The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4

By Rebecca Donovan

The most dangerous lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

Exiled at a boarding school in Vermont, Lana is tormented by cryptic messages and pictures from her mother’s past.

Seventeen years ago, something unspeakable happened.
A pact of silence was forged.

Now, the lies are unraveling.
The closer Lana gets to the truth, the harder it is to accept.
And someone’s willing to kill to keep that secret buried.

To protect her friends, Lana’s forced to trust the one person who’s been lying since the beginning.

When the secret is finally revealed, it can’t be unknown.
They're forced to face the horrifying truth...the monster behind it all.
Every curse has an origin. This is theirs...
The conclusion of The Cursed Series is a powerful and complicated story
that bravely gives voice to the choices that are taken away and the fight to get them back.

Who’s to blame when everyone is at fault?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Donovan
• Release date: Apr 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463618868

Rebecca Donovan

Rebecca Donovan, the USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling YA author of The Breathing Series and What If, lives in a small town in Massachusetts with her son. Influenced by and obsessed with music, Rebecca can often be found jumping around at concerts, or on a plane to go see one. She's determined to experience (not just live) life. And then write about it.

Book preview

Everyone has a secret. It dwells beneath our skin. Settles within our bones. And weighs us down. Anchoring us to the bottom until we drown.

And maybe that’s what we’re all doing … drowning. In our secrets. Our lies. Our hidden truths.

We’re standing in front of each other, slowly dying. Being suffocated by the words that won’t leave our lips.

All to protect ourselves from shame or guilt. Because we aren’t doing it to protect the ones we love. No matter what we try to convince ourselves. Secrets only tear us apart, separating us from each other.

I’m standing on an island, surrounded by others’ secrets. And drowning in my own. Struggling every day with the isolation. Silently begging to be relieved of their weight.

Our house was built on secrets. They tried to hide them from me … my aunts, my mother, my grandmother. But I knew when there was something wrong even if I never discovered what it was. I’d hear them whisper while I slept. The cries muffled into pillows. The doors slammed a little too hard. The voices that slipped into screams of hurt and despair.

My father is one of those secrets. My mother kept him trapped behind her haunted blue eyes; tears slipped freely from her lashes at the mention of his existence. I don’t know what he did to her, but he never let her go, even in his absence. He is the secret that’s slowly dimming her light. Or maybe it’s me—the reminder of the love she will never have.

But now … I may have found the key to unlocking that secret. I’m hesitant to unleash it. Can I finally release her from its cruel bind and set her free? Or will I lose what little of her he left behind?

You broke my heart. But I let you. Over and over again.

Vic?

Brendan looks from my wide eyes to Joey’s avoiding gaze. And as if he can read our minds, he concludes, "He’s the one who pushed Allie down the stairs, isn’t he? Of course it’s him."

Joey shoots me a panicked look before he demands, How do you know about Allie?

He knows way too much about everything, I explain vaguely, still in shock that I may be related to the biggest asshat in existence. Which is so much worse than learning that I could also be related to Joey or Brendan. I need to go, I say, rising on rubbery legs.

Joey reaches to steady me without actually touching me.

I’ll walk you back, Brendan offers.

I can’t go through that tunnel again. I ask Joey, Where are you staying?

Lance’s room.

Take me with you?

Surprise flashes across his face, understandably. I’ve been doing my best to avoid him.

Yeah, sure.

Don’t get caught, Brendan warns.

Whatever, I mumble. Before I move toward the door, I pick up the picture of my mother and Kaden, tucking it into my pocket. The rest Brendan can have. I’ve seen all that I need to see. And most I wish I hadn’t.

Joey checks that the hall is empty before nodding for me to follow.

I’ll figure this out, Brendan says quietly before I slip out the door.

A part of me wants to tell him not to bother. That I don’t want to know. Whatever the truth is, it’s messed up—or else our parents would have told us. They’ve kept it hidden for a reason.

And I don’t blame my mother exactly. Either she had an affair with a married man, or the man she loved more than life abandoned her as soon as he discovered she was pregnant. Unless … Kaden doesn’t know about me.

How well do you know your uncle? I whisper to Joey as we creep down the three flights to the second level.

Joey glances at me over his shoulder, shrugging slightly.

