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"Thank you," I say, appreciative that someone realized I was missing. "But I don't know if they would have found me. It's impossible to see anything in there at night, forget about finding someone who keeps moving. That's probably why they don't check the Court."
"It still isn't okay. C'mon, I'll let you inside. Try to get some sleep. And as much as it sucks, you're expected to attend your class this morning."
I collapse on my bed without removing a single item of clothing or cleaning off the clutter from when I dumped my overnight bag. I regret that decision when I'm woken by my phone beeping what feels like minutes later--making sure to charge it was the only thing I accomplished before falling on my face. My neck hurts, my knees ache and I have something sticking into my side. I reach down and pull out a brush and drop it on the floor.
I lift the phone to find a message from Mr. Garner. Thought you'd need an alarm to wake you in time for class. This is it.
Why do I have to be his only job?
I force myself out of bed, regretting that skipping isn't an option. Blackwood has zero tolerance for absences. They take it seriously. I could lose off-campus privileges for the summer, which includes working at the country club. If I was confined to this campus for the next two months, I would seriously go insane.
Dirt, leaves and needles swirl around the drain when I shower. My body aches from falling, and I have a dark bruise forming on my left knee. My arms are marred with superficial scratches, and my head aches, like I bumped it--although I don't remember doing that. The mysterious head injury could also explain why I thought I heard things. It feels like a strange dream now that I'm looking back on it, like none of it was real.
The Court has returned to its whimsical semblance when I enter, taking the well-traversed path to the Great Hall for breakfast. Until I can't. Where I usually veer right around a fountain is now a straight path that leads to a sculpture garden of abstract art made of twisted metal.
I'm about to scream in frustration when I hear, "Good morning."
Brendan.
"Where were you last night?" I yell.
He raises a brow, taken off guard by my hostility. "Uh, bad night?"
"The worst," I growl, clenching my teeth to contain my emotions. "I left you a note to meet me at the library. I tied a ribbon on the bridge."
"It's not there. I never saw the note. Why, what happened?"
I shake my head, wanting to put it all behind me. "Forget it."
"What did the note say?" he persists.
I hesitate. Instead of reaching in my messenger bag for the photo that I planned to share with him last night, I cross my arms over my chest. "Convince me I can trust you."
"What?" he chuckles in befuddlement like I just asked him to stand on his head and tie his shoe.
"Convince me I can trust you," I repeat slowly, enunciating every word so clearly, he can read my lips too.
"I can't," Brendan answers simply, not even making an effort. "There's nothing I can say or do that will convince you to trust me. You and I aren't the trusting types. But that doesn't mean we can't use each other to get what we want."
"And you still want information?"
"Among other things." He winks.
I punch his arm.
"Ow, okay, okay. I was only playing," he moans, rubbing the tender spot. "What do you want, Lana?"
"The truth."
He laughs again. I glower, done with amusing him. "Whose version?"
"The actual truth," I say impatiently. "Someone's playing games with me, and I don't know why. I thought it had to do with what happened to Allie, but I don't think it does anymore."
"Lana, the actual truth doesn't exist. You should know that better than anyone. It's always tainted by someone's lies. I can try to help you decipher between the two. But first, you have to tell me what's going on."
My phone starts buzzing. It's Mr. Garner. I look to Brendan, who nods for me to answer it.
Mr. Garner's face fills the screen. "Hi. Just making sure you're moving."
