Good Girls Lie(46)

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...”

The girl who is yelling at me isn’t unfamiliar, but I can’t place her. “Quit stuttering. You need to learn how to speak properly. Stupid Brit. What is my name?”

“Erm...”

“How dare you not know who I am? She’s out, Mistress. This one’s too stupid to be Ivy Bound. They all are.”

Girls are crawling on the floor, crying, getting snot in their hair. One is throwing up in a corner trashcan, two furious seniors standing over her. “Ewwww, what did you eat tonight, Swallow?”

I hear the reply through the girl’s tears. “Raw cookie dough, Mistress.”

“I’m not your Mistress, she’s your Mistress.”

A slap across my face, hard. “Focus, you idiot. I said, what is my name?” The tone is edged with such fury I crumple to my knees. I strain trying to come up with the girl’s name, but my mind is mushy. It’s the drugs, whatever they are, making it impossible to think. Think, Ash. Think!

“Oooh, look. One’s starting.”

“Shelley!” I shout, triumphant. “Your name is Shelley.”

“Finally. Get in line, Swallow!” Shelley commands.

I do, accidentally rubbing up against the arm of the girl next to me. Oh, it feels good to touch like this. I do it again. It’s like scratching an itch, warm and good deep inside. I look at my arm. It is red, streaked with white where I’ve been running my fingers along the skin.

“God, no, don’t touch your face, dumb ass.”

Becca is sitting on a long oak table, calmly smoking a cigarette, and I want a hit so badly.

“They’re starting to scratch, you better do it now,” Shelley says.

“Yeah, we better. Eyes front, Swallows.”

It’s been days, weeks, since they started yelling at us. Suddenly it’s quiet. I feel myself swaying. God, my arm itches.

“Listen to me. I am your Mistress. I now run your lives. Anything I tell you to do, you do. Anything you need, you come to me. You are each assigned a Falconer, who will train you in our ways. Whatever your Falconer tells you to do, you do it. You will be at the Falconer’s beck and call. Any hesitation to fulfill a request, and you will be cut. Tell anyone what you’re doing, and you will be cut. Tell anyone, student or teacher, anything about this night, and you will be cut.

“You have been tapped. You are all Swallows of Ivy Bound now. Do me proud.”

She smiles benevolently at us, the line of itchy girls in front of her, meeting each one’s eyes as she goes down the line. Thirteen Swallows to be made into women. She has her job cut out for her this year.

The girl next to me starts to scratch.

“And for God’s sake, keep your stupid hands away from your eyes.”



36

THE IVY

We are taken back to the school through the tunnel, one by one, one Swallow to one Falconer, until Becca and I are the last ones in the cabin. I’m sobering up, I think, but my head feels like cotton wool. My arm itches, but I don’t dare scratch. Becca hasn’t given her permission.

Becca says touch your nose. Becca says touch your toes.

“Swallow. Can you hear me?”

Becca holds out the last of the cigarette. I take a deep, grateful drag.

“I am your Mistress, but I am also your Falconer.”

“Why me?” is all I can ask.

“You will understand why if you make it through, little Ash. I hope I wasn’t wrong about you. Now, let’s get you back to bed.”

I don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” I whisper, and Becca laughs.

“Trust me when I say you won’t be thanking me tomorrow. Come on.”

We follow the last of the girls through the tunnel and back into the school. As we go through the door to the red staircase, I catch a glimpse of the hanging girl again. The hallucination feels so real.

My words are slow and deliberate. “What did you give us?”

“Mostly just vodka. A touch of Molly. Just enough to make you happy and lovey. And Benadryl,” Becca replies absently. “Damn, where is that key?”

“Molly. Ecstasy. That’s why I feel so good. But Benadryl? Why?”