“I feel different today,” Sydney says as she takes her spot next to me. She looks down at her food. “The moment I woke up, I felt different.”
“I feel angry,” Annalise says, and we all look at her. Brynn tells her to keep it down, worried the Guardian or one of the professors will hear her, but she lifts her chin defiantly. “I don’t care,” she says. “I am.”
It’s such a surprising statement, being angry. Do the professors even know we can get angry? Would that be assigned immediate impulse control therapy?
The dining hall doors open, and I’m surprised to see Rebecca walk in. If she’s back already, it must have been a short impulse control therapy. I watch her as she walks to take a seat next to Ida, smiling pleasantly when she does. She immediately picks up her spoon and takes a bite of oatmeal.
“Are you okay?” I hear Ida ask her. Rebecca tilts her head, seeming confused by the question.
“Yes,” she says finally. “Anton and I had intensive therapy, and he offered me coping mechanisms. I’m one hundred percent now.” She smiles. “I’ve made him very proud.”
Ida furrows her brow, but then nods like that’s great. She goes back to eating, but I notice her slide in her seat, getting a bit of distance from Rebecca.
I, on the other hand, watch her. I want to note any changes in Rebecca, trying to figure out what I’d be getting myself into if I went through with this plan.
What if I end up like that? Obedient. Unaware. I swallow hard, considering the horrible possibilities. But then, there is a shadow as Valentine comes to sit with us at the table, taking Lennon Rose’s spot. I see Sydney flinch at this, but she doesn’t ask her to move.
“We should do it before the field trip,” Valentine says, mumbling it under her breath so as to look like she’s not talking. My stomach clenches, prickles of fear on my skin.
“And when’s that?” I ask.
She looks up at me, her brown eyes sparkling in the light. Her face flawless as usual. “Wednesday,” she says, “I heard Professor Levin talking about it. A movie, I think. Either way”—she checks to make sure the staff can’t hear us—“we’ll be off campus. We’ll have possibilities. But it’ll be a lot harder if we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
“What is this about?” Sydney asks, looking from Valentine to me. “What are you talking about? What are you planning to do?”
She’s worried, and I know what I’m about to tell her will only make it so much worse.
I’ve thought about intentionally putting myself in impulse control therapy, considered the options. Sure, the girls and I could just run—but what would we say? What would stop our parents from sending us back? Where would we go if not home? Jackson told me the men who run the academy are powerful. What does that even mean?
And it’s not just that. It’s not just about getting away from the school.
Where is Lennon Rose? What did they do to her? What if—?
I stop the thought. I won’t imagine that anything terrible has happened to Lennon Rose. I won’t even let that thought into my mind.
We need knowledge; we crave it regularly. And this is my chance to get answers. Even if it’s risky. But it’s not just about me. It’s about us. It’s about the girls.
I lean into the table and motion for the girls to do the same. As quickly and as quietly as I can, I tell them that I plan to get sent to impulse control therapy. We know that we wake up in a separate room where the procedure is administered. So while I’m there with Anton, it’ll be up to the girls to look for information in his office—things about the school, the investors. And when I return from therapy, they have to make sure I don’t take the vitamins. I want them to show me the poems to remind me of why I’m fighting.
“Figure out what the school is doing to us,” I say. “Figure out why. And figure out how to undo it. But . . . don’t let them erase the therapy,” I ask, my eyes tearing up with the possibility. “Don’t make me go through this for nothing.”
“We won’t,” Marcella promises, reaching over to grab my hand. Valentine smiles like it’s all settled, but next to me, Sydney sniffles. I look at her, telling her not to cry.
“I can’t let you do this,” she says. “If they’re really doing these kinds of things, Mena, I can’t—”
“Something else happened,” I whisper. I wasn’t going to tell the girls, afraid of upsetting them. But I see now that secrets can be dangerous. And keeping this from them puts them in danger of being his next victim.
“Guardian Bose came to my room last night,” I say, barely audible.
The girls look at me, sensing there’s more to the story. I take a moment, letting us sit in quiet so it doesn’t look like we’re conspiring, and then I tell them about him drugging me, touching my leg, threatening to kill me.
Marcella’s face is flushed, and I see Annalise grip Brynn’s arm under the edge of the table. We can’t react, holding in our righteous anger.
“So if doing this can stop them from hurting other girls, can stop Bose”—I look at each of them—“it’ll be worth it.”
