Girls with Razor Hearts

by Suzanne Young

Next to him, my phone buzzes again in my purse. When I start toward it, he grabs it and holds it out of my reach on the other side of him.

  “Give me my purse,” I say, annoyed, but also worried.

  “Who the hell has been calling?” he demands. He begins to go through my purse, tossing items that are in the way as he tries to get to my phone. My eyes widen and I rush over, my shoes slipping on the tile and sending me hip-first onto the roof, the rough material scraping my thigh. Jonah chuckles.

  He takes out my phone and then tosses my purse over the edge. He freezes, staring at my phone for a moment before turning to me in silence. His eyes are raging. On the screen, the red button shows that it’s recording.

  “Jonah,” I say, as a way of explaining. He quickly turns off the recording and then cocks back his arm and throws my phone over the side of the house as hard as he can. There’s a rustle of bushes across the yard.

  I’m scared. I step back from him as he gets to his feet. I quickly turn and rush for the window. I barely get one foot inside before he wraps his arm around my waist, yanking me back. We both lose our balance and crash onto the roof tiles.

  I roll a few times, but right myself before tumbling off the side. Jonah pulls himself to his full height, blocking my path to the window.

  “You were trying to get me to confess?” he demands. “To tell on my friends?”

  There’s no use in pretending anymore. I lose all pretense of flirtation or nicety.

  “We saw the posts online,” I tell him. “The bragging. Tomorrow, it’ll be in the papers. You’ve terrorized girls, but you’re not going to get away with it anymore.”

  “We’ll do whatever we want,” he says. “Who are you? No one even knows you. A few posts online? Prove it came from us.”

  He doesn’t think he has anything to worry about. He feels invincible. No one should ever feel that way—like they could commit a crime out in the open and get away with it. No one should ever feel that emboldened.

  “Let me inside,” I say plainly.

  “None of the girls will go against us,” he says. “You’ll see.”

  He and the others may have scared the girls into silence before, but with us on their side, with proof, with administrative support, maybe that will change. There’s no way to know for certain, but I do know that I need to get off this roof through the window behind Jonah. And he doesn’t seem likely to budge.

  I run for it. I catch Jonah off guard, dodging to the side at the same time I push him. His foot slips, and I use that distraction to quickly climb through the window. Just as I’m about to run for the bedroom door, Jonah reaches inside to grab the bottom of my dress. He knots his fist in the fabric, tearing the hem. I try to turn, but I get tangled as he drags me back toward the open window.

  Flashbacks to my last fight with the Guardian suddenly flood in. The guilt I once had over his death is replaced with my need for survival. The Guardian killed Annalise that night. I’m not going to let Jonah kill me.

  Before he can pull me back through, I grip the top of the window frame and slam it down on Jonah’s arm. There’s a loud scream behind the glass, and he releases my dress. I fall backward, landing hard on the wood floor.

  Jonah is unable to get the window back open with one hand, his palm sliding along the glass. Instead, he slowly pulls his trapped arm through, crying out in pain. Once it’s free, he pushes up the frame roughly. I see the bruise already on his forearm just below his elbow, a scrape all the way to his wrist.

  “Stay there!” he snarls at me.

  I’m not about to be held prisoner in an upstairs bedroom. I rush out the door, darting toward the stairs. I need to get to Sydney.

  “Wait!” Jonah yells from the room, followed by a loud rumble as he crashes to the bedroom floor.

  Lyle suddenly appears at the top of the stairs, eyes wide when he sees me running toward him. He quickly assesses my torn dress, looking like he’s about to puke. He holds out his hand.

  “Help me!” I say desperately, the music louder now that I’m near the stairs.

  Lyle reaches to take my forearm, steadying me. Even though I don’t mean to, I start to cry. Jonah scared me, terrified me.

  Jonah bursts from the room, hitting the opposite wall before straightening himself. He’s drunk. His eyes are red and glassy, perspiration dots his face. He sighs with relief when he sees I’m with Lyle.

  “Bring her back over,” he tells him, waving down the hall.

