Casey
Somehow, of all people, Lawson Kent has become the most reliable friend I’ve got. Jaz already had plans, and since I have no desire to hang out with Sloane and RJ and watch them eye-fuck each other all night, I find myself texting Lawson. He texts me back immediately, and we agree to meet at the old greenhouse in an hour, while I plot how I’m going to sneak out without alerting anyone.
Luckily, Dad never stays up late, even on weekends. And Sloane and RJ end up going out, after all. It’s past eleven, which seems a bit late to start their night, but I’m not one to talk. I just arranged to meet somebody at midnight.
My shoulders tense when I hear Dad in the hallway. He pauses in front of my door, knocking quietly. “Case? You still up?”
“Yeah. Come in.” I was lying on my side scrolling on my phone, but I sit when he pokes his head inside.
Concern flickers in his eyes. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
He looks unconvinced. And sounds reluctant as he adds, “Do you want to talk about Silver—”
“No,” I interrupt. “What else is there to say? She’s dead. Are you going to bed now?”
Although it’s clear he wants to push the issue, he finally nods. “Yes. I’m turning in. Try not to stay up too late on your phone. It’s bad for your eyes.”
“I won’t. Good night.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Around eleven thirty, I start to hear soft snoring wafting from the end of the hall. Fifteen minutes after that, I get dressed, throw on a coat, and slip out my bedroom window.
It’s a decent jog across campus, sticking to the perimeter and doing my best to avoid security cameras until I’m safely within the derelict zone—the area of Sandover’s expansive campus that’s sat abandoned and overgrown since long before Dad became headmaster.
I wade through tall grass by my cell phone’s flashlight, following a map crudely marked on a Google Maps satellite image to find my way.
“Getting warmer,” a voice suddenly calls from the darkness.
“Marco?”
“Polo.”
I emerge from the grass, and the greenhouse comes into view. A black silhouette draped in ivy and fallen foliage. I scan the glass facade with my flashlight, searching for Lawson.
“This place is like eighty percent creepier than you made it sound,” I say to what feels like empty night. “If you brought me out here to ax murder me, I’m not in the mood.”
I’ve wandered this campus and its forests in the pitch-black countless times. Yet as I continue to approach the vacant, looming greenhouse full of broken panes and tricky shadows, I suddenly become hyperaware of every startling noise emanating from the surrounding trees.
“Lawson? Marco?”
“Polo.”
I nearly jump out of my skin at Lawson’s whispered reply. So close to my ear, I feel his breath against my face.
“Jesus.” I spin around and find him smirking in the light. I give him a shove for good measure. “Jerk.”
“Sorry,” he says without regret. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t take a swing at you.”
“That would have been adorable.”
“Oh, really. You don’t know about my sick ninja skills?”
“Literally, sweetheart, I’d pay money.”
“Uh-huh. You’re lucky I’m a pacifist.”
“Uh-huh,” he mimics. “I really dodged a bullet there.”
“You know, not to sound ungrateful for the company,” I tell him, “but this place looks exactly like a murder lair. Maybe a few less chainsaws and pickaxes, but, yeah, definite dismemberment vibes.”
“Don’t worry, we’re not going inside. The smell alone will ruin your night.” Lawson chuckles. “This is where the hormonal meatheads come to make hamburger of each other.”
“Really?” A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Wait, it’s Saturday night. Isn’t that when the fights usually take place? Are they already over?”
“No, got canceled.” He sounds confused by his own explanation. “Weirdest fucking thing. We all got a mass text saying they’re tomorrow instead.”
“Can I look inside? I promise to hold my breath,” I tease.
“Sure, but if you need to throw up, don’t do it on me.”
“Deal.”
He takes my hand to guide me inside the greenhouse, which is mostly a hollow void. The place has been meticulously cleared of the debris and leftovers I would have expected to find. There are no empty pots and rotting shelves. No dried remains of once-flourishing flora. I sweep my flashlight over walls that are scrawled with graffiti. Toward the center of the floor are splatters and trails of what looks like dried blood.
Ugh, and he wasn’t wrong about the smell. My nostrils fill with the pungent odor of sweat and blood, notes of decay and urine thrown into the mix. I try not to breathe through my nose as I continue to examine our surroundings.
“There’s a lot of blood here.”
He shrugs. “It can get…graphic.”
We go back outside, where I gulp in the fresh air. The cool breeze rustles my open coat, bringing a slight chill.
