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She paused, looking at Vivian.
“I trust Miss Russo will make your time here worthwhile,” she finished flatly.
With that, we turned our attention to Vivian. She hardly looked like she wanted to be here, and the couple of students who showed up without her direct invitation looked genuinely confused that she was the one leading this thing. Whether or not she was truly addicted to substances, I didn’t know—but the fact was, the school thought she was, which meant that she had to play the part.
Except, she wasn’t.
“Okay, so, thanks for coming, I guess,” she started, flipping some hair over her shoulder. “So, like, the goal is to keep coming to these meetings, according to the handbook. And … yeah. Who wants to go first?”
We all looked around at each other, until one of the new kids raised their hand.
“Uh,” they said, “what’s the question?”
I would’ve felt the second-hand embarrassment for Vivian if it weren’t for her complete lack of caring. She barely seemed like she was here at all, let alone communicating whole thoughts.
“What helps you stay clean,” she said, like knowing how these meetings were run was a fact of life. “What else?”
It was obvious she didn’t want to be here. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Dean cross her legs and lean in. I wasn’t the only one taking note.
“Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves first?” I added. “Or is that not part of the program?”
“All right, Kath-leen,” Vivian scoffed, sharing a look with Tara. “You go first.”
Raising my eyebrows, I adjusted myself in my seat. Way to spoil my turn.
“Okay. My name’s Kathleen. Call me Kat,” I started. “I’m a freshman.”
I looked toward Elliot. When he said nothing, I had to nudge him with my elbow before he realized we were doing some active participation. Jeez, if I were Vivian, I don’t know if he’d deserve the money. Not that her own act was any better.
“Oh, hey,” he said. “I’m Elliot. I go to Powell, actually. Freshman.”
The other students introduced themselves, and when it came to Tara, I held my breath.
“Hey, my name is Tara,” she said, fidgeting a bit in her seat, shyly tucking a lock of her long blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m a freshman. This is my first time attending one of these, so I’m excited. I never considered myself an addict, or that I had a problem, but I’ve been using for a long time. Weed, mostly, but you know, it doesn’t always do the trick.” She paused to share a quick, solemn glance with me. “I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone. Thanks.”
She had no idea I was going to be here. I could tell. And she had no idea that this was all just some show—that Vivian had fooled her into thinking this was real. What a shitty thing to do to someone who actually needed the help.
“So,” Vivian said, puffing out her chest as she straightened up in her chair, like she were a bird ruffling up her feathers. “I stay clean by doing other things, like talking to friends, family … sex.”
One of the other students let out a short cough—or at least, it sounded like a cough, but any seasoned liar would know that they were trying to cover up a laugh. Which I totally understood, because Vivian sounded like an idiot. Even Tara gave her a side glance, as if to say, Really?
“Hey, how about we cut to the chase,” I said, leaning forward in my chair, looking directly at Vivian. “Pierre. Felix. Elliot.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want from them?”
I could hear the Dean shifting again in her chair, but she didn’t dare say anything. This conversation, confrontation, needed to happen out in the open with a witness. She knew us well enough to understand that much.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vivian responded. She was going to have to try harder than that.
“Elliot told me that you planned to have my best friend murder a guy. For what?” I said, sitting back in my chair. “So, either he’s lying, and he’s behind this whole thing, or he’s telling the truth. Which is it, Vivi?”
“Okay, um,” one of the students said, slowly getting up from their seat. “I think I should go …?”
“No,” Vivian said, tensing up in her seat. The kid froze just as he was about to leave. “Everyone stays, I tell the truth, and whatever we say in this room stays in this room. Those are the rules agreed to coming in here, right?”
Her eyes zeroed in on the Dean. Technically, she was right. People could say whatever they wanted here—but did that rule apply to confessing to murder?
“My family has a lot of influence,” she continued slowly, her gaze making its way around the room. “If any of you leave before we’re done, you’ll be sorry.”
“Jesus,” one of the other kids muttered. “I thought this was supposed to get me off drugs, not want me to take more.”