  I turn to Lyle, getting my foot on the first step down before he tightens his grip on my arm. I lift my eyes to his, but rather than finding protection or sympathy, I find fear. He darts his gaze from me to Jonah.

  And then I realize that he’s not scared for me. He values Jonah’s inclusion over my safety. He would gladly feed me to the wolves in order to join their pack.

  Lyle’s fingers pinch my skin as they tighten their grasp. I try to yank away, stunned by his sudden strength when he begins to pull me toward the bedroom. Understanding that he plans to hand me over to Jonah, I scream for Sydney. I’m not sure if she can hear me over the downstairs music.

  With no other choice, I slap Lyle hard across the face, hoping to snap him out of this. He bares his teeth at me.

  He’s not the nice guy. He’s just another monster with anger that he can’t contain, living in a community that makes him believe it’s acceptable.

  Lyle drags me down the hall, and when I’m close enough, Jonah grabs me roughly by the elbow.

  “Relax,” Jonah says, as if I’m overreacting. “We need to talk.” He pushes me inside the room.

  The Nice Guy

  He is my friend.

  He’d never hurt me.

  Why would he?

  He’s such a nice guy.

  He’d never hold me down.

  Why would he?

  He’s such a nice guy.

  He’d never leave me crying on the floor.

  Why would he?

  He’s such a nice guy.

  He’d never lie to my face about what he’d done.

  Why would he?

  He’s such a nice guy.

  He’d never laugh with his friends as I walked past.

  Why would he?

  He’s such a nice guy.

  He’d never say I wanted it.

  Why would he?

  He’s such a nice guy.

  He would never call me a slut.

  He would never have his friends do the same.

  He would never threaten me to keep me quiet.

  He would never make me want to die.

  Why would he?

  He’s such a nice guy.

  26

  Jonah laughs out loud as he closes the door, pushing me into the chair at the desk. He looks at Lyle. “Nice work,” he says to him. “Didn’t think you had it in you, big boy.”

  Lyle smiles at Jonah expectantly, like he’s waiting for a pat on the head.

  Jonah begins to pace and takes out his phone. I have no idea what he plans to say to me, do with me. I eye the door, readying myself to run for it the second I get the chance. Jonah dials, watching me as he brings the phone to his ear. He jumps as a voice comes on the line.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I need to talk to my father. I don’t care who he’s having dinner with, this is important.”

  “Who’s your father?” I ask, worried that I’ve found the investor’s son after all.

  “My dad?” Jonah says. “He’s the best fucking lawyer in town. So if you’re thinking you’re going to get some big settlement, think again.”

  “Does he work for the corporation?” I ask.

  Jonah can’t hide his annoyance. “What? He doesn’t work for anyone. He has his own firm.” He turns to the side as someone comes back on the phone line. “Yes, I’m still here,” he says impatiently. “Can you hurry?”

  Jonah continues to block my path to the door. His intimidation is meant to keep me in place. What will happen when his lawyer father arrives? If they truly feel there are
no consequences to their behavior … what’s going to happen to me?

  “Dad,” Jonah says suddenly into the phone. “We need your help. It’s a girl, and …” He pauses, wincing once. “Look, I’m at a friend’s house, and this girl made me say some shit. She recorded it.” He looks at me. “Yeah, she’s still here. Okay.” Jonah turns away from me, seeming uncomfortable. “An hour? How do you want me to stop her?” he asks quietly.

  Jonah listens for a bit, nodding along, and then he murmurs goodbye and hangs up. He slips the phone back into his pocket.

  “What’s your father going to do to me?” I ask. “What’s he going to do when he gets here?”

  Jonah opens his mouth to answer when the door creaks open.

  We all look over and my heart leaps. Sydney is standing there with the big guy, Demarcus, at her side.

  And she’s holding a wooden bat.

  I nearly start to cry. To see a girl again … It’s everything. It’s love and safety.

  “Get away from her,” Sydney tells Jonah in a low voice. “Get away or I’ll bash your head in.”

