Page 66 of An Academy for Liars

“Of course not,” said Lennon, bristling a bit. “Drayton is nothing like that.”

“What are you studying there?” Carly inquired, which was really one of the worst questions she could’ve asked, second only toCan I visit?Lennon found herself desperately wishing that the admin at Drayton had offered something by way of advice when it came to handling inquiries (or inquisitions, as the case was then) about Drayton. Something as simple as a brochure or a website to appease anxious parents would’ve been helpful. But then, Lennon realized that they had already equipped her with everything she needed to handle a conversation like this one. In fact, she’d spent the entire semester’s worth of persuasion classes preparing for just such a time as this. If she’d wanted to—with half a thought—she could’ve shut the conversation down, made them all forget it had ever happened. But the fact that that thought had even occurred to her made her stomach clench with guilt. Who was she?

“I, um…I study the human condition,” said Lennon.

Carly narrowed her eyes. “So, psychology?”

“Not quite. But it’s related.”

Her mother looked quite alarmed. “And that’s…an accredited course?”

“Yes. At least I think so.”

Carly raised an eyebrow. “How do you not know?”

“How long will you be in school?” her father asked, chattier than he usually was. More curious. Frankly, Lennon wasn’t used to him being interested in the particulars of her life and it made her uncomfortable.

“I’m supposed to stay for at least two years,” said Lennon.

There was a long silence at the table, and for a fleeting moment Lennon believed that this portion of the conversation had come to an end. But then Carly spoke up: “And you’re sure this isn’t…you know…”

“No,” said Lennon, looking up at her sister. “I don’t. What are you trying to say?”

Her mother, who could see where this was going, issued a low:“Girls.”

Carly waved her off, affixed her gaze to Lennon. “You’re sure this isn’t just another way for you to run away?”

A long and uncomfortable silence settled over the table.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“You don’t…thinkso? You take off in the middle of the night—breaking your engagement—and turn up across the country studying at some random-ass school that no one has ever heard of, and you don’t think that’s running away? Do you hear yourself?”

Lennon realized—with a searing flash of hurt and shame—that her family thought she was lying, thought that Drayton was all some large and elaborate ruse to cover up the fact that she was just, once again, choosing to flee from her problems instead of facing them. And could she really blame them, given her history?

Lennon had run away no less than six times as a teenager. On more than one occasion, after a nasty fight with her parents, she’d fled into the night with no money or belongings, except the clothes on her back and the cell phone buzzing in the pocket of her jeans. When she snuck out to parties, she often didn’t bother going home after they ended, preferring instead to wander the streets alone deep into the wee hours of the morning, returning home sometimes days later, in smeared makeup, with her heels dangling from hooked fingers. It was sick, but back then she had liked the power of punishing people with her absence. Of making herself disappear only to turn up again, like some twisted little magic trick.

She liked to think she’d grown up since then. But had she really?

“The night I left Colorado, I caught Wyatt fucking my only friend in the state. And yes, when I saw that I ran. I fled the house, stoleWyatt’s car, and drove off. I ended up in the parking lot of this abandoned mall…” Lennon realized she couldn’t tell them the rest of the story without risking another involuntary psych hold. “When I found Drayton—or when Drayton found me—I felt like for the first time I had something to run toward instead of from. I still feel that way, and if you can’t see it then I don’t blame you, because I think to you, I’m always going to be this drunk teenage girl running away from…hell knows what. But I’m not that person anymore, and if you give me a chance, I’d like to prove it.”

Her mother reached across the table, squeezed Lennon’s hand. Her smile was pained and pitying. “If you’re happy, we’re happy.”

After dinner, Lennon’s mother handed her a letter from the mail stack. It was sheathed in a crisp, white envelope. It was addressed to her in filigreed calligraphy and it had a gilded stamp that depicted some sort of gargoyle-like creature. It had no return address.

“What’s this?” Lennon inquired, holding it up. But she already knew who it was from. What she couldn’t figure out, though, was how they’d known where to send it.

“I don’t know. It came in the mail this morning. In fact, the postman knocked and hand-delivered it. Made me sign for it and everything.”

Lennon slit the letter open, withdrew a hard piece of parchment paper, embossed with the Drayton letterhead in the left corner. It read:

Ms. Carter,

It is our great pleasure to inform you that you’ve passed your first semester at Drayton, and we look forward to welcoming you back to campus in the new year. The spring semester will resume onJanuary 22, and you will resume your studies under the supervision of Dr. Alec Becker, your newly appointed advisor.

Please dial the number below to confirm your attendance.

Fondly,

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