by this invite as Lance. This island seems to be at the center of my drama storm. But when Grant quirks his brow suggestively, reasons why I should be excited to escape campus for a long weekend flood my thoughts.
Grant drives me back to the dorm, giving Lance and Kaely time alone after my question made everything awkward.
I check with the administration office when I arrive and discover I do have a package waiting from the costume company.
“Do you have your outfit figured out?” I ask Grant. I told him how I’m dressing and left him to decide what he wants to wear to complement it—or not.
He flashes a devilish grin. “Wait ’til you see it. You’re going to love it.”
I bite my lip, smiling. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Nope,” he says, leaning down to kiss me, ignoring the scowling security guard.
“How was conditioning?” I ask him, walking around the outside of the buildings toward the dorm.
“I hurt everywhere,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “I always forget how miserable conditioning is, and I didn’t do much to stay in shape all summer, so it sucks.”
“I can give you a massage,” I say with a flirtatious lilt.
“With the door open,” he reminds me, squeezing my hand.
“What’s your PDA rule?” I tease.
Grant laughs.
The mayhem in the dorm has settled for the evening with the designers gone. Instead, it’s buzzing with guys and girls roaming the halls, entering open rooms. Mrs. Seyer must be having a heart attack with this new rule.
We find Ashton in Arden’s room with a small group of people lounging and swaying to her chill electronic music.
“There you are!” Ashton exclaims, hugging me and then Grant. “You have to try this watermelon champagne drink Arden created. It’s divine.”
“We were going to spend some alone time in my room with the door open,” I tell her with a mischievous gleam.
She tilts her head back and cackles. “You’re going to have a hard time doing that.”
I frown, preparing for an answer I don’t want to hear. “Why?”
“Listen, I’m mad at him too. But don’t kill him when you see him,” she says, swinging her arm around my shoulders. “He’s an ass and fucked up big time. And I’m really sorry he messed up your life.” Then she faces me with her hands gripping my shoulders. “But if he didn’t do the stupid thing he did, you wouldn’t be here. And we wouldn’t be best friends. And you’d still be afraid of love and never have this guy”—she winks at Grant—“in love with you. So … let’s be mad at him. Even hate him for a little while, but we will forgive him. Because we love him.”
I cross my arms in stubborn defiance. “He told you everything?”
“Yes, he confessed to all of it. Even the part about him being your brother.” She covers her mouth to keep from laughing, committed to being serious. The scowl on my face helps sober her.
“You’re thinking of Allie, aren’t you?” she says, leading me into the hall. Grant leans a shoulder against the wall next to us. “That wasn’t him, Lana. You know it. It’s like blaming yourself. Anyway, go in there and hear him out. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but he’s been harassing me every other minute, wondering where you are.”
I look to Grant, concern creasing his forehead.
When I enter my room, Brendan spins around from pacing, completely at odds with his casual, unaffected self.
“What’s going on?” I demand, shutting the door behind us, already breaking the rule.
“Why don’t you ever check your phone?” he yells in frustration. “I’ve been calling you all day!” He approaches me. “Speaking of which, hand over the Blackwood phone. The other phone is turned off, right?”
I nod, never having turned it on today. Digging through my tote, I pull it out from underneath my clothes. Brendan takes it and stores both our phones in the bathroom.
“Who did you tell about the video?” he demands urgently.
“Uh, Grant,” I say cautiously, not sure where this is going. “Parker and Isaac already knew about it. And Joey. Oh, and Ashton.”
Brendan throws up his hands. “Why not just tell everyone? Oh, wait, you did! And you forgot to add whoever broke into my room with you!”
“What’s your problem, Brendan?” I ask impatiently.
“I was trying to figure out how Vic knows about the video. It’s not on a server, and I never talk about it when a phone’s within earshot.”
“Oh,” I say, deflating. “Right.”
He reads my guilty expression easily.