  Jonah gulps, but then puffs up his chest to hide his initial worry. “What are you doing?” he asks Demarcus, ignoring the threat. “Take the—”

  “What am I doing?” Demarcus repeats angrily. “Question is, what the fuck are you doing? Now you’re kidnapping girls and shit?”

  “No,” Jonah says, shaking his head. “I … She recorded me talking about Garrett. She’s going to report him and—”

  “Good,” Demarcus says. “That guy belongs in jail.”

  “Thank you,” Sydney says, nodding her agreement. “Took you long enough.”

  Demarcus presses his lips together, a quick show of shame. Although he said something in the cafeteria, he didn’t do anything. He didn’t demand change. He may have turned his back other times, but he’s showing up now. Like Mr. Marsh, he’s finally showing up.

  I get to my feet, but Jonah pushes me back down. Sydney readies her bat, but Demarcus comes to stand in front of me, making Jonah take an unsteady step back.

  “Hey,” Jonah says, sounding nervous. “Relax, it’s okay.”

  Sydney meets my eyes. Funny that he’s worried about the guy when she’s the one with the bat. In a way, Jackson was right. Men tend to defer to the opinions of other men.

  “You can’t just let her leave,” Jonah says. He even laughs. “Look, man,” Jonah tells Demarcus. “My dad will be here soon. He’ll know what to do. I mean … she found posts that some of the guys put online. They admitted to everything like a bunch of idiots. I mean, even Lyle isn’t that stupid.”

  For his part, Lyle stands silently. He must see that he’s still not accepted by the group he coveted.

  “Wow … ,” Sydney says, tapping her lower lip as she thinks it over. “You’re exactly how I thought you’d be. What’s it like to be so vile that you can’t even beat the lowest of standards?”

  She says all of this with an eerie calm, a statement of fact rather than opinion.

  “If your father wasn’t rich,” she says, “you would have nothing. No one cares about you. A few fear you, sure. But no one admires you. Why would they?”

  “Shut the fuck up!” he shouts back. She’s gotten under his skin.

  “That’s what you rely on,” Sydney continues, taking a step toward him. “Telling girls to shut up so they can’t tell you that you’re average, maybe even slightly below. Insecure men seek power to make up for their shortcomings. And you, Jonah Grant, will never have power again.”

  There is a small moment of worry in Jonah’s expression before he shakes his head. “I’m not scared of a couple of girls,” he says.

  Sydney smiles. “You should be,” she whispers. When Jonah backs down, Sydney gives him one more look of disgust and moves past him to reach out her hand to me.

  I take it, but as we start to leave, Jonah darts over and snatches the bat out of Sydney’s hand. He holds it at his side, eyes wild, as he blocks the door.

  “Are you both insane?” he asks, his voice shaking. “You think you can just … walk out of here? No.” He glances once at Demarcus, seeming to dismiss him. “There are other guys down there. Ones who aren’t fucking weak. Once I tell them what you were planning … well, I can’t stop them from what they’ll do.” He laughs, but it’s forced. He’s betting that the threat of violence will make us endure more of his violence.

  Sydney drops my hand and takes a step toward Jonah. She tilts her head, looking at him.

  “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use this,” she says. She looks back at me and smiles. “Leandra told us to always be prepared.”

  Sydney takes a small object from her purse. At first, I think it’s a phone, but there is a blue light and I realize it’s a Taser. She jabs it into Jonah’s ribs, and he shouts before the sound reverberates in his chest, echoing around the room.

  He hits the floor.

  “Damn, girl,” Demarcus says under his breath. Sydney shrugs. Demarcus steps over Jonah’s trembling body and opens the door for us, standing aside so we can walk out. When Lyle starts to move, all of Demarcus’s nicety fails.

  “Stay,” he warns Lyle, telling him to go sit down.

  We watch as Lyle nervously takes a seat at the desk, his bravado completely deflated. When we turn back to Demarcus, he nods in Lyle’s direction.

  “He and I are going to have a talk,” he says. “Whatever brainwashing, macho shit he’s been fed, it needs to be cleared up right now.”

  “And will you help the girls at school?” Sydney asks. “Back them up? Report these creeps?”