I zip up the coat and glance at Lawson. “We’re not sitting out here, are we? It’s kind of cold.”
“Nope. Follow me.”
We make our way through the darkness, down a grassy path. At first the grass is well-trodden, as if many a shoe had passed over it. Then it grows tall again, the little trail becoming overgrown with foliage until finally we stop in front of a rusted iron gate. Less than twenty-five feet or so from the greenhouse is a smaller one, almost completely hidden by shrubbery and covered with browning strands of ivy.
Lawson pushes aside some vines and opens the door, entering ahead of me. “I stumbled onto this place last winter,” he tells me. “I come here when I need to clear my head.”
“And you need to clear your head tonight?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
I step inside and look around. The space can’t be more than eight feet by eight feet, maybe a tiny bit bigger, and this room hasn’t been cleared out. Racks against three of the walls contain old containers and the skeletons of potted rosebushes. There’s a low cabinet that Lawson opens to remove a folded blanket, which he tosses on the ground for us to sit on. He also flicks on an electric lantern, and, best of all, a small space heater.
“This is cozy,” I say, removing my jacket and making myself comfortable. Then I narrow my eyes. “Do you bring girls here to hook up?”
“No, why would I? I have a perfectly functional bed in my room.”
“But you also have a roommate,” I point out. “There’s more privacy here.”
He sits beside me, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Privacy’s overrated. I don’t care if Silas watches.”
The lewd implication brings heat to my cheeks. I always forgot how experienced he is. Even more so than Fenn. When it comes to hooking up, I suspect Lawson is more adventurous than all the boys at Sandover combined.
He takes a flask from his pocket and offers me a sip. I pass, because I’m not sure I could find my way out of here again otherwise.
“How are things with Fenn these days?” he asks curiously.
I answer with a sarcastic snort. “Excellent! I gave him a chance at redemption, and he ended things.”
“Damn. That’s gotta sting.”
“Not anymore.” In fact, on the walk over here, the storm subsided quite a bit. Now it’s more of a low rumble in the distance, moving out to sea. “I gave him every opportunity to do the right thing. Try to salvage something between us. He made his choice.” My tone flattens. “Fenn’s dead to me now.”
Lawson lies down on his side to prop his head on his bent arm. “I don’t know that it’s any consolation, but I’ve had a shit night up until now.”
He’s different tonight. A bit subdued. There’s a distance in his eyes, as if he’s partly here, but also elsewhere in his own mind.
“What happened?”
“Silas yelled at me.” He says it first like a joke. A little pout. Then the mocking grin fades and the hurt is left unmasked. “We got into it before you texted.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Yeah… Apparently giving your best friend an impromptu intervention outside a bar is less than the ideal setting. And a sin worse than murder.”
I lie down on my side too, using my jacket as a pillow. “Are you two going to be okay?”
His attention briefly drifts toward his fingers tracing patterns into the blanket. He tries to configure something of his usual flippant expression in the soft lines of his face, but it falters, never quite achieving the desired effect.
“Honestly, I don’t know.” He rolls onto his back, staring at the moon through the holes in the ceiling. “We’ve been through a lot together. But this time…” He folds his arms under his head. “He might be well and truly sick of my shit.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to look out for him. How can he be mad at that?”
“Well, when you’ve spent years as the proverbial black sheep, people tend to rely on that. Set their watches by it. And they don’t take kindly to feeling judged by someone they credit with ruining their life.”
“Wait. You’ve lost me. Silas thinks you ruined his life?”
Lawson releases a heavy breath, and in it, I hear the weight of this burden on his heart.
“It’s a long story,” he finally says.
“I’ve got time.”
There’s more hesitation.
“Oh, come on,” I prod with a little shove. “Unburden yourself. Confession is good for the soul.”
“Those nuns are starting to rot your brain, you know.”
“We can stay here all night…”
He manages a slight smile. “Promises, promises.”
Eventually, though, he gives in.
“I was at Ballard freshman year,” he starts. I hadn’t known that, but it makes sense in hindsight. “I got busted doing coke, and next thing I know, the housefather and Headmaster Fournette are tossing my room. They found enough pharmaceuticals in there to put down an elephant. I was promptly expelled. Then charged. Then pled down and got sentenced to in-patient rehabilitation, thanks to the best juvenile drug lawyer money can buy.”
