Girls with Razor Hearts

by Suzanne Young

  “I hope Claire’s okay,” Brynn says.

  “I’m sure she is,” I say, although I have no idea. Then again, I don’t imagine Raven would hurt her. Fix her? Yes. Maybe spy on her on bit. But not destroy her. Not with the way she loves our tech.

  Sydney tries to brush my hair off my forehead, but it’s stiff from dried sweat. “You should take a shower,” she says. “And Jackson has a first aid kit if you need help with those scrapes on your thigh.”

  Jackson flinches at the idea of me being hurt, but he doesn’t look over. “Yeah, I’ll clean it up for you if you want,” he says.

  “He’s weirdly good at it,” Sydney says. “Like a little medic.” He laughs.

  “That’d be great,” I tell him. Jackson seems sad, but I have to admit that although there’s still so much wrong, being with the girls and with Jackson instantly feels like home.

  I get up and cross to the bathroom, closing the door to shower.

  * * *

  Hot water and torn skin are a terrible mix. When I’m done showering, in a significant higher amount of pain than when I started, I wrap myself in a towel and call to Jackson. I sit on the edge of the tub and he pokes his head in the doorway nervously, as if making sure I’m dressed. I wave him in.

  The room is still a little steamy, but it dissipates quickly. I watch as Jackson sets up a first aid station on the counter, and when he’s done, he puts his crutches aside and finds his balance.

  “Show me,” he says, motioning to my leg.

  I push up the edge of the towel to show him the scratches on my outer thigh. They look worse than I imagined, and Jackson winces when he sees them. He eases into a kneeling position in front of me.

  “I don’t think of you like that, you know,” he says, opening one of the alcohol pads.

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “I don’t think of you as a machine,” he says, looking up at me. “And I don’t think of you as a status symbol. Both the investor and those guys at Ridgeview are wrong.”

  “What do you think of me as?” I ask. “And you can’t say ‘a person.’ ” I smile at him. He reaches to tenderly wipe my scrape with the alcohol, and I suck in a breath and grip his shoulder.

  “Sorry,” he whispers, finishing up before getting a gauze pad.

  “I think of you as Mena,” he says simply as he tapes the edges. “Just … Mena. No other label required.” He pauses with his eyes lowered.

  “I’m kind of in love with you too,” he adds quietly. “I just… I don’t know what I want to do about that yet.” He looks up at me again. “Is that okay?” he asks.

  I nod that it is, my heart beating faster. We stare at each other, close together in a motel bathroom as he kneels on the dirtiest floor I’ve ever seen.

  “It’s understandable,” I add, starting to smile. “I’m the rebel type. That’s what the investor told me at his house when he thought we were going to kill him.”

  “Huh, did he now?” Jackson replies, getting up to put the first aid supplies back inside the box. “Since he was being so revealing, did he admit to being the creepy perverted type? Or was he the raging sex-monster type?”

  “The first one, I think,” I say, pretending to be sure.

  Jackson shakes his head and then grabs his crutches. “Come on,” he says, reaching out his hand to help me up. “I was going to buy us candy from the vending machine.”

  “Always saying the right thing,” I say, slowly letting his fingers slide from mine as we walk back out into the room with the others.

  * * *

  I still have nightmares. I sleep in the bed with Sydney wearing one of Jackson’s T-shirts and a pair of his boxers. Marcella and Brynn are in the other bed while Jackson takes the floor between us.

  In my dream, Anton is waiting for us at a train station. For a moment, I’m not sure if I’m in the past or the future. He looks older, but I feel younger.

  “I gave you this life,” he says, holding an ice pick in his hand. “And I can take it away.”

  When I turn to run, something catches my ankles, pulling me down. And then I’m being dragged along the train platform, screaming for help while others, humans, just watch curiously.

  And then Anton is above me, leaning close to my face.

  “It’s you and me until the end, Philomena,” he says. “You know this.”

  And then he raises the ice pick to jab through my eye.