He refuses to speak, afraid of getting us caught. I follow impatiently until we arrive at Lance’s door, silently waiting for Joey to slide a laminated card over the lock.

Hey! Lance greets his brother. I didn’t know— He stops as soon as I enter the room. What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re hooking up in my room.

I flop down next to him on the beat-up couch where he’s holding a game controller. Nope.

His room is the typical guy room, if I’m being stereotypical. Clothes are tossed everywhere. The walls are covered with sports and band posters. A neon Open sign hangs above his unmade bed. And there’s a weird smell—dirty socks mixed with cologne with a hint of stale pizza.

Then what’s up?

Joey opens the mini fridge and pulls out a beer. Want one?

I shake my head. I run my hands over my face, trying to process.

Joey sits on the other side of Lance, his empty focus directed at the paused animated figures on the screen. I lean back, resting my head on the cushion, and stare at the ceiling.

Is someone going to tell me what’s going on? Lance demands impatiently. Wait. Are you pregnant? Did you get her pregnant?

I raise my head to catch Joey shoot him a scathing look.

I’m not pregnant. Although he’s really not that far off, considering we’re trying to figure out who impregnated my mother. Joey, tell me about Kaden.

Why do you want to know about my uncle? Lance asks.

Joey continues to ignore him. We don’t see him very often. Maybe once or twice a year. He lives in London. Been in the UK since he left to attend university. We’re not close, but I know he’s a good guy.

Is he married?

Joey shakes his head.

Why are you asking questions about Kaden? Lance’s irritation continues to grow. He leans forward to intercept Joey’s attention. Someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on!

I stand and begin pacing in front of the coffee table, the only space clear of clutter. If Kaden isn’t my father, then Vic’s father is. And I can’t be related to Vic. I just can’t.

Hellooo? Lance persists. What the fuck? Why does Lana look like she’s about to throw up? And you’re going to cry.

I’m not going to cry, Joey bites back. It’s been a weird night, okay?

I sigh and sit back down next to Lance, handing him the photo of Kaden and my mother—utterly, disgustingly in love.

Is that … He doesn’t finish, glancing from the photo to me.

My mother and I look too much alike for him not to deduce who she is.

How long ago was this?

We’re thinking about seventeen years, I tell him.

His eyebrow quirks. Do you think … my uncle’s your father or something?

I shrug.

Lance’s confusion slowly transforms to elation. That means, you’re my cousin! He yanks my arm and pulls me into a hug. Yes! This is so awesome!

Joey clears his throat.

Lance looks over his shoulder, still smothering me. Oh, right. Not for you. No wonder you’re gonna cry. Joey punches his arm. Ow!

Joey stands and leans against the counter by the pedestal sink with his arms folded. If Lana’s Kaden’s daughter, then why did Cassandra lie about Lily’s father?

What does Lily’s father have to do with Kaden? Lance asks, continuing to squeeze me as I try to wriggle out of his arms. Finally, I elbow him in the ribs. Ow! Dammit, Lana. Why is everyone beating the crap out of me?

Joey shakes his head, not willing to reveal more.

C’mon! Don’t give me only half the information! That’s bullshit!

Joey silently seeks permission. I shrug in resignation. My mind is so full of jagged pieces of information, it’s shorting out. Today’s toll is starting to set in, and my body is shutting down along with any rational thoughts.

You have to promise not to say anything … to anyone. Not even Parker.

Lance hesitates long enough to be notable. This isn’t an easy ask for him, apparently. Okay. It stays between the three of us.

And Brendan.

Why the hell does that guy get to know everything? You know I don’t trust him, right?

I don’t either. But he knows things, whether we want him to or not, and honestly, I’d rather keep him in the circle, so he’ll share too. It burns more than I want to admit to say this, but Brendan holds too many pieces of this puzzle to exclude him.

You really think he tells you everything? Lance scoffs.

No. He only tells me what he thinks will help him. Everything he does is self-serving. I’ve come to terms with that.

So what does this have to do with Kaden or Lily’s father? Lance asks Joey.

We found paternity tests that match Damon Thorne to three kids. Two boys and a girl.

Lance looks even more confused, not recognizing the name. Then it clicks. Dad’s friend? From Chicago? The guy who died on Nantucket before we were born?

Yeah, Joey breathes regretfully.

