Page 70 of An Academy for Liars

Lennon shouldered past her family to the Christmas tree, where she hastily collected her opened presents, which consisted of a few pairs of socks, a silk blouse, and several passive-aggressively titled self-help books. She carried everything back to the guest room, dumping all the presents on the bed.

“What are you doing?” Carly demanded.

“Packing.”

“But it’s Christmas,” said her mother.

“I know. But the term starts earlier than I thought, so I should be on my way.”

Lennon packed quickly. She hadn’t brought much to begin with so it didn’t take long.

“This is weird,” said Carly. “You’re acting weird.”

“According to you, I’m always acting weird.”

“Well, you’re acting even weirder now. And that guy, Dante, or whatever is name is. He just comes here to collect you? How did he even get this address?”

“I gave it to him,” she lied.

“Bullshit. Why would you give your advisor the address of your parents’ retirement home?”

Her mother’s eyes flashed wide with outrage. “I’ll have you know this is a freestanding condo for people ofretirement age, Carly. My god, you can be so patronizing—”

“Lennon,” said Carly, catching her by the arms now. “Listen, if this is some weird sex trafficking cult thing—”

“It’s not,” said Lennon. “And I love you, and I need to go. And you need to let me.”

“No,” said Carly. “I’m not letting you go anywhere. And he”—she pointed out the front window of the house, and Lennon was fairly certain Dante could see her—“he can go fuck himself as far as I’m concerned. He’s making you do this, isn’t he? He’s taking you.”

“He’s my advisor,” said Lennon. “The only place he’s taking me is back to school.”

“Ah, your advisor. Of course. The same way Wyatt was your friend?” Carly demanded now, with a real maliciousness. “And thatarchitecture professor back in college? And before him, in high school, your boyfriend’s mom—”

Her mother’s eyes flashed wide with alarm.“Lennon!”

When she willed them all to silence, it didn’t feel like a choice. It was as though someone else had simply sucked their words right out of the air. But her consciousness returned to her when she began to walk them back to the living room. She dragged her parents over to the couch, had her mother offer an open palm, bid her father take it. She tugged at the corners of their lips and arranged their faces into expressions that looked less like grimaces and more like smiles. Of the three, Carly was the most difficult to compel—perhaps because she’d wised up, after Lennon had persuaded her that first time. It took several grueling tries before Lennon was able to settle her, somewhat comfortably, on the couch next to their parents. All of them together there formed the scene of a family, made perfect by the fact that Lennon was not a part of it.

“Something came up at school,” said Lennon, and as she said this, she made it an immutable reality in their minds. “I’m going to leave now. Have a good Christmas.”

As a parting gift she delivered a feeling of peace, and felt it settle thickly in the minds of her loved ones, turning them all soft and compliant and perhaps a little sleepy. All except Carly, who, sitting stiffly on the couch, gazed at the floor with tear-filled eyes as if betrayed.

They drove thefour hours back to Savannah in silence, Dante compulsively checking the mirrors, the ocean smearing past the windows. Lennon carefully observed the distance between them, hyperaware of her own body and his. She made sure never to reach for her drink, nestled in the cupholder, at the same time he reached for his for fear of their hands brushing. She kept her gaze mostly fixed on the road. Their conversation was contained to discussions about school or the weather or other equally dull topics.

Somewhere along the stretch of highway between Orlando and St. Augustine, Lennon began to wonder how they’d get into Drayton, given the school’s immateriality, the fact that its very existence seemed to break the laws that governed the reality they occupied now. Her question was answered when they entered into Savannah proper, exiting off the highway and into the downtown historic district. Dante drove with the windows down, cold wind washing through the car. There was music playing—the bass thudding against the back of her sternum like a second heart—Dante bobbed his head, occasionallymouthing along to the lyrics, but was silent more often than not. Blurring past her windows, Savannah was as beautiful as ever. There was the pink house on the garden square, a man on the curb with a megaphone and a sign that readHell is Nearin bleeding red letters.

They were in the thick of the historic district when—rather abruptly—Dante slowed the car and turned toward a tall wrought-iron gate. It parted open for them.

“Irvine’s work,” said Dante, reading her thoughts, a thing that he was apt to do with unnerving accuracy. “The last gate he ever raised.”

“How does it know to let us through?”

“Above my pay grade,” he said.

They turned onto a narrow dirt road. Inexplicably—impossibly, given that they were in the heart of the densely populated downtown—the road was flanked by thick forest. As they drove, the car picked up speed, pinning Lennon to the back of her seat. A dizzying sensation, like motion sickness, scrambled her thoughts and made her wish she had a barf bag on hand, just in case. Her vision blurred out of focus as she turned to Dante. “Is that you?”

He was totally relaxed, gripping the wheel one-handed as the forest trees blurred past the windows. “It’s the road itself, carrying us to the campus.”

“Like the elevators?”

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