A smaller tree, which I’m pretty sure is the red maple, and the willow are also added.
“The buildings are set up like numbers on a clock. The administration building is at twelve, and our dorm is at six.”
She labels the rest, and my mouth drops in disbelief. It’s so obvious now that I see it. How could I ever forget which building is where? Except for not knowing what I’m facing to begin with.
“There are only several immovable structures within the Court because they grow into the ground. This tree has been here probably before the buildings.” Arden points to the majestic tree in the middle. I know it well, having sat under it or swung from it many times. “Blackwood has always been a school, although what the first students studied is a bit unclear. The architects centered everything around the tree. I think it was their way of protecting it or maybe honoring it.”
She connects the administration building, the Great Hall, the library and the languages building with lines to represent the tall fences between each building.
“The drive on this side of campus is the only one that is paved. I have no idea why they stopped here, but it’s so delivery trucks can come through and unload. Beneath the buildings is a catacomb of service corridors. They’re fairly new; I believe they were installed when the current school took over. There are other subterranean passages that were created when the structures were first built, but they’re dilapidated and beyond creepy.” She shivers, and I inadvertently do the same, having been through them. She notices and grins. “Oh, you know?”
I shrug, and she laughs.
“Between these buildings with the paved drive, the fences roll open, granting direct access to the Court for the landscapers and the students of The Poppy Institute. The Court itself is set upon a gridwork of tracks with the hedges, pathways and even the grass on large, square trays, which are slid and maneuvered on these rails.” When I look at her like she’s speaking in a foreign tongue, she tries a different approach. “Did you ever play with slide puzzles as a child? The stupid game that has one piece missing, and you have to slide the others around to eventually form a picture?”
I nod.
“The Court is like that. Take out enough pieces, and they can manipulate and transform the interior. And if they are working on a certain section, they only need to slide a few hedges into place to block it off, creating a dead end. They could be working on it at any time without you knowing, if they’re quiet enough. But they do most of the landscaping in the early hours of dawn, before anyone is awake and before the day gets too hot. The gardens they transform the most are those on this side of the Court because they’re the easiest to access.” She taps the charcoal on the side where the fences open up.
“But like I mentioned before, the paths are set in the winter; they don’t change them. I believe it’s because it’s too difficult to slide along the tracks with the snow and ice. So they create set paths radiating out from the tree, making it much easier and faster to get to class than in the spring and summer.”
I stare at the picture that she’s been sketching this entire time, her curved pathways, floral gardens and spouting fountains. It’s quick lines and dots, but there’s talent within each deliberate stroke.
“Why?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around the confounding Court’s intention.
“Why not?” she says with a grin.
“That’s an Ashton answer.”
Arden smiles wider. “Yes, I suppose it is. How about this? Sometimes, we have to get lost to appreciate where we are. To take a moment and realize th
at we are exactly where we’re meant to be.”
“Is this like the peace in chaos sign? Or maybe it’s the herbs talking?”
She shrugs.
I lean back on the couch and admire her eccentric persona as she rolls up the paper. There’s an ease and grace to her movements, like she’s completely comfortable in her body. A body she chooses to playfully dress in vivid color and enhance with makeup, like strokes of art on a flesh palette.
“You don’t need to push people away to figure out who you are,” she says gently, making me shift from studying her to meet her sincere gaze.
“I don’t want to hurt them by being too … me. I’m angry. Lately, I’m angry all the time. And they don’t deserve that.”
“Are you afraid of hurting them or being hurt by them?”
I’m quiet for a moment, thinking of Ashton and Grant and how honest they’ve been with me. “I don’t think they’d want to hurt me. But I hadn’t believed my mother or Nina and Tori ever wanted to hurt me either. They still did.”
“Fear can make people hurt others in order to protect themselves even if they’ve convinced themselves they’re protecting others.”
I tilt my head. “What magic did you sprinkle in that tea? And did you get the recipe from Squirrel?”
Arden’s laughter is light and harmonious. “Oh, I love Squirrel! I’m convinced he’s my spirit animal.”
“I’m going to agree with you.” I release a breath as if to prepare myself. “Okay, lay that on me again.”
“Don’t let fear create who the world sees. Allow the you on the inside to shine through on the outside.” She holds out her arms in display to indicate that she is this radiant, colorful being through to her essence. “That’s your truth, Lana.”
“Then I’ll burn everything down,” I admit in defeat. “I am fire and rage on the inside.”
“You see a dragon. I see a warrior.” Her dark eyes shine as if lit from within. “I wouldn’t want you for an enemy. But I would certainly want you by my side.”
I bite my lip as my eyes shimmer with tears. Her words make me unexpectedly emotional. “That’s … insightful. I’m beginning to think it’s your curse—Insight.”
Arden scans the list painted on the wall. “Curses?”
I nod in affirmation.
“How do you quantify a curse?”
“The virtue we value the most ultimately leads to our destruction. Mine is Honesty. I can’t lie, but the truth is destroying my life.”
Arden’s mouth splits into an amused smile, like she contains some profound wisdom that I’ve only just begun to grasp. “Our destruction? Are you sure? Or is it our resurrection?” She muses with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Maybe it’s a test. We are challenged by the trait we deem most valuable, and if we conquer it, we rise up. And I suppose if we don’t, it could destroy us.”
“Now you sound like you’re reading from one of my grandmother’s fairytales … or a fortune cookie.”
“Yeah, that was pretty strong tea,” she admits, weaving her hand in the air. “So if Insight is my curse and I understand it correctly, I’m aware of what others are experiencing, but I may not be able to see within myself or like what I see if I do?”
“That’s a pretty good interpretation,” I note, impressed she picked up on it so quickly. But then again, Insight is her curse.