Maybe, I interject.

What does that mean? Are you guessing he’s the father, or do you know for sure?

Guessing right now, Joey admits. Once Brendan confirms the birthdates of the kids, we’ll know.

I cover my face with my hands and groan, wishing this were a nightmare and I’d just have to wake up for it not to be true.

You don’t want to know who your dad is? Lance sets a comforting hand on my back.

I shake my head. My mother refused to talk about him. I asked where he was once when I was little, and she looked like she was in physical pain at just the mention of him. Whoever he is, he hurt her. So maybe it’s best I don’t know. I glance between the brothers. Is Kaden capable of that? Of being cruel or rejecting me as his daughter?

No, they reply in unison.

Then what the hell happened? They’re obviously in love in that picture. Did she cheat on him with this Thorne guy? Except that doesn’t sound like my mom either.

Can you try asking her? Joey requests, and from his regretful expression, he understands it won’t be easy for me.

I sigh, dreading it. I guess I have to if I want to know the truth.

I don’t mention the psycho’s messages that Brendan and I are convinced are somehow connected with her too. And now, they could potentially have something to do with my father as well.

Lance escorts me back to my dorm after two in the morning. He leads me through a different passage than the one Brendan used to get me to his room. This one is wide, lit and … clean. The floor’s smooth concrete, and the walls are a glistening white tile. It appears to be some sort of service corridor between the two dorms. And when it leads us to the freight elevator—that conveniently has a key in it—I know that’s exactly what it is. It lets me out at the far end of the dorm, behind the kitchen.

I am going to murder Brendan the next time I see him. He knew this option existed. He’s probably the one who told Lance about it. But he decided it was more fun to traumatize me in the claustrophobic dungeon filled with who knows what—that’s now caught and crawling in my hair.

You going to be okay from here? Lance asks me.

I think so. My voice is weak. I need to sleep. Maybe this will make sense in the morning. Or I’ll wake from the nightmare that I hope it is.

Lance sticks out his hand to stop the elevator door when it begins to close. Hey, Lana. I turn around. No matter who your dad is, I’ve already decided you belong with us. I’ll always look out for you.

I smile weakly. Thanks, Lance. It’s a similar promise I’ve heard from every one of the Harrisons, even Niall.

But what are they protecting me from? The truth? It may be too late for that.

You had the future I wanted. That I knew I deserved.

Lana? Grant answers after a single ring.

How’d you know it was me? I ask, considering this is the first time I’ve called him.

I just … knew. Or maybe I was hoping.

The sound of his voice soothes me instantly. I didn’t realize just how much I needed to hear it after the craziness of the past twenty-four hours.

I’m glad you called me. I’ve been thinking about you all day. How are you?

I sigh. Better.

Good. I can almost hear him smiling through the phone. Me too.

My breath passes easily over my lips. He’s the calm that makes my world right.

I received a message earlier that I won’t be tutoring you this week. Do you know why?

You did? I groan. The peace dissipates. "Yeah, I’ve been grounded for the rest of the month. They found out that I left the Club."

How? he asks, confused. Did someone say something?

I don’t know, I respond glumly. I haven’t given it much thought, too distracted by the paternity tests and who may or may not be my father. But now that he’s asked, it does seem weird that someone would have snitched. Maybe Blackwood tracked my phone? I didn’t think about leaving it with Ashton when we left.

They can do that?

Probably. I sigh. It’s their phone. I guess we have to be more careful next time. And then I realize I shouldn’t have said that since they may be recording this call. Or I’m just being paranoid.

Uh, that’s … weird. I mean, I know Blackwood’s known for their precautionary measures but to actually track you down … why would they do that?

That’s when I remember how much Grant doesn’t know. All that I haven’t told him. And there’s this part of me that really wants to—it surprises me. I’ve never wanted to be this honest. With anyone.

There’s so much I have to tell you. But I’d rather do it in person. Did the message say when I can see you again?

It just said this week. But I’ll be there on Thursday to tutor another student. I could meet you in the library?

Maybe, I say, seriously considering it. Just thinking about a whole week without seeing him is already making my heart skip in panic. Which is also … weird. No matter what though, I don’t regret it.

Regret what?

The other night. What we said. Everything we did, I say. My body warms with the recollection. It was … pretty perfect.

