odd request is amusing.
“What? Who asked you?” I ask, glancing back at our table.
Lance is chugging his orange juice, holding up a finger to indicate he’ll be another second.
“Brendan,” Sawyer says, nodding toward the group. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” He leans in. “My parents … they’re kind of big into surveillance anyway.”
“What are they, spies?” I am kidding. But Sawyer presses his lips together in subtle confirmation. “Are you serious?”
“Ready?” Lance asks, coming up beside me. “Hey, you’re Sawyer, right? I’m Lance.”
“Howdy, Lance,” Sawyer says in greeting with a tip of his head as if he were wearing a cowboy hat. Then he leans down and whispers in my ear, “FBI.”
I shoot my brows up in a no-shit expression.
“My dad,” he confirms with a nod. “See you tonight, Lana.”
Once we’re outside on the paved driveway, Lance asks, “Are you nervous … about tonight?”
“I’m not sure if it’s nervousness exactly. I just want to get it over with. You know? This has become my whole life, and I don’t want it to have control over me anymore.”
“I get that,” Lance says thoughtfully. “This will work. Don’t worry.”
I release a breath, hoping he’s right.
The driveway’s lined with a caravan of box trucks and vans. An army of people unloads flowers and table linen and who knows what else.
“This is seriously insane,” I observe, almost running into someone lugging a stack of milk crates containing china. “All for a dumb dance. Have you ever been to one?”
“Nope,” Lance says. “This is my first year, like you.” He nudges my shoulder with his arm. “Maybe he won’t show, and we can actually have a good time? You deserve that—you know, to have fun.”
“Maybe,” I say, but I don’t want to live one more day waiting for him to try to mess with my life or hurt my friends. This needs to end … tonight.
We reach the administration building. It’s buzzing with security and people directing staff by pointing to locations on a map of the Court.
“That would be really useful to have tonight,” I whisper to Lance.
He eyes the layout of the Court a designer is holding, the full maze drawn in detail with its gardens and whatever else they have planned within its hedged walls.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he responds. “You go talk to Joey first. Let me do what I do best.”
“What is that exactly?” I ask curiously.
Lance laughs. “Be unassuming.” He winks. “People tend to underestimate me, Lana.”
I widen my eyes in recognition of that statement because … he’s right. Lance is the laid-back, easygoing guy who likes video games and his recreational—sometimes illegal—activities. He performs his stereotypical role perfectly. But there’s more to everyone than can be seen on the surface. We only unveil the truth when we come to accept who’s beneath the mask. Everyone wants to be seen for who they are.
I walk into the room off the foyer. Joey immediately stands from the chaise where he’s been watching the staff come and go.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my thoughts going straight to Allie.
“Uh, yeah. Everything’s fine.” His usually disheveled, wavy hair is even more of a mess. His eyes are bloodshot like he hasn’t slept. “I wanted to let you know I won’t be at the Ball tonight. I was planning to go with Arden, so I could help with the whole Vic thing, but Lincoln’s going instead.”
“Lincoln? Does he know what’s going on?” I ask, my mind unable to keep up with the onslaught of plot twists.
“He was there the night at The Point. He’s known about Allie and has seen her a few times with me over the summer. I didn’t tell him everything, but he knows enough. Let him help. He wants to make things right.”
I nod, recollecting how fired up he was in the car that night after Vic and I returned from the convenience store. “Why is he in Kingston anyway?”
“He’s attending Printz-Lee this year on a scholarship,” Joey explains.
Now that he’s said it, I kinda-sorta remember Lincoln telling me about receiving a scholarship during one of our French classes together. I wasn’t paying attention to the details, but I remember thinking that if anyone deserved a free pass out of hell, Lincoln did.
“Where will you be tonight?”
“Sherling,” Joey answers, twisting his hands anxiously. “Mrs. Pixley said Allie can receive visitors, and I want to be there.”
I watch him fidget for a second. I ask, “Are you nervous?”
“Uh, yeah. A little,” Joey says, rubbing his