Page 54 of Good Girls Lie

“Yes, Mistress.” I pick up the bag. It smells of earth. I shuffle along, ignoring the variety in the body parts on display, trying to memorize the faces I see instead, as hands dip into the bag and draw out some sort of fall leaves. I recognize Jordan Swanson, the brunette junior in my computer class. Jordan is grinning, happy. All the faces in the line are happy in a sense, though some look scared, too.

It hits me, and I stagger a little under the knowledge of what’s happening.

This isn’t a joke. This isn’t a revenge play.

This is a tap.

I am being tapped for a secret society.

And Becca is the Mistress. That can only mean...

“Rub yourselves, Swallows. That’s right, rub the pretty leaves all over your sweet little bodies. Keep it away from your face, you fool, just arms, legs, and stomachs.”

I comply. The scent of the leaves is slightly spicy, and I like the feeling of it on my skin. Soft, fingertips caressing, the veins in the orange leaves so pretty, so pretty...

“Now put the leaves back in the bag.”

We do.

“Wash your hands.”

I smell bleach, feel the rough clammy washcloth against my skin. This is like a game I played as a child—Simon Says. Simon says hold your nose. Simon says touch your toes. Touch your nose—nope, Simon didn’t say it, you’re out.

I was always good at this game.

“Drop them in this.”

Another bag makes its way down the line. I divest myself of the stinky washcloth.

“Good little Swallows. Now, drink this.”

The bottle makes its way down the line. When it gets to me, I take a mouthful. More vodka. I am so thirsty. I want water, or tea, not vodka. My head is swimming, and my stomach feels funny. I am drunk now, but more. Drunk and high on something. The room throbs with energy; my eyes can’t focus. I stare at Becca, my Mistress, with one eye closed, then the other. It’s better with one eye. Easier to focus.

A chant now, building: “Drink, drink, drink, drink.”

The twins, a bottle to their lips, gulping and grinning. They pass it to Becca, who takes a long swallow, then another. Her teeth flash white in the gloom.

Swallow. Swallows. I snicker. I must have said it aloud, the whole line of us starts laughing.

And then there’s screaming again, orders, chaos. Girls are pulled out of line, interrogated, bossed, forced to their knees when they get an answer wrong.

“What is my name? What is my name, you worthless piece of shit?”

“Get my shoes, not those, the red boots. Are you a total idiot?”

“Name every single headmistress since the beginning of Goode. God, you are so stupid.”

“We thought you were better than this. We thought you had heart.”

One of them is fighting back. Not smart. “How would you know what I am?”

“What, you think Westhaven picks the students? That is our job. We chose you. You’re such a fucking disappointment.”

“Why did you lie about your parents, Swallow? Why?”

This is directed at me, I realize.

“I... I...”