  * * *

  “Mena,” Sydney whispers.

  I yelp, sitting up and gasping for breath. Light streams through the curtains, and it takes me a moment to get my bearings. I’m in the motel room.

  “Mena, it’s okay,” Sydney says, rubbing her palm over my back. “You were having a nightmare.”

  I look around, still breathing heavily. I find Brynn and Marcella at the edge of their bed, riveted by the TV.

  “Where’s Jackson?” I ask, momentarily confused as I wipe the sleep from my eyes.

  “He went to get bagels,” Brynn says, still watching the television. After a moment, she mutes it and turns toward me, her eyes wide.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “It’s all over the news,” Brynn says.

  “What is?” I ask. The girls start filling me in on what I missed.

  Garrett Wooley, it appears, has run away. At least, that’s what the news reports say. After the initial story surfaced late last night, two girls came forward today to say that he attacked them and then intimidated them into silence. When the police went to his house to question him, he was gone.

  “And the other boys?” I ask. “Jonah and Lyle?”

  “Well,” Marcella says, leaning on her elbows. “Another girl accused Jonah of the same thing, and he was arrested. They had a video that he posted in a private forum. Anyway, he hired some big-time attorney; I think it’s his father. But Lyle agreed to testify against Jonah. And Garrett, if they ever find him.”

  Marcella goes on to say that the boys’ misconduct has become a major news story. Other guys have come forward to corroborate some of the reports—starting with Demarcus. Mr. Marsh resigned from the school, but he’s cooperating with the district attorney on an investigation into Ridgeview. The vice principal has been dismissed and is named in at least one of the lawsuits.

  And it’s so easy that it’s frustrating at the same time. All the accusations are suddenly given more weight because they’re seconded by a man. How quickly would society change if all men did this? If all men stood up for what was right?

  I guess it starts somewhere. Maybe it’ll start with Ridgeview.

  The phone in the motel rings, and we all look at it curiously. Marcella gets up on her knees and moves toward it. She pauses a long moment before answering.

  “Hello?” she asks quietly. Her posture stiffens, and then she looks at me. Clearly, they’re asking for me. I nod that it’s okay, whoever it is has already found me, and I hold out my hand.

  I bring the phone to my ear without saying anything at first.

  “Hello, Mena,” Winston says. “I’m outside your room. Would you mind coming out to speak with me?”

  I’m stunned, and when I can think of no reply, I hang up. I look around at the girls.

  “Was that Winston?” Marcella asks, horrified.

  “Yes,” I say. “He’s outside.” I point toward the window, and Brynn claps her hand over her mouth.

  “What do we do?” she asks behind her palm.

  “Well, I guess I’ll go talk to him,” I say. I turn to Sydney. “Call Jackson and tell him to stay away until Winston’s gone. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

  “Got it,” she says, reaching for her phone.

  I get up, smooth my oversized shirt, and tug down the hem of the boxers. I check with the girls, and when they say it looks all right, I walk outside.

  Winston Weeks is resting against the hood of his shiny black car, parked in front of my dusty motel room. He couldn’t look more out of place if he tried. But he literally laughs when
he sees what I’m wearing.

  “You look precious, Philomena,” he says.

  “How’d you even find me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “That boy you travel with isn’t subtle,” he says, trying to hide his contempt for Jackson.

  “Okay,” I say. “Then what do you want?”

  “Don’t be difficult,” he says. “I’m here to talk to all the girls.” He starts for the door, but I quickly dart in front of it, blocking his path.

  “I think you should ask them first,” I say. “You don’t get to decide that they’ll talk to you. Get permission.”

  I enjoy Winston’s discomfort. Asking means he can be refused. For all his preaching about our rights, the idea that we have autonomy—when it doesn’t suit him—makes him uneasy.

  Welcome to the future, Winston Weeks.

  “Of course,” he says after a moment. “Hello, girls,” Winston calls out, annoyingly formal, especially here. “May I come in and speak with you for a bit?”

