“I love you,” he said firmly.
Ariana blinked. There was no hemming and hawing. No “I think I’m falling for you.” No “I can totally imagine myself loving you.” None of those vague, hedgy things boys usually said to give themselves a safety net. This was not a statement he was going to back away from anytime soon. But that was Jasper. He knew who he was. He knew who he wanted. And the person he wanted was Ariana.
No. The person he wants is Briana Leigh Covington.
And suddenly tears sprung to Ariana’s eyes. She pressed her hands into the blanket at her sides and scooted herself away from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You can’t say that,” she told him. “You don’t even know me. Not really.”
Without hesitation, Jasper closed the gap between them. He took both her hands in his and sat cross-legged, looking at her openly. “I can say that. Because even though I might not know every little thing about you, I know there’s nothing you could ever do, nothing you could ever say, that would make me not love you.”
Ariana’s jaw dropped slightly. He couldn’t have said anything more perfect if he’d had a thousand screenwriters working for him. How did he know? How was he always able to do and say exactly what she needed him to do and say at any given moment? Suddenly Ariana was back at that restaurant table with Palmer. Hearing him say that he could never be friends with anyone who’d let themselves get involved in a scandal. If Palmer knew who she really was, he’d drop her in a second. But Jasper . . . Jasper was going to love her no matter what. A tear spilled out over her cheek, and Jasper reached up, touching it away with the pad of his thumb.
Ariana opened her mouth to speak. “I—”
The sound of squealing car tires split the air, followed by a shout of surprise and a scream. Ariana and Jasper looked at one another, startled, then jumped up and ran to the side of the roof. A black Cadillac Escalade whipped around the turn in the parking lot below and into a spot where it slammed on its brakes, sending smoke and the scent of burning rubber into the air.
“Isn’t that Royce’s car?” Jasper said.
Oh crap.
Conrad hurled himself out of the front seat, slamming the door so hard it was a miracle the thing didn’t fall off its hinges.
“I have to go,” Ariana said without a second thought.
“Wait. Why?” Jasper asked.
But Ariana was already gone, sprinting down the stairs toward the first floor of Privilege House as fast as her quaking legs could carry her.
“Connie!” Ariana said, gasping for breath as he slammed the front door of the dorm. She’d just made it to the lobby as he stormed inside—and right past her on his way to the elevators. “Conrad!”
Connie completely ignored her and stepped into the waiting elevator. She heard him curse under his breath as he drove his fists into the back wall with a bang. Ariana’s
heart was in her throat. What had happened? Where was Lexa? What had she done?
Dear God, what had she said ?
Blindly, Ariana shoved open the door and ran for the parking lot—ran for Conrad’s car. From three feet away she saw Lexa doubled over in the front seat, bawling her eyes out, her long dark hair half covering her blotchy, tear-stained face. Ariana sprinted over and tried the door. It wouldn’t budge.
“Lexa!” Ariana shouted.
The girl continued to cry, rocking forward and back, forward and back. Ariana’s pulse raced so fast she thought she was going to black out. Instead, she gripped the door handle with everything she had in her and forced herself to focus.
“Lexa!” she shouted, slamming both palms flat against the thick window glass. “Lexa! Open the door! Lexa, honey you’ve gotta unlock the door!” She began to beat the pane with the heels of her hands, making so much noise she couldn’t possibly be ignored.
Lexa looked up then, her hair sticking to the snot under her nose. Her eyelashes were thick with tears, and her eyes were shot through with red lines.
“I can’t get it out, Ana,” she said, her words muffled by the thick glass. “I can’t get it out.”
Slowly, Ariana’s gaze fell to Lexa’s hands. She was wringing them together as if she was trying to wash them.
”I can’t get it out, Ana. I can’t get it out.”
Ariana flashed back to tenth-grade English and Macbeth. Lexa was channeling Lady Macbeth in her breakdown scene. Ariana remembered Leanne Shore reading the soliloquy in class like it was yesterday. “‘Out, damn’d spot. Out, I say!’”
She’s crazy. She’s really and truly crazy, Ariana thought, her heart sinking like a stone. She had a sudden vivid memory of Crazy Cathy back at the Brenda T. One afternoon the inmates had been enjoying their outdoor time when suddenly Cathy had started screaming. She’d jumped up from her table and fallen to the grass, writhing and shouting that there were ants on her skin. That she was covered in them. That they were crawling up her nose and into her ears and over her brain. She’d had to be locked down in solitary for over a week, where she’d screamed herself so hoarse her voice had never been the same.