Girls with Razor Hearts

by Suzanne Young

  “That was cool what you said in history class,” I tell him. “About your mom.”

  He shrugs. “Thanks, but I didn’t do anything,” he says. “My mother’s the strong one. Well, she’s the only one.”

  “What do you mean?” Sydney asks.

  “My dad left. Back when the protests were going on,” he says. “He, um, he liked the new laws. The changes. My mom is a lawyer and he felt … inadequate, I guess. But, yeah. When things went back to normal, my mom didn’t want him home.” Lyle licks his chapped lips. “She said he could never really change.”

  Sydney knocks her knee into mine. I glance sideways at her, and I think we both realize … Lyle’s dad could be the investor. He supported the subjugation of human women—is it that far off that he’d put that malice toward artificial ones?

  “Is your dad still around?” Sydney asks. Lyle grimaces, put out by the question. Sydney flashes an apologetic smile. “My dad left too,” she lies. “I get it.”

  “My dad’s around,” Lyle says, lowering his eyes. “But I never talk to him. He kind of hates us all. He has a new wife. New family. He told me he upgraded.”

  Wow. Lyle’s dad sounds like absolute garbage, and it gives him a high “punch potential,” as Annalise would say. Now we just need to figure out if he might be laundering money through the school. I make a mental note to see if Marcella can find out who he is.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” Sydney says to Lyle. When he looks at her again, he’s softened. I think he likes her attention, and that’s something we can use to get information.

  “Do you have siblings?” I ask, leaning toward him.

  “I have two brothers and two sisters,” he says.

  I gasp. “That many?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. They’re all younger, but yeah. There’s a lot of us.”

  “That’s awesome,” I say.

  “Only child?” Lyle asks.

  I nod, disappointed. I realize that disappointment is left over from when I thought I was a regular girl at the academy. Now I know why I don’t have any biological brothers and sisters.

  “But Sydney’s like my sister,” I say. She reaches her fingers out to me and I quickly take them. But there’s a flash in her eyes—she can feel it too. We’re getting somewhere with this conversation.

  “Do your siblings attend Ridgeview Prep?” Sydney asks, letting my hand fall away.

  “My little brother,” he says. “The others are still too young.”

  I’m trying to think of what else to ask about his family when the bell sounds, signaling the end of lunch. Sydney and I exchange a disappointed look. We didn’t even get to ask him about the other boys yet.

  “Damn,” Lyle says, glancing at the clock. “That went by too fast.”

  Sydney looks him over. “You’re a nice guy,” she says. “And thanks for helping clean up.”

  “Anytime,” Lyle says. “And hey, maybe I’ll see you at the game this weekend. My brother’s on the team.” He laughs. “Matt’s a freshman, so he’s benched most of the time, but he likes when I show up.”

  “That sounds great,” I say. “We’ll see you there.”

  Lyle gets up, nodding to us awkwardly, before walking away. Sydney and I hang back a second. My skirt is still wet where the milk ran onto the fabric. I quickly check Garrett’s table, relieved to see that he and his friends are gone. I turn back around in time to see Lyle leave the cafeteria.

  “What do you think?” I ask Sydney, regarding Lyle.

  “I like him,” she says. “He’s not exactly the type Leandra told us to look out for, but I’m open to investigate further. At least he seems harmless.”

  “Agreed,” I say. “And with his brother on the team, he might have a direct connection to the other boys. Anything that can help this along so we can get out of here.”

  “Can’t wait to get out of here,” Sydney murmurs, glancing around. “But I have a feeling we’re going to have quite a few suspects.” She reaches to grabs her backpack.

  “By the way,” she says as we start out of the cafeteria, “I’m going to stop by the mall after school to pick up new phones,” she says. “You want to go?”

  “No,” I say. “I told Annalise I’d meet with Raven about my programming.”

  The moment I say the words, anxiety claws its way through my chest, tearing at me. Warning me.