A second goes by, all of us looking at each other, and then we turn toward the end of the table where Rebecca is sitting obediently. She is pleasant and proper as she eats her tasteless oatmeal.
As she follows the rules.
• • •
I consider the options. I’m capable of doing that, now that the vitamins are most certainly out of my system—no longer clouding my judgment. Despite the sedative making me sleep, it seems to have no other lasting effect.
Sitting on my bed, I open up my palm and look at the tiny scratch left over from my last trip to the woods. I trace it as I think.
If I go straight to Anton, he could instantly put me in impulse control therapy. But . . . I fear it’ll be harder to convince him. He might see through my act. I wouldn’t just volunteer, not out of the blue like this. I need a professor to turn me in. Someone who can tell Anton secondhand about my behavior.
It’s one thing to hear I’ve been misbehaving. It’s another thing to see it firsthand. I worry that if Anton witnesses a meltdown, he could give me a deeper therapy, one I might not be able to come back from.
I have to outsmart the men of Innovations Academy. Press on their weaknesses. Their soft spots.
I glance at the clock and see that it’s time for Modesty and Decorum with Professor Penchant. And I know he’ll be an easy target—he’s already so dismissive of us. Always ready to punish us. Afterward, I’ll tell Anton that perhaps my teacher was a bit . . . overzealous.
After a cleansing breath, I get my book. I meet the other girls in the hallway, Valentine joining us, and we head to class.
Annalise walks into Modesty and Decorum first, tossing her red hair over her shoulder as she passes Professor Penchant. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes follow her all the way to her desk. I notice his predatory stare, and see Brynn’s jaw tighten as she notices it too. To think that we didn’t used to notice this . . . Our eyes are open now.
Rebecca arrives then, but as she walks into class, her notebook slips out of her hand. She drops it, apologizing profusely.
“It’s fine,” I say, picking it up for her. I smile encouragingly, and she thanks me. Her eyes, however, hold a vacancy that wasn’t there before.
“Ah,” Professor Penchant says, making my heart trip. “Philomena.”
Rebecca hurries to her seat, but I turn to the professor. “Good morning,” I tell him.
He smiles, his pointy teeth showing. His gaze drifts over to Rebecca.
“I hope you’ll rethink your choice of friends next time,” he tells me, although he’s admonishing her. “You don’t need to associate with such creatures.”
Rebecca bows her head in embarrassment. Clearly the professor is not willing to forgive her, even if she has nothing to be sorry for. Showing my anger might be a bit easier than I thought it would be.
Professor Penchant continues to watch Rebecca, as if daring her to talk bac
k when he knows she won’t. It’s a show of power against a girl he controls. His eyes travel from the ends of her hair to the tips of her shoes. He huffs out a sound.
“I’m friends with all the girls, sir,” I tell the professor pleasantly, and take my seat in front of Annalise. She chews on her pen, her foot underneath my chair, bobbing her knee with impatience.
“That’s all very well,” Professor Penchant says to me. “But a girl must protect her reputation. Who you surround yourself with says a lot about you.”
“Yes, it does,” I murmur, thinking about him and the other professors sitting together at breakfast.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Professor Penchant announces. “You will listen and behave. No more. No less. You do not need opinions—we’ll tell you what’s good for you. Insubordination will not be tolerated,” he adds. “Remember, while you’re here, you belong to us.”
He nods like he’s made his point and turns back to the board. He uncaps his marker to start writing out the rules for our field trip.
A few girls wilt. He has no right to tell us who we belong to. He has no right to say many of the things that he does.
And a sense of defiance hits me so hard that I nearly swoon with it. My hand shoots up into the air. “Professor Penchant?” I call.
He looks back over his shoulder, annoyed—especially since he thought he was done talking.
“Yes, Philomena,” he asks.
“Where’s Lennon Rose?” I ask. The words are clear and simple. Nothing in them showing the disobedience he just warned about. His expression, however, falters. I feel several girls turn to me.
“That’s none of your business,” Professor Penchant answers, turning around fully. “She’s no longer a student of this academy.”
“But she’s my friend,” I say. “I’d like to know where she is.” Again, I keep my temper under control, careful not to tick the wrong boxes of insubordination.
“And Anton told you she’s with her parents. End of subject.” He goes back to the board, pressing harder on the marker as he writes, darkening the letters.
