Page 29 of An Academy for Liars

“I won’t say because I don’t know. It just happened.”

The professors exchanged long and worried glances. Lennon wondered what she’d said or done to make their moods sour even more.

“Nothing just happens,” said Ethel Greene. “You must’ve done something.”

“I didn’t. I mean, well, I did have some shrooms—”

“So, just to clarify, youdiddo something? You were under the influence of a contraband substance during this encounter.”

“I…yes. I guess?”

“Would you have described yourself as high?”

“I mean, I was a little high,” she said, an understatement stretched so thin it tore and became a lie.

“Allow me to get this straight.” Eileen leaned forward, steepling her fingers. Her gaze cleaved down the middle of the table to Lennon. “You were under the influence of a psychedelic drug when the elevator appeared?”

Lennon’s cheeks warmed. It had been a long time since she’d felt this small and ashamed. “That’s right.”

Benedict took over, his line of questioning decisive and cutting. “Is there any possibility that you may have—while under the influence of this substance—mistakenly made achoiceto call that elevator? Perhaps some part of you wanted it to appear?”

“I don’t think so. But I’m not sure.”

“What are you sure of, Lennon?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let me phrase the question more succinctly: What did you know to be fact when the elevator appeared? We’ve already established that you were under the influence of a mind-altering substance. But I’d like to know a bit more about your emotional state at the time of the elevator’s appearance. What were you feeling?”

“I…I guess I was peaceful? I was out in the garden with Sawyer.” She wondered then if it was a mistake to say his name, to drag him into this mess. “We’d been talking about how we came to Drayton. All of these hopes and dreams, and I don’t know if it was the shrooms, or if I was just sleepy, but when I felt most relaxed the elevator appeared where the door of the garden shed had been, just moments before.”

Benedict smiled, as though she’d finally done something right.

Just then, the door opened, and Dante stepped into the room. “Forgive my lateness,” he said, draping his coat on the back of theempty chair across from Lennon’s. He sat down. “I assume we’re done with introductions?”

“I warned you to be on time,” said Eileen.

“And I warned you that this hearing was a farce. But here we are.”

“Dante,” said Eileen. It was the hushed and contemptuous tone of a mother just before she begins to yell.

He raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Eileen?”

“If there’s something you’d like to say or argue, you have the floor. Lennon is your advisee, after all.”

“I’ll keep this brief. Lennon is an asset to this school. Frankly, you’re all lucky that your brief tenures have overlapped with her attendance here, because she’s the first natural gatekeeper we’ve had in more than a century.”

There was a swell of noise, everyone speaking at once—contradicting Dante, whispering among themselves, a handful of professors who argued for everyone else to be quiet and thus contributed greatly to the noise themselves. The commotion reminded Lennon of a startled flock of chickens.

“What’s a gatekeeper?” Lennon asked, but they either didn’t hear or chose to ignore her.

Only Dante registered that she’d spoken, his gaze softening some as it met hers. When he spoke across the table, the rest of the room went quiet. “Gatekeepers can open gates, at will, to different places. The last one who lived was Irvine, who first built the confines of this school and shielded it from everyone else.”

“Drayton’s prodigy. From convocation. I remember.”

“Then you may also remember that Irvine gave his life to defend this school,” said Eileen, not looking at Lennon, or anyone really, her eyes trained on some random point near the center of the table. “Heweighed his own life against the interests and well-being of this school and chose the latter.”

“But he was also a student,” said Dante. “He learned to hone his gift, and when it came time for him to lay down his life, that was a decision he made himself. A willing sacrifice. Not something that was forced upon him.”

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