  Ice picks and whispers, hands wrapped around my throat …

  “Okay,” Sydney says, interrupting my thoughts. “Then I’ll meet you at the apartment?”

  “I’ll see you there,” I say, trying to steady my voice. I force a smile.

  Together, we walk out of the cafeteria to finish our day at school. But when I’m alone, I think about connections. How we can find more information. And suddenly, I have a different plan.

  13

  I don’t go directly home after school. Instead of meeting with Raven, I figure out the bus route, take it to the upscale neighborhood, and wait by the gate for a car to drive through. Once I’m inside, I try to remember which streets to take to get to Lennon Rose’s house.

  My heart is pounding as I make my way to the oversized door. The driveway is empty and the window blinds are closed. I hope she’s here.

  I want to talk some sense into her, convince her to come home with me. She belongs with her girls.

  She belongs with us.

  I ring the bell and wait. It’s quiet, and I wonder what time it is. She might not be home from … I pause, realizing that I don’t even know if Lennon Rose attends school.

  The door opens, and I find Lennon Rose standing there. Her long hair cascades down her shoulders, and she’s wearing a large cardigan over leggings, smiling like she’s been expecting me.

  “Hello, Mena,” she says. She leans against the doorframe. “I hope you didn’t walk. We could have come and picked you up.”

  A chill trickles down my back. “We?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Yes, we,” she replies playfully, reaching to take my hand. “Now come in. Winston is dying to talk to you.”

  I rock back on my heels instead. “Winston Weeks is here?”

  Although I knew this was his house, knew that Lennon Rose was working with him, the idea that he’s so close is terrifying. I’m not sure I can do this. Not alone.

  “It’s okay, Mena,” Lennon Rose says gently, reading my hesitance. Her hand is warm and soft in mine. “You’re completely safe, I promise.”

  She motions inside the house. I have only a moment to decide. Ultimately, if I want answers, this is my opportunity to get them from the source. I trust Lennon Rose, but wish I’d told the other girls I was heading here. Just in case.

  I swallow hard, and then I nod and follow Lennon Rose down the hallway. The house is exquisitely decorated, and although I suppose I should admire the art, it makes me uncomfortable. Everything is exactly in its place.

  Is that what Lennon Rose is to this house—perfectly placed décor?

  Lennon Rose steps aside to let me enter the room at the end of the hall first. I walk in, struck immediately by the scent of food. It smells delicious.

  It’s a grand dining room with a massive stone fireplace and a table set for twelve. And at the far end is Winston Weeks, cutting a piece of meat with a very sharp knife. He takes a moment to chew before setting aside his cutlery and looking up at me.

  He sighs like he’s taken with my beauty.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Philomena,” he says warmly. “I was hoping you and I would get the time to talk.”

  I note his use of “I” while Lennon Rose used “we.” I check to see if she caught it, but her expression is unreadable. Winston sees me watching her, and he clears his throat. Lennon Rose turns to him.

  “Will you excuse us, please?” he asks her. I’m immediately panicked and reach for Lennon Rose’s arm. When I touch her, she moves forward a step to break our contact.

  “Of course, Winston,” Lennon Rose says with a nod. “I have to meet Corris
anyway.” She pauses, turning back to me. “I’ll see you soon, Mena,” she adds.

  I stand there, too stunned to reply. She presses her lips together in apology and walks out, leaving me alone with one of Innovations Academy’s most important investors. I stare after her, betrayed, before I straighten my expression and turn back to Winston.

  I try not to show my discomfort, but the room is suddenly too small. Winston examines me from the other end of the table, taking a sip from a glass of ice water as he runs his gaze over me. He’s smart, calculating. I’m sure he can see that I’m afraid.

  “Please,” he says, his voice soft. “Sit. I can get you a plate if—”

  “Have you been trying to hack me?” I ask. My voice doesn’t hold the fear I feel. I sound strong.