“Then I’ve already completed my quest!” she exclaims with pride. “I battled and conquered my false self and have been transformed into the skin I’m wearing now.”
“Really?” I ponder in bemusement. “Explain.”
She smiles. “I’m the girl I was always fighting to be when my body was a boy.”
I blink and let that sink in a second. A sincere and easy smile emerges on my face. “Yeah. You are exactly who you’re meant to be.”
“I am,” she proclaims jubilantly. “Now drink that horrific tea, and tomorrow, I’ll bring you something that tastes much better. And maybe … we can invite Ashton to join us?”
I take a breath. “Yeah. It’s time.”
My cruelty is unforgivable. I am the worst kind of creature, prolonging your suffering.
Let’s do this,” I declare, bursting into Mr. Garner’s office, unannounced, first thing the next morning.
A boy wearing a plaid bow tie and bedhead hair spins around in a chair, a hand pressed to his chest. Mr. Garner slowly raises his head from reading the binder in front of him. His lips are pressed together tightly. I think he’d roll his eyes if it wouldn’t ruin his professional credibility.
“Good morning, Lana. As much as I’m pleased to see you, you’ll have to wait until I’m available.”
I produce a sugary smile, laced with a threat. “You’re done, right?”
The guy stares back with bulging eyes, looking like he wants to sink into the floor and disappear.
“Lana.” Mr. Garner gives me his best Niall Harrison deep, admonishing voice.
Before Mr. Garner can apologize for my interruption, the boy lifts his bag from the floor and scurries out the door, giving me a wide berth.
Mr. Garner sighs heavily. “Was that necessary?”
“He didn’t want to be here,” I tell him, shutting the door. “I was doing him a favor.” When I notice Mr. Garner’s enlarged eyes, I add, “No offense. But if you were seriously reading from that, he was about to lose his mind.”
He shuts the life-advisor script with a loud thud. “Well … I have the rest of the morning free. Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I only have a little over an hour before chemistry. And there’s no way I’m staying in this cell. Let’s get out of here.”
“Fresh air is a good idea.”
He stands, and I shake my head in disbelief. He’s wearing pale yellow shorts with blue canvas shoes and a pink-and-white-striped shirt. Arden can pull off the abstract. Mr. Garner cannot.
“Who dresses you? The Easter Bunny?”
He looks down, puzzled. “What?”
I sigh. “Let’s go.”
When we reach the foyer, I ask, “Can we go off campus? I kinda need a change of scenery.”
“Um … you don’t have much time.” He checks his wrist, which is not wearing a watch.
“C’mon, we have enough,” I encourage him, heading out the front doors.
Mr. Garner leads me to a Tesla in the parking lot.
I shake my head. “You’re kidding me.”
He opens his mouth to speak but releases a breath of air, unable to defend himself.
I slip into the passenger seat and inhale the new car scent. “When did you get this?”
“When I was in New York a couple weeks ago. A gift from my mother.”
“Guilt gift?” The engine purrs to life so quietly, it sounds like a computer booting up. I press the button to roll down the window.
“Most likely.”
“Take it she wasn’t around most of your childhood.” I lean back against the leather, getting comfortable.
“Why would you say that?” His brows furrow, like he’s either worried … or impressed that I figured him out.
“You said you went to school in Oaklawn. And I basically watched you grow up in the pictures at the Harrisons’.”
Mr. Garner turns right onto the main road without confirming my assumption. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about you?”
“Tell me how to stop being so angry.” I lay it out there without preamble. We drive past tree after tree. “I feel like my insides are on fire. I’m about to combust and take down the entire forest with me.”
“That’s pretty powerful,” Mr. Garner notes. He directs the car down a side road.
“Tell me how to put it out. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
“It’s not that simple, Lana. You can’t just douse water on it and expect it to extinguish.” We jostle along a windy dirt road. “Hold on a second. I can’t drive and talk. There’s a spot down here.”
We pull to a stop at a spot that overlooks
the lake, a clearing scattered with picnic tables. There’s a family seated at one of the tables, so Mr. Garner selects the one farthest from them. He takes a seat on the bench while I choose to sit on top of the table and lean back on my arms, facing the water.
“Okay. Let’s talk about your anger,” he coaxes gently. “But let me present it to you in a different way. It may provide insight into what’s really going on.” He pauses as if to collect his thoughts. I close my eyes and wait silently, absorbing the warm rays with my face tilted toward the sky. “Anger isn’t the end result. It’s a warning, letting you know that something’s wrong.”
I cock my head, my heart skipping a beat. His words strike a nerve.
“Think of it as a red flag. Anger isn’t the problem. It’s letting you know there is one. Acknowledge that you’re angry but then look for the true emotion that’s fueling it.”
“So … I’m not really angry? I’m just … what? Sad?” I question, not sure I’m willing to start digging.
“Maybe,” Mr. Garner responds quietly. “You tell me.” He takes in a contemplative breath. “Have you … given yourself permission to grieve for your grandmother? She died in a very sudden—”
I scoot off the picnic table before he can finish his sentence. “I think we should go. I don’t want to be late for class.”
“Lana,” Mr. Garner beckons calmly. “Avoiding your grief, or whatever else you’re denying, is the match to that fire inside of you. If you want to stop being angry, you have to look at who or what’s holding the flame.”
I grind my teeth, and tears flood my eyes. I hate how emotional I’ve been lately. It’s like something broke and needs to be sealed up tight again. I cross my arms and walk to the edge of the grass, where it slopes and turns into dirt and boulders. Mr. Garner remains seated at the picnic table, giving me space.
I squeeze my eyes shut, determined to squish the tears back into my sockets. Releasing a heavy breath, I spin and clomp back to the picnic table where I sit across from Mr. Garner. I stare at him with my elbows on the table and my arms still crossed. Here goes nothing.
The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew Page 22
