A New Way of Living

Chapter Eighteen

Author's Note: I do not own West Side Story or any elements of it.

Vivienne eventually got herself out of bed and felt a wave of anxiety when she remembered where she needed to go.

She'd left some things at school and wanted to pick them up before the weekend, but that meant having to show her face. Not only to her classmates, who by now had no doubt heard about her failed result, but also possibly Michael. After all, she had no idea what the Jets had done to him, so for all she knew she could bump into him in the hallway with a broken nose and an angry vendetta. Even worse, he might out her as an accomplice of the Jets.

There she goes, she could picture him yelling in front of everyone, the Jet whore!

But it was unavoidable, and she wasn't one to not face her consequences, so she knew she had to go.

She walked down towards the subway and got the train, ignoring the curious glances of passers-by when they caught her bruised face. What was the point in hiding it?

She thought about where Riff and the Jets were - what strange unknown things they would be doing for unknown reasons. All she did know, was that they would be in PR territory a midnight tonight. From the sounds of it, it seemed like they planned to vandalize their signage and throw it in the river. A strange plan, but calculated. What trouble were they trying to stir up?

When she reached the school, she took in a deep breath before she went in. With any luck, she would be in and out to collect her books and notes. She laughed at herself - was there really any point in collecting them in the first place? After everything that had happened? She doubted they would be of use to her now.

The halls were thankfully rather empty, which was not out of place on a Friday afternoon.

She went to her locker, which sat by one of her lecture halls. Just when she thought she had managed to retrieve her things and make her exit without being seen, she heard the familiar voice of her professor.

"Vivienne?"

She turned round, and forced a smile.

"Oh, hi."

The professor caught her appearance but, either of out politeness or awkwardness, chose not to mention her face.

"Would you, um, come see me for a moment?"

Vivienne nodded, screaming in her head the desire to run. She couldn't face further analysis of her failure. But the professor had already walked into the classroom, so she followed, biting down so hard on her lip she thought it might draw blood.

Her professor sat down and she stood at his desk. Both were silent for a moment before he cleared his throat.

"So...I had a visit yesterday," he explained, his voice warm and weathered.

"Oh?"

"From a young man. Who knew you."

Her mind raced. Michael?

"Oh..."

"He didn't give me his name, but I remember him distinctly because I tend to remember dishevelled, wild, young men with foul mouths that storm into my office."

Oh. Oh... Riff? Riff!

Vivienne had to sit down on the chair behind her to avoid collapsing. The professor watched her reaction carefully.

"I..." she stammered. "Did he...Did he have tattoos?"

"A few."

Oh god.