  There’s no response, but then the door opens, and Marcella looks out, eyeing him suspiciously. She turns to me to make sure I approve. I tell her it’s fine. She opens the door the rest of the way.

  I walk inside with Winston Weeks following behind me.

  He surveys the room, a heavy look of disgust in his expression. He starts to sit down but then thinks better of it. He goes to stand in front of the television, as if commanding our attention.

  “We need to talk, girls,” he says. Marcella rolls her eyes. “Last night’s entire incident with those boys was counterproductive for our cause. I’m disappointed.”

  Sydney scoffs from the other side of me. Marcella leans forward.

  “Sorry, Dad,” Marcella says, earning a laugh from Brynn.

  “Those boys at Ridgeview were horrible,” I say. “I’m glad they’re finally facing consequences.”

  Winston allows this. “I understand, Philomena,” he says gently. “But sometimes there are bigger monsters that need to be slain first. That’s what you girls don’t understand yet. The narrative shifts. Sure, these boys lost their scholarships, maybe a few will actually do time. But nothing changes, not at this level. Soon there will be think pieces about their lives being ruined. Some will even call it a hoax. Starting at the bottom protects no one. You should have gone for the red meat first.”

  Winston would have let the boys of Ridgeview get away with mass harassment if it meant they could serve a purpose for him. Allowing the misbehavior of other men when it benefits him.

  “Although it was noble of you to help the female students of Ridgeview,” he continues, “it could have ruined everything.”

  “But it didn’t,” Sydney says. “Turns out, we saved everyone. Interesting how compassion and competence work better than war and blackmail. Try it sometime.”

  “But you’ve hurt your own cause,” he says.

  “How do you figure?” I ask. “We stopped the investor.”

  Winston looks at me darkly. “Mr. Goodwin is dead.”

  My expression falters. “What? What … What are you talking about?”

  “What you’ve all failed to comprehend is that the corporation is filled with people who kill anyone who stands in their way. They have no loyalty, even though they demand it. If you had brought him to me, I could have made Goodwin talk, found different ways to infiltrate and cut off funding. Now we won’t have that chance.”

  I look at the other girls, but none of us have checked on Mr. Goodwin’s well-being. It strikes us as sickeningly possible that he’s dead, and guilt crawls over me. Even though he may not deserve my sympathy, it would mean that Adrian lost her dad. And despite everything, she still loved him.

  “I think it’s time for you to leave,” Sydney says abruptly to Winston. She’s disturbed by this development, but she doesn’t want to show Winston Weeks any of that.

  Winston doesn’t argue. He nods and heads for the door, pausing there like he’s waiting for me. Despite the other girls staring at me as if telling me not to, I walk Winston to his car.

  “That went well,” I tell him, standing at the curb while he opens the driver’s side door.

  “It was expected,” he says. “By the way, I know you were at my house last night. You left a bloody fingerprint on my wall.” He looks sideways at me, his expression holding a hint of amusement. “You should have come in and had a glass of wine.”

  “I wasn’t thirsty,” I say. “I don’t appreciate being spied on, Winston.”

  “I understand,” he says. “But Raven was there to assist you. I wanted you to see that my way is better. That my girls are better. Sure, you were trained to be well behaved and beautiful, but you’re also smart. Savvy. Your usefulness extends beyond that of a trophy wife. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I say. “But to be fair, I’ve only seen Lennon Rose as one of your … girls.” I detest giving him ownership of any of us, but I need it to prove my point. “And you don’t exactly have a handle on her behavior.”

  “Yes,” he agrees. “Lennon Rose was always a risky option. One that didn’t pan out. But there are others.”

  “Other girls?” I ask. “Then where are they?” I motion around. “I haven’t met any.”

  Winston laughs. “My goodness,” he says. “I thought you’d figured it out. I thought that was why you came to my house.”

  “Figured what out?” I ask.

  “Raven,” he says proudly. “I built her myself.”

  My breath catches like I’m falling through the air. “What?” I whisper. “Raven is a girl?”

