The atmosphere lightened in a split second, with gleaming rows of teeth spread around as they praised their sudden good fortune. I noticed everyone seemed like high-functioning addicts; their teeth weren't rotting and though some wouldn't pass a doctor's eye test, no one screamed crack-head either. It made sense they would try to make their very first batch of test dummies easy so the success rate would be high.

"As I was saying," Amir's voice boomed via microphone, rudely interrupting the celebration. "Earning points will be no easy task. Every week you'll be drug tested and gain ten points for each week you pass. The other main ways to gain points are participation in group sessions, winning games and events, and overall good behavior around the camp. There isn't a set points amount for those like there is for the drug test but like the drug test, you will know your total point allocation at the end of the week."

The mood in the room took a bit of a nosedive. Naturally, the drug-addled addicts had thought there wouldn't be a catch. I still had a little critical thinking skills hanging on by a thread. 

I think.

"But...how are we going to pass a drug test if we purchase a joint with our points?' a girl in the front row asked. She had straight brown hair that started dark and gradually became lighter shades as it progressed down to her shoulder blades, impeccably complimenting her russet, reddish brown complexion. 

She seemed more like a model than an addict, but nowadays those terms could be synonymous.

Amir nodded as if commending the question. "Naturally, the THC will stay in your system for only a week. You'll still be tested to avoid any deception, with the records showing when you bought the item. All authorized intake must be made known of beforehand or you run the risk of being wrongfully penalized for the drug use."

Agitated murmurs arose from the crowd. I stayed silent, preferring to observe the people that I would be potentially competing against. I mean I liked a good smoke just as much as the other guy but I could already tell it'd take an arm and leg to get it.

"What type of rehab spot lets you smoke weed?" Atlas leaned over and asked.

Luckily I'd already deduced thinking wasn't his strong suit.

"The kind that has decided simple medication and therapy isn't the way to go and adds on a splash of manipulation. It's especially easier since the camp caters to teens. When you need to train a dog to obey you wave a bone in its face and give them it when they follow your orders. Well, addicts are a bit dumber, so a little prescription will do--heck, maybe even a plant. We'll even wag our tails as we follow orders chasing that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Add on the fact that we're teenagers who haven't been doing drugs for decades on end? It's a diabolically sound plan that may just work." I pointed a bony finger accusingly at Amir as he let his words sink in with a friendly smile. "I bet they're banking on making the joints feel well in reach, yet keeping it out of reach for a while, so that we'll be extra attentive in those meetings and build camaraderie and all sorts of crap."

Atlas looked at me as if I had started speaking in tongues. "Damn. You really got all of that from what he said?"

"To beat the colonizers you must first think like them!" I replied with an exaggerated swoop of my hand.

Atlas tried and failed to hold in his laugh. "Still, it's pretty rad they're allowing us a chance to get high. Sounds like it'll defeat the whole purpose."

"That's what you'd think but weed is remarkably tame compared to what drugs normal rehab centers give you to treat withdrawals. Recreational smoking isn't completely frowned upon when you aren't reliant. By spacing out our periods of high they introduce us to moderation."

"Wow," Atlas breathed. "You sound like you did good in school."

I smirked. "Homeschooled. Made it pretty easy to pay someone to do the work for me. Couldn't let a teacher take credit for my brain."

"Oh, and almost forgot to mention," Amir said, quieting the crowd. "The first drug test will be done today. Everyone who fails has doomed their group to a zero point start, while if a group has a complete clean slate, they start the camp with ten points."

A deathly silence punctuated his words. As I looked at the horror on a number of faces I realized I wasn't the only one who had the bright idea to kiss my babies goodbye.

Surprise, surprise.

Atlas turned to me, his eyes no longer the crimson red they had been before but still not completely back to their undisturbed whiteness.

"Maybe it's out of my system already."

≫ ──────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──────── ≪

"You think the tests are gonna be accurate?" Atlas asked as walked toward a flight of stairs. No elevators available in the middle of nowhere, I guess.

We had all been taken into another room and within a half hour with impressive precision had all conducted our drug testing in a back room.

"Most likely," I said, recalling the saliva, blood, urine and hair tests we had been subject to. "They were pretty thorough and seemed to know what they were doing."

"I'm fucked then," he said as if it wasn't obvious. "You?"

"I carry around Visine drops, remember?"

"Fair point."

We had been among the last few to do the test so the crowd had dispersed for the most part. We were instructed to go upstairs to the second floor and on it would be a notice showing which floor and what group we were in. An introductory meeting with our set therapist was supposed to start in a few minutes where we would meet our other group members.

"What are the chances we end up in the same group?" Atlas asked.