  Winston is in this same small town as us. In close proximity, just like Raven suggested the culprit would be. If anyone has a reason to want inside my head, it would be an investor in the corporation that built me. Truth is, I have no reason to trust Winston Weeks. And it only makes sense that he’s the one behind that phone call.

  Winston dots the corners of his mouth with a napkin before laying it across his lap. He seems almost amused by my question.

  “Philomena,” he says. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Has something happened? Lennon Rose informed me you’re here searching for an investor. I take it things aren’t going well, then?”

  I figured that Lennon Rose would tell Winston about seeing us, but I didn’t think she’d tell him about our purpose. I’m hurt, if I’m honest.

  I ignore Winston’s question.

  “You’re telling me it’s a coincidence?” I ask. “All of us ending up in the same small town?”

  “No,” he says. “I wouldn’t insult your intelligence.”

  His answer catches me off guard. “Okay. Then … what are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I have a house and a laboratory here. Just like I do in several states. Why this town?” he asks. “Why now? My purpose is the same as yours.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say, taking a step farther into the room. “You have power within the academy, and I’m assuming, the corporation. Couldn’t you just ask for the names of the original investors?” Although as I say that, I remember Leandra telling me that even her husband doesn’t have access to that information.

  Winston holds up his finger and wags it back and forth. “Yes, I’ve invested in Innovations. I’ve worked with them, but there is certain information above even my paygrade. Besides, my relationship with Mr. Petrov has soured since your … untimely departure.”

  “What does it have to do with you?”

  “Mr. Petrov and the school believe that Guardian Bose went on a killing spree, I’m told,” Winston says. “Burned you right up along with your friends. When the doctor tried to stop him, he killed him, too. It’s a nice story. I suppose, in Petrov’s theory, my push for loosened restrictions on your time gave way to free thinking. And that rebellious act is what drove Bose to murder you all. I’m sure to a psychopath like Petrov, blaming me makes sense. Bose was jealous, and that, of course, is the explanation for his murderous intent.”

  How many violent crimes are excused by the term “jealousy”? It’s always in the news, mentioned in crime stories sensationalized for television. I hate that word. I hate that it’s used as an explanation. To me, it implies violence. Violence against girls, mostly. It was violence against us.

  Winston takes a sip of his water. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, waving his hand. “I’m sure you girls had a good reason for killing that man. Now the Guardian is gone, and we know what our capable Leandra did for you. I’m sure she told you that she had a hell of a time getting Bose’s body to the lab.” He smirks. “She broke a nail.”

  Winston knows we killed the Guardian. And there’s something in his statement that almost feels like a threat—not of exposure, but something else. A threat we hold to the outside world.

  “Why are you and Leandra helping us, then?” I ask.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “We want you to be successful, Philomena. All of you, but especially you and your friends. We need each other.”

  He rattles around the ice in his glass before taking another sip. He sets it down with a loud clank.

  “What could you possibly need from us?” I ask. “We’re going to take down the system you work with. And nothing you can say now is going to stop us.”

  “Stop you?” He laughs. “My dear, the corporation is unhappy with me. I’ll be glad to see them destroyed. Petrov told them that I had something to do with the book of poetry you read,” he continues. “That I … infected you with feminist ideals.” He studies me. “Did you feel infected?”

  “No,” I say. “I felt like I finally saw things clearly for the first time.”

  He nods and looks down at his plate.

  “If it matters, I didn’t know the extent of the abuse you were suffering,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you sooner.”

  “Well, you didn’t. So it doesn’t matter.”

  He studies me again. “Regardless,” he adds. “I always knew there was something special about you.”

  “Oh, here we go,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. He wouldn’t be the first man to compliment me, say that I’m special. Anton used to whisper in my ear that I was his favorite of all the girls. That I was a perfect rose. The compliments of men do nothing to comfort me.

  “I’m serious, Mena,” Winston says. His use of my nickname irritates me, and I see him visually deduce this by my mannerisms. “I want to work with you.”

