Inferno by Robin Stevenson

the middle of the room, empty except for Shelley. I don’t want to sit there waiting under the fluorescent lights, so I loiter by the doorway reading the Jesus posters.
Interested in Converting toCatholicism
? one asks.
Join our class, Tuesday evenings, open to all
. Another has a candle and the words
You Are the Light of the World
.
    Shelley clears her throat. I turn around and smile at her with this involuntary grin I get when I’m uncomfortable.
    â€œWelcome back, Dante. I’m so glad you’re here.” She pats the seat beside her.
    At least she got my name right. I walk across the room and sit down, crossing my ankle over my knee and wishing I’d brought a book to read, or pretend to read, until the others arrive. Shelley is way too enthusiastic, I decide. It’s not that she’s phony—that would almost be easier—it’s that she’s depressingly, embarrassingly, sincere. I wonder what the rest of her life is like, if she has a boyfriend or a full-time job, whether she lives alone, why she does this kind of work. I wonder if she has any friends and what she tells them about us and about this group. It’s weird to think about.
    The others all drift in, one by one, and I try to remember their names. Sylvie, the redhead who cried. Nicki, the dark-haired mouthy one. The silent girl with braces, whose name I have forgotten again. The annoying Shelley wannabe, Claire. Jasmine.
    But no Parker.
    She has my phone number
, I think, remembering how I wrote it on her arm last week under the pale lights in the parking lot. She could have called me if she wasn’t coming.
    â€œWell,” Shelley says, beaming a hundred-watt smile at us all. “It is six-oh-five. That is past our start time. Let’s begin.”
    She lifts her fingers and makes these scratchy quote marks in the air when she says “start time.”
Start time
. I feel a flash of anger toward her, as if by starting the group she’s closing off the possibility that Parker might still show up.
    â€œWe’ll start with check-in,” she says. “I’d like to hear how you are all feeling this week, so let’s see...” She taps her lower lip with her fingertip. “Tell me, if you were a weather system, what would you be and why?”
    My heart sinks. If Parker were here, if I could exchange glances with her across the circle, this might be bearable. But without her...”Uh, Shelley? Can I just run to the bathroom? I mean, go ahead and start...”
    She nods and sighs. “We’ll wait.”
    â€œNo, no. Don’t wait. Just go ahead with, you know, the weather thing.”
    Shelley purses her lips for a moment before speaking. “Dante. Opening check-in is an important part of our
group process
. It helps us all bring our full selves here, to this moment, fully present and connected to each other.”
    More scratchy quote marks for
group process
. I remember my conversation with Leo about how people don’t really connect. I don’t want to be fully present. I don’t even want to be partially present.
    Shelley smiles and her eyes flick from one girl to the next as if she can forge connections by the sheer power of her gaze. “We’ll wait for you.”
    I don’t think genuine connection is something you can force like this, but I stand up and walk away from the circle without saying anything.
    In the washroom, a framed pink poster reads
Have you made God smile today
? I splash cold water on my face and contemplate making a run for it, even though I know I won’t really do it. No one is preventing me from walking out the door, but it still doesn’t really feel possible.
    The bathroom mirror is flecked with splashes of dried soap and gunk. I stare at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot, and under the fluorescent lights, my skin has a weird grayish tinge. I head back to the circle, feeling trapped and miserable.
    The door opens and Parker