"Not that low but not particularly high either," I said, quickly doing the math.

"I don't know...I think we're fated to stay together like we were fated to meet in that hallway," Atlas said, getting a faraway look in his eye. Clearly he was still feeling the effects of whatever he had smoked.

"Yeah, we're connected through the power of Visine," I offered dryly.

Atlas swallowed hard. "I hope so."

I ignored his pointless apprehension and opted to change the topic. "I hope that whatever group it is, the other members can pull their weight. Though, I guess that isn't a strong suit of addicts or rehabs wouldn't need to be made. Still, hopefully they have some life in their bones and they aren't completely useless."

As I spoke and climbed the twisting stairs alongside Atlas, a figure materialized above us. She wore a black beanie with sleek black hair tainted with purple highlights peeking out from under it. The figure also wore a black long-sleeved sweater and though I couldn't see her face, I half expected her to have fourteen piercings and black zombie makeup on.

Speaking of someone who oozed uselessness. Yeah, I was stereotyping like every human being does, spare me.

"I didn't think you'd be that interested in the competitions after you described it as manipulation," Atlas said, winning back my attention from the girl as she walked past us.

"That Amir guy had me from the time he mentioned winning. I hate losing, getting enough points for the joint would just be a nice plus. Besides..." I trailed off. 

What I didn't mention was that I knew I'd need a new distraction to obsess over. I hadn't yet had the pleasure of having withdrawal symptoms since drugs and I had a pretty clingy relationship, but I expected it to be as pleasant as advertised. 

We reached the second floor and followed the gathering of people standing in front of a bulletin board on the wall. On it was a sheet of paper, displaying four groups and the names of those who would be in the group. It even showed a lone name above the group name next to 'ASSIGNED THERAPIST'.

I squinted my eyes, searching for my name before Atlas took the wind out of my sails with a sturdy pat on my back. His hands were heavy and I imagined they would pack a pretty destructive punch.

"Looks like Visine lends good fortune after all," he said, pointing at the last group on the notice. Sure enough, my group was printed in the last group titled Delta and among the other four was Atlas Johnson.

This dude was actually named 'Atlas'. Something else caught my attention. "Check it out," I said, switching to a mocking voice, "we have the head honcho of this place as our therapist.

Atlas' voice changed to a whisper as he glanced suspiciously at the people around us. "Do you think there's a chance he rigs those games for us?"

I doubted it but I humored him anyway. "Maybe I'll offer him an autograph from my mom and he'll even let us escape and tell everyone we were eaten by bears or something."

"Your mom is famous?" He asked. 

I'd forgotten he didn't even know who I was. "Yeah, ever heard of Evelyn Higgins?" I asked. 

Atlas shook his head to my surprise. I wasn't so pretentious to think everyone in the world knew my mother, but she certainly had global reach, so for someone to reside in America as a teen and not know of her was beyond strange. 

"Do you not own a television or something? Is movies some foreign word to you?"

"My family isn't big on movies," Atlas admitted. "When the TV is on it's probably on some educational nature channel, like Nat Geo."

I scoffed. "Sounds like you were meant to end up in the middle of the woods."

"Maybe," Atlas said with a laugh.

As the last group, we were among the two assigned to the third floor. After climbing another grueling set of stairs that made me start to wonder if this was a boot camp disguised as an addicts' social gathering, we met another beefy guard waiting with our suitcases and bags laid out in front of him. He assigned us a room number as we took our stuff one by one and Atlas ended up being two doors down from me.

After a hasty goodbye and a quick plan to meet in the hallway to walk to our introductory session together, we parted ways and each retired to our new rooms. The corridor looked like a basic hotel, with plain walls hosting rooms with labels on the top, so I wasn't surprised to find my room containing basic decor and the bare necessities. It pretty much resembled the dorm rooms I saw on TV. I guess I couldn't complain since I wasn't forced to have a roommate like those poor beings.

The thought of having no space to recharge my social battery sent shivers down my spine.

I threw my suitcase against the wall after retrieving something from the inside pocket and popping it into my mouth with a relieved sigh.

What? I failed the drug test already anyway.

I eyed myself in the bathroom mirror as I washed my face. Piercing brown eyes stared back at me; they sat on sharp cheekbones that resembled my mother's and my usually spiky inky black hair looked way too neat, but it was nothing some ruffling couldn't fix. I had a lean frame with hints of muscle from my stint at a boxing gym.

I splashed my face again before switching my shirt to a black one that read 'anyone got a lighter' and exited the room.

"Rad shirt," Atlas commented as I exited.

I nodded. "Let's get this show on the road."