“I don’t think it took,” I say, biting back a smile.
Lawson manages a laugh. “Yeah, all I learned in rehab was how to better conceal my habits.”
“The system works.”
He hums in agreement. “Cut to sophomore year. I’m now another discarded youth remanded to Sandover to continue my penance. I have a swim meet at Ballard, which is the first time I see Silas again after months apart. So that night after our meet, everyone goes home, and the place is empty, for the most part. Silas and I sit outside behind the pool house with a thermos of Jameson I had stashed in my gym bag, and we have ourselves a little reunion toast.”
Somewhere along the way, I’ve heard this story. Or a version of it. Now I’m realizing Sloane and Fenn and the rest of them never actually knew the truth.
“We’re beyond smashed when I get the idea to go hunt for the headmaster’s car. How we managed to find our way stumbling nearly blind across campus, I don’t know. But there it is in the parking lot of the admin building.” His voice changes. Becoming lower, more tired. “And for some inexplicable reason, Fournette left it unlocked. Keys right there in the cupholder. Fucking idiot. Silas tries to reason with me, begging me not to get in the car. Then he has no choice but to jump in the passenger seat when I rev the engine.”
“So you were driving,” I say. “But Silas…”
“The football field was wet,” Lawson says by way of an explanation. “I spun out doing a bit of art landscaping and collided with the goalpost. We heard the sirens almost immediately.”
“And he took the rap.”
Lawson props himself up on both elbows. “I didn’t ask him to do it. One of the officers asked who was driving, and Silas just blurted out it was him before I could even answer. He was being a good friend. We both knew where I was headed if the cops found out it was me behind the wheel. Silas, on the other hand, was squeaky clean.”
“He got expelled and ended up here,” I mutter, more to myself. “No offense, but that makes a lot of sense now. I never understood how someone like him ended up at Sandover.”
“Yep. His only crime was the great misfortune of befriending me.”
“That’s not true at all.”
“I was there. I fucked his whole life.”
Lawson tries to put on that nonchalant mask of his, but not very successfully. It doesn’t do much at all to disguise the sincere sadness in his gray eyes. He’s in pain—an emotion I’m not sure anyone in his circle thinks him capable of feeling. Lawson’s got a reputation for being a good time boy. Perpetually on. His blood replaced with bourbon and Percocet.
Sometimes I think they forget he’s a person.
“Listen to me,” I say, waiting until he reluctantly meets my gaze. “You didn’t ask him to lie to the police. Silas made a choice because protecting you was important to him. He can’t turn around and hold you hostage for that. For guys like him, there are always going to be opportunities. He’ll go to a good college, swim, maybe take a shot at the Olympics one day. But it’s entirely up to him how everything turns out. You’re not holding him back and his life isn’t ruined. He’s responsible for his latest meltdowns. Trying to make you the scapegoat doesn’t change that.”
“Nah. He was right about one thing,” Lawson mumbles, sitting up. “I am a fuckup.”
“Hey.” I grab a fistful of his shirt and shake him a little. “You’re not a fuckup. You’ve just exercised some poor judgment. And you can decide to change that any time you want. It’s not a permanent state of being. Okay?”
His lips twitch. “If I say no, are you going to shake me again?”
I respond with a threatening glare. “Don’t test me, Kent. You’re not ready for this smoke.”
He cracks a sincere smile, which gives me a greater sense of accomplishment than I’ve felt for a while.
“You probably shouldn’t be so nice to me,” he warns. “I’m sort of a bad influence.”
“Well, I like being nice to you. And maybe I think I’m a good influence.”
He chuckles. “I’ll take that bet.”
We fall silent for a moment. I watch the shadows cast by the lantern against the dirt-streaked glass panes. From the corner of my eye, I feel him watching me.
“I have a confession to make,” I say, turning toward him. “I asked you to meet up because I was pissed at Fenn and wanted you to take my mind off him.”
Lawson shrugs. “I know.”
“What I’m saying is, though, I like hanging out with you, and I’m having a good time. So thank you.”
“Come here.” He scoots closer and throws an arm around my shoulders, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “You’re a cool chick, Casey. And you deserve good things.”
Lawson presses a kiss to the top of my head. When I look at him, I’m overwhelmed by some inexplicable sensation. A strange thought seems to emerge from the ether and strike us both unprepared. Lawson leans in. I tilt my chin up. And our lips meet.