  Demarcus scoffs like it’s a ridiculous question. “Yeah,” he says. “My mom taught me to respect women. I don’t want any part in this shit.” He motions around the room. “I had no idea it was this bad.”

  Sydney nods. I wonder if it’s strange for us to be grateful when people are decent, as if we’re always expecting the worst. Confronting the other guys will make Demarcus a hero, even though us standing up to them led to our expulsion from school.

  The system works differently for different people. We’ll have to change that if we want different results.

  Sydney and I head down the stairs, my hip sore from where I fell on the roof. When we get to the bottom floor, I see the rest of the party has broken up. As I limp onto the front porch, Sydney looks sideways at me.

  “You okay?” she asks, concerned.

  “I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “Uh … by the way, where’d you get that?”

  Sydney holds up the Taser to examine it. “I wasn’t sure it would work,” she says. “It was in that bag Leandra gave us back at Imogene’s house. I took it. Kept it just in case.”

  “Good,” I say.

  Sydney slips it back into her purse and takes out her phone. “Also, I recorded that entire thing.” She smiles.

  That means we got Jonah holding me against my will, the guys posting confessions online. There will be plenty for the newspaper to work with.

  “It sounds like Mr. Marsh finally came around too,” I say. “I’ll contact him and see if we can get him to file a complaint against the students and administration.”

  We’re quiet as we get onto the street, the cool night air blowing around us.

  “I think we got them,” I say. “And I think we protected the girls of Ridgeview.”

  “And now we focus on saving ourselves,” she replies.

  Sydney puts her arm around my shoulders, leaning her temple against mine. Her phone begins to buzz, and when she looks at the screen she immediately straightens.

  “It’s Marcella,” she says. We move away from the house, walking toward our apartment, as she answers.

  “Hi,” Sydney says. “You girls okay?”

  She listens for a moment and then stops walking abruptly. “What?” she asks, sounding shocked. “Hold on. Mena’s here too.” She clicks the speaker button and holds the phone out in front of us.

  “I said it’s not them,” Marcella repeats, s
lightly out of breath.

  “What’s not them?” Sydney asks, looking at me.

  “It’s not one of the boys,” she says. “The investor doesn’t have a son. He has a daughter.”

  “You found him?” I ask. “How do you know?”

  “Because we found the money,” Brynn explains, far away at first and then into the line like she’s taken the phone from Marcella. “It’s a Mr. Goodwin. He contacted Jonah’s dad for a loan, a pretty large sum. He then funneled it through Ridgeview. He …”

  But my mind drifts for a second, stuck on that last name. When it hits me, my stomach sinks.

  “Who’s the daughter?” Sydney demands.

  “Adrian,” I say before Brynn can.

  “Wait, you know her?” Brynn asks, surprised. Sydney swings to face me with a pained expression.

  “Is it possible she knew who we were from the start?” Sydney asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I murmur. I think back to our conversations, any moment where Adrian could have given herself away, but nothing stands out. Then again, I wasn’t looking closely. With the boys, we had our guard up all the time. I guess I had my own double standard.

  Still … I’m convinced that Adrian is my friend. I don’t think she’s faked that.

  “What’s her address?” I ask Brynn.

  “You’re not going there,” Sydney says, incredulous.

  “I am,” I say. “I have to know why her father would invest in something so awful. I mean … Goodwin pays money for an academy to create AI to abuse, all while his own daughter is being abused in the private school he sends her to.” My voice begins to ratchet up. “Does he know what she’s going through? Does he know what he’s put us through?”

  Sydney bites her lip, thinking it over. All we needed was his information. We could pass it along now to Leandra, to Winston Weeks. We could give it to the newspaper or even Rosemarie.

  But we’re the ones who need answers. We need to know why the academy was created. We need to know why it’s continuing to be funded.

  “She’s right,” Marcella says into the phone line. “We need to talk to him.”

  “Okay,” Sydney agrees. “Come pick us up.”

  She gives Marcella the closest cross streets, and we head that way, readying ourselves to face down the investor.