Yeah. It was.

My phone beeps, alerting me of my nightly check-in. I have to go. But I’ll talk to you tomorrow?

Lana, I—

Before he can finish, the call ends abruptly. I pull the phone away from my ear to find the screen filled with the square head of the security officer.

Calls are suspended for the rest of the week. No visitors. And you’re restricted to classes only. Meals will be sent to your room. You can order through your phone. We’ll be monitoring you.

I stare at him with my teeth gritting in annoyance, fury creeping in. I’m about to tell him where he and his monitoring can go when he disappears. It’s official. I’m imprisoned.

But I still don’t regret a single second of my time with Grant in the firefly field last night. I’d do it again … without my phone. I toss the phone on my nightstand and flop back onto my pillows. I want to be angry. But … I can’t. I smile wistfully. I can’t believe I’m in love with him. But I am. Tingles erupt up along my skin as I continue to grin like the idiot I am.

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?

Ashton 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.

We step through the large sliding doors. That’s when I notice it’s a little bigger than I first thought. Dilapidated stalls take up the entire right side. Twinkle lights strung between posts let off a faint glow—presumably battery-operated since there definitely isn’t any electricity. And blanket-covered bales of hay are scattered around the perimeter for people to sit on.

Despite the fact that it’s in a barn, it’s just a typical party. People stand in clusters with red Solo cups in their hands, talking or laughing—those who have had too much to drink can be heard over the hum of voices. Couples, who think no one can see them, make out in dark corners. And there’s always that group of girls who really want to dance, even if they’re the only ones, standing on top of hay bales, shaking their asses.

Keg’s over here. Ashton nudges my shoulder.

It smells weird in here, I tell her as we cross the dirt floor scattered with hay.

What do you expect? It’s a barn.

There’s a line of people with empty cups spilling out of a stall next to a back entrance.

When we reach the front, Ashton pulls out a twenty and hands it to the guy manning the keg. Two.

Didn’t know we needed money for beer, I tell her. I’ll pay you back when we get to school.

Don’t worry about it. I asked you to come. I’ll pay for your beer.

Thanks. I hesitate a second before taking the cup.

Grant’s not here, Ashton assures me, picking up on my reluctance to accept the beer. He never comes to these things. It’s mostly local PG kids rebelling.

It’s not that. I mean, it is, but it’s also, I wanted to see if I could. Be sober … for me. I pause to take a sip from the cup and fight the cringe my body wants to make. Besides, I hate beer.

Ashton laughs. Keep drinking. Eventually, you won’t care.

I fight down a couple more gulps. This beer is different from the watery cans I’m used to drinking. It tastes like the hay smells. Gross. I’m tempted to abandon it but decide that I’ll just hold it and pretend. Sobriety may be better than forcing it down.

Hey, Ashton, a guy greets her with a tip of his cowboy hat. I was hoping I’d see you again. He’s cute, in a wholesome, boy-next-door kind of way.

Sawyer! she exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. He hugs her back. When she lets him go, they keep an arm wrapped around each other. I eye their semi-embrace curiously. Lana, this is Sawyer. He’s from Austin. He’s been taking summer classes at Printz-Lee, trying it out. I’ve been persuading him to turn to the dark side, so he can attend Blackwood. But he’s way too sweet for our element.

I still have no idea what that means, he tells her before redirecting his gaze to me. Nice to meet you. Are you as rebellious as this one?

I laugh. How do I begin to answer that? And you’re not?

He smiles innocently.

Or you’re full of shit, I counter.

Ashton laughs. Oh, he’s so full of shit. But he isn’t nearly as scandalous as we are.

I’m offended, he replies with an opened-mouth chuckle that makes him appear like he’s smiling. It’s hard not to smile back at the lightheartedness of it.

Let’s get you a drink, Ashton announces, pulling Sawyer by the hand. By the time we get to the front of the line, I’ll need a refill too.

I look down at my drink, which has hardly been touched, and then at Ashton’s nearly empty beer. When did that happen?

I’m going to stay here, I tell them, not wanting to fight through the crowd for a beer I won’t drink.

When they disappear, I dump my cup in a corner. I stay in the corner, which is kind of my thing at parties, and watch. This party lacks the swagger of Sherling, the pretentiousness