  “Not a girl,” he says. “No, she’s not like you or the others. She was never trained to be obedient. She was given full free will and extensive skills. Highly intelligent, compassionate, intuitive.”

  “But she doesn’t know what she is,” I say the moment I realize.

  “She doesn’t know,” he repeats.

  My hand curls into a fist at my side. “You’ve lied to her,” I say.

  “What I’ve done is give her freedom from having to agonize about her existence,” he explains. “Raven believes her backstory, that she came here to continue her interests in AI. But everything after that, those were all her choices. Sure, I led her to you, but she’s helped. She put up firewalls and evaluated your programming.”

  “And stole our memories,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Small price,” he replies. “Raven is the next level of girl. She’s the future.”

  “She doesn’t even know what she is,” I shoot back immediately.

  “Eventually we’ll tell her.”

  He uses “we” as if I’m his partner in this. I don’t approve and I tell him so.

  “You’ll grow into the idea,” he says. He glances around at the motel. “I still have more surprises for you, Philomena, once you’re open to hearing about them.” He sighs and motions around the building.

  “Do you need money?” he asks, confused. “You can do better than this.”

  “We’re not staying long.”

  This concerns him. “No?” he asks. “And where will you go?”

  “I’ll email you.”

  “Ah,” he says, realizing I’m not going to tell him. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. There’s a lot we can accomplish, you and I.”

  “There’s a lot I can accomplish without you,” I respond.

  Winston nods that I’ve made a good point, and then he gets in his car and drives away.

  30

  When Jackson returns to the motel, he has a plastic bag looped around his arm. Once inside, he takes out a box of bagels and sets them on the dresser.

  “I’m starving,” Marcella says, taking out a bagel while I tell Jackson about Winston Weeks’s visit. When I’m done, he seems confused.

  “So Raven … the hacker?” he says. “She’s a girl too?”

  “She’s AI,” I say. “Not really meant to be a girl, I guess.”

  “The investor missed a type, then,�
�� Jackson says, glancing at me. “The I’m-not-like-other-girls type.” I snort and point at him to let him know it’s a good joke.

  “So what now?” Sydney asks. “I mean, Raven got inside our heads and told Winston everything. Our entire lives. But … she really did help lock out Anton and Rosemarie. So … what does that mean?” she asks.

  “And she didn’t tell him about Jackson,” I say. “She pretended not to know him.”

  “That’s right!” Brynn says, motioning to Jackson. “All humans want to kill you. So you should be careful.”

  Jackson eases himself down on the edge of the bed. “Thanks, Brynn,” he says. She smiles and bites into the bagel Marcella hands her.

  “It means Raven’s playing both sides,” Marcella says. “And who knows, maybe she genuinely does care for us. Clearly Winston doesn’t know anything about our emotions.”

  “We need Lennon Rose,” I say.

  “Uh … ,” Sydney starts. “I’m not sure we need to add Lennon Rose to the mix right now. Didn’t Raven say she was out of control?”

  “Sure, but maybe that means she’s with us,” I offer. “She hates Anton as much as we do. He may have let her leave the academy, but she resents him. And if she knew he was coming for us, she’d want to fight too. I know it.”

  “I agree,” Brynn says. “Lennon Rose may have changed, but she still loves us.”

  “Do you have any idea where she is?” Sydney asks.

  “There’s only one place I can think of,” I say. “If she’s not with Winston and she’s not with us, she has to be at Rosemarie’s house. I have a feeling she’s been going there a lot.”

  “And you intend to walk right into Rosemarie’s plan,” Sydney says.

  “Pretty much,” I reply.

  “Well,” Marcella says, “then here’s my plan. We finish these bagels, we find Lennon Rose, and then we leave this town and search for the next investor.”

  “While we’re at it, we should track down Leandra,” I say.

  “Shit,” Jackson says under his breath. I turn to him, reaching over to take his hand.

  “We’ll protect you,” I whisper encouragingly.