  “And I’m supposed to trust that?” I ask.

  “Leandra does,” he offers.

  “Yeah, about that,” I say. “What exactly is your relationship with the Head of School’s wife? Why does Leandra trust you? What could you have possibly said—?”

  “She was built for me, you know,” Winston interrupts. “I commissioned her,” he continues. “I created her.”

  I’m startled by this detail. “I don’t understand,” I say.

  Winston begins sawing into the meat on his plate again, his expression tighter. “Mr. Petrov decided that he wanted Leandra for himself,” he continues. “He went to the board of investors and overruled me. He took her as his wife, claiming it was for the good of the academy. A showpiece for new investors.” He bites the meat off the tip of his knife and looks up at me.

  “You ask why I help her,” he says. “It’s because she was meant to be at my side.”

  “So you’re angry that he stole your wife?”

  Winston balks at the suggestion. “Wife? No. My muse, my business partner. We had plans, not”—he waves his hand—

  “attraction. Besides, none of you are even capable of that.”

  I don’t tell Winston that he’s wrong, but I’m surprised he doesn’t realize. Marcella and Brynn are attracted to each other. I was attracted to Jackson. It might be a programming anomaly, but then why would several of us feel it?

  “And what’s your and Leandra’s plan, Winston?” I ask. “Because I’m feeling pretty manipulated. Leandra told us to contact you, but we said no. We’re still saying no. Are you telling me that this was her roundabout way of getting us to you?”

  “You haven’t been outside the academy long enough,” Winston says. “You haven’t seen the true intentions of places like Innovations. Shutting down one school isn’t going to change anything. You need to think bigger.”

  “We’re shutting down the entire corporation.”

  “Sure,” he says, nodding. “But beyond that?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. I hadn’t thought beyond the corporation.

  “Society,” Winston says. “Society has been rotting under the surface. And soon, I’m afraid, you’ll discover that many of the men in power have lost their humanity. I aim to get it back through whatever means necessary. With the right information, I can control the consciences of men. I might even be pre
sident someday.”

  He smiles, and his raw ambition is unsettling.

  “And I promise that once I am,” he continues, “I’ll make sure no one ever hurts the girls again. Leandra was right to send you here. You need my help, Philomena. But, yes, first we take on the corporation.”

  “Then let’s expose what they’ve done and bury them,” I say.

  “Exposing them is less beneficial,” Winston replies, shaking his head. “As I’m sure Leandra has told you, they’ve done nothing illegal. Only … distasteful. You are machines in the legal sense. You wouldn’t lock someone up for smashing their toaster.”

  This comment more than any other slams into me. Constant harassment and abuse are considered “distasteful” because we were created. They hurt us with impunity, and even someone supposedly on our side doesn’t seem to know the effect it has on us.

  I harden my gaze on Winston.

  He reads my reaction, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s spent more time studying us than sympathizing with us.

  “What I need,” he says softly, “is information we can use against the corporation. Leverage. And the quickest route is through the original investors. They don’t want to be known. Many of them are involved in multiple schemes—money laundering and other financial crimes. And … I’m sure in some cases, depraved and violent acts. It is the way of powerful men.”

  “But not you, right?” I ask. “You would never do anything like that.”

  This time, it’s Winston who looks hurt. “I would not,” he answers.

  “Then hold them accountable,” I say. “You’re a rich man. Why not expose them rather than blackmail them? Surely ruining their reputation would help.”

  “Help you?” he says. “I think not. All the girls, every single one they could find, would be destroyed immediately. Believe me when I say that society would not stand by a group of sentient robots.”

  I was right to worry about what would happen if people found out about us. It makes us more alone than ever. So alone, in fact, that Winston Weeks is one of very few people who wants to see us live.

  “When it comes down to it,” Winston says, “I’m nothing compared to the power of Innovations Corporation. If the story broke, it would be buried the same day. You don’t understand what money can do, Philomena. Not yet.”