Page 83 of The Vipers and Their Venom

She checks the packet. “Mango and coconut. Sounds like we should eat it instead of putting it on our skin.”

Jarena eyes her friend. “You want to eat everything, Faith. You should be careful, what with your body type and all.”

Faith and I exchange an awkward smile. I have no idea what Jarena is talking about, but it felt like a bit of a sexist or racist barb hidden somehow in there. My hackles rise on behalf of Faith. I can’t stand racists and misogynists, but I don’t say anything because Faith gives a small shake of her head.

Maybe she isn’t as in with these girls as I’d first assumed. Jarena looks at me but doesn’t say anything. I’m surprised I’m not the one she’s making weight comments about, though, because I can feel her gaze on me, judging me, and finding me coming up short.

Angelica steps in and lightens the mood by putting some music on, and the conversation starts to flow.

43

VANI

The girls left about twenty minutes ago, and truthfully, I was kind of happy to see them go. I like my own space, and I didn’t like all the bitchy comments that seemed to be flying between them. I hate that shit. Women should support women, especially in a man’s world, like this one. We should be building each other up, not trying to tear one another down.

The presence of Reagan’s folder is really bothering me now. It’s as if I can hear it screaming from the drawer where I’ve hidden it. It’s become a loud, glaring thing in my room that I need gone.

Recently, I’ve been way too distracted by the Vipers to give it—and shamefully, even my sister—much thought, but after it was almost discovered again, all I want to do is get it out of my room. I feel like it’s got a flashing light above it, signaling it to everyone. I know I won’t be able to sleep with it still in my room. I need it gone now.

Maybe it’s the small glass of wine I’ve had, too, but my impulses are less easy to resist. I tell myself it’s a good time to do it—it’s late and the secretary won’t be at her desk. Yes, there are cameras, but I don’t have the time or energy to try to deal with them as well. I can just pretend I’m leaving a note for DeanRossi and use my body to block the camera’s view while I slip the folder onto the desk.

Mind made up, I grab the file from where I have it hidden inside another folder in my desk and slip it under my shirt. I check the outline isn’t too obvious, and then shove my feet in my sneakers and leave my room.

Everything seems quiet, so I make my way through the building, toward the dean’s office.

I always find this place so creepy at this time of night. If I ever came across a building that was haunted, this would be it. The eyes of all the paintings follow me as I go, but this time, instead of allowing myself to be freaked out, I find my mind wandering to the painting Saint did of me. I hated that it had caused a fight between him and Lex, but I also loved that painting. That they cared enough about it to fight also gave me reason to pause. Do men who are just thinking of a woman as something to fuck really fight like that over an image of her? Yes, Saint put a lot of work into it, but why had it made Lex so angry? I’m sure I heard him say something about Saint paintinghisversion of me, but I still don’t really understand what that means. I’ll have to talk to him about it sometime.

Saint has promised he’ll paint me again one day, with me sitting for him. I wonder if he’s going to expect me to get naked for the picture. I find myself smiling at the thought. I can just imagine how that’s going to end.

I reach the hallway that leads to Dean Rossi’s office and check that I’m alone.

I am.

Stopping at the alcove that contains the secretary’s desk, I scan the surface for a pen and a pad of sticky notes. Sure enough, I find what I need and pick them up. What the hell am I going to write? I need an excuse for being here. I tap the pen against my lips as I think. I’ll have to request a meeting with the dean aboutone of my classes. I don’t want to say that I’m struggling with anything in the curriculum—because I’m not—so maybe I’ll have to say that I’m finding it too easy. I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ve got time to think of something.

I work quickly, writing down my name and cell phone number, together with a request to arrange a meeting.

I keep my back to the camera and reach under my shirt to pull out the file. I don’t want to risk leaving it directly on top of the desk, in case they think to marry the note with the mysteriously appeared folder, so carefully, I ease open the nearest drawer. I can shove it right to the bottom of all the paperwork, so hopefully it’ll be quite a few days before it’s even noticed, and by that time my note will long be forgotten.

I ease the file out from under my shirt and use my other hand to lift up the paperwork inside the drawer.

“Can I help you with something?”

The deep male voice cuts the air. I let out a squeak of surprise and jump, and in doing so drop the file. It scatters, pieces of paper flying in all directions.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I spin around to find Dean Rossi standing directly behind me.

My mind ping-pongs between dropping to my knees and gathering all the papers back up, trying to think of an excuse for me having them, and pushing past him and just high-tailing it out of there. But I do none of those things. Instead, I just stand there, frozen in my indecision.

“What’s this?” he asks with a frown, moving past me to pick up what I’ve dropped.

I find my voice. “Oh, sorry. I was just leaving you a note to request a meeting sometime about my English class, and I knocked the file off your secretary’s desk.”

“If you knocked it off her desk, why was her drawer open?”

“I-I don’t know. I just found it like that.” My face is burning up. I might as well have a sign flashing above my head that reads ‘liar.’

---