Page 68 of An Academy for Liars

“Try me.”

Lennon did try, but when she opened her mouth to speak of the magic of Drayton, its strange curriculum, she gagged on the words.

Carly sprang to her feet and bolted to the kitchen with surprising speed, grabbed a glass out of the cabinet, filled it with water, and returned. “Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you?”

Lennon waved her off. “I’m okay. I guess this is what happens when we try to talk about it.”

Carly set the glass of water on the coffee table and sat down. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re not meant to. And if I tried to make you understand, then…”

“Then what, Lennon?”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to. Something would stop me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind,” she said. “Forget it.”

“Lennon, I—”

“I said forget it,” said Lennon again, and this time she made it reality, erasing the past few beats of conversation, to the moment just before Carly asked her what she really studied at Drayton. It was surprisingly easy entering Carly’s mind, for all her stubbornness. Lennon had once heard it rumored that it was easier to persuade those you were already bonded with. Romantic partners were apparently the easiest to manipulate, but family members were a close second. This was certainly true for Carly, whose memories Lennon was able to carefully extract with more ease than the rats they’d experimented on in Dante’s class.

It was only when she drew away from Carly that she saw that she might’ve made a mistake. Carly’s chin began to tremble, creasing up the way it always did before she was about to cry. “I…I feel like I’m coming down with a migraine or something.”

Lennon, sick at the sight of what she’d done, wrapped an arm around her sister and helped her to her feet. “It’s okay,” she whispered, walking her back to her bedroom. “You’re just tired. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

On Christmas morning,as they were unwrapping presents, there was a knock at the door. Her mother rose to answer it, whispering about nosy neighbors who lacked the God-given common sense to avoid unsolicited visits on Christmas morning of all days. Lennon, tired and dazed after staying up so late, thought nothing of it and was surprised when her mother returned to the living room moments later, looked at Lennon, and said: “It’s for you.”

Lennon, Carly, and their father all got up at once, Lennon edging to the front of the group, almost defensively, the other three trailing her as she walked down the foyer to the front door and opened it. Standing there was Dante.

“What the hell are you doing here?” said Lennon. “I mean…Merry Christmas.”

Her mother glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Is this…a friend of yours, Lennon?”

“This is Dante. My advisor.”

“Your advisor. At Drayton?”

“Ex-advisor, apparently,” said Lennon.

Dante’s eyes homed in on Lennon, as if there were no one else there. “We need to talk.”

They walked down the tiled driveway to the vintage Audi parked parallel to the street. Lennon stood a few feet away on the curb with her arms folded over her chest. It wasn’t that cold, but she was shivering terribly.

“What the hell are you on? You pull me from Christmas morning to handle this?” She’d never seen him this angry, and it was kind of, well, hot, though she was loath to admit it. Either way, it was better than the tacit nonchalance with which he’d abandoned her two weeks before.

“I don’t want to study at Drayton if I’m not studying under you,” said Lennon.

“Bullshit,” said Dante. “This is a fucking power play, and you know it. You think you can force my hand by faux-quitting?”

“Clearly, I can, because you’re here. You could’ve called, you know. You didn’t have to come all this way. We could’ve done this over the phone if you’d had the decency to let me know that you don’t want to be my advisor anymore, instead of handing over the task to admin.”

“These kinds of administrative tasks are usually handled by—”

“It’s not about that and you know it,” said Lennon, angry now. Really angry. “This is about what happened in the chapel. You’re punishing me for it.”

“It’s not a punishment—”

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