“I’d like to call her and check on her well-being,” I continue. The professor spins around so fast that I actually jump. Annalise’s leg stops bobbing.
Professor Penchant sets down his marker and takes several steps in my direction. “Why are you asking about her?” he demands. He looks around the room, and I worry he’ll see that the other girls aren’t as obedient as they used to be. I stand up, forcing him to keep his attention on me.
“Like I told you, professor,” I say. “She’s my friend. And I think—”
“Think,” he repeats viciously. “You’re not here to think, Philomena. You’re here to—”
“Mr. Weeks cares about my opinion,” I say, interrupting him. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to mention Winston Weeks—a guess, and I was right. Bringing up the investor infuriates him.
“Winston Weeks is not a professor at this academy!” he shouts, spittle flying from his lips. “He has no rights to you!”
I tilt my head, willfully misunderstanding. “I was under the impression that he is very highly regarded by the academy. After all, he’s the one who brought about this field trip. On my suggestion,” I add.
The professor’s mouth pulls into a sneer. “And what did you have to do to get such favor from him?”
“Are you jealous?” I ask, offended.
In a flash of movement, the professor slaps me hard across the face, knocking me against my desk. It’s a shock, and my eyes fill with tears before I even realize. Rather than apologize for upsetting him, I turn around and face him again. Standing up taller.
“I don’t belong to you,” I say, my voice taking an edge that I can’t quite control. “And I don’t belong to this academy.” I push my desk out of the way and step closer to him. He growls at me like a feral animal.
“My parents have paid to send me here,” I say louder. “They have the right to discipline me. Not you. Not the Guardian. Don’t touch me again.” And suddenly, it’s like a dam breaks inside of me. I’m not just talking to Professor Penchant. I’m talking to all the men at the academy. “Don’t touch me again!” I scream, making the hairs on my arm stand up. “You’re nothing but a sad man who hurts little girls for fun. And I will do everything I can to get you fired!”
It feels good to talk back, to raise my voice and be heard. I smile, feeling wild and unruly. Feeling free. My cheek stings from where he struck me, but it only spurs me on more. From the look on his face, he would hit me again.
But instead, the door opens and Guardian Bose walks in.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “Who’s shouting?”
Professor Penchant is heaving in breaths, his teeth bared. I’m sure it’s not easy for him when he tells the Guardian to remove me from class.
“Take her to Anton,” he says, furious. “Tell him she’s not coming back in this room until she gets impulse control therapy.”
I instinctively shrink back as Guardian Bose approaches me. But he seems perplexed as he grabs my arm. I follow him obediently from the room, exchanging a look with Annalise to let her know the plan is in motion.
I just hope I haven’t made a grave mistake.
19
As we walk, Guardian Bose looks sideways at me. “What the hell was that about?” he asks. He hasn’t let go of my arm, and his fingers are pressing painfully into my skin.
I don’t respond, not wanting to say anything that could contradict what I’m going to tell Anton. But my silence doesn’t sit well with the Guardian.
“You’re really starting to upset me, Philomena,” he says. He squeezes harder, and I wince, forcing myself to stay quiet. Only one more turn and then I’ll be at Anton’s door. I just have to make it—
But the Guardian jerks me to a stop. He spins me around to face him. He examines my eyes, looking me over thoroughly. I have to hold back any thoughts of him in my room last night. I have to block them out so they don’t show up plainly in my expression.
So when he gets nothing, I see his shoulders ease slightly. I realize he’s afraid I’m going to turn him in to Anton. She seems to decide that I offer no threats, so he lets me go. Instead, he puts his hand on my back and pushes me forward. And we walk in silence the rest of the way.
Anton opens his door before we knock. His expression is worried, his skin pale.
“Philomena,” he says, reaching for me immediately. “What happened?” He leads me inside, dismissing Guardian Bose without asking him his thoughts, and closes the door.
Anton motions to the chair on the other side of the desk and goes to sit down in his own. “Have a seat, Philomena,” he says. “I heard you’ve had quite the morning.”
Now that I’m in here, the idea of what’s going to come next—the fact that I don’t know—terrifies me. I dart my eyes around the room, wondering if I’ll be the same when I leave. My breathing is quickening, and the change in my behavior must be obvious.
Anton turns over the glass on his desk and fills it with water from a covered pitcher waiting there. “Here,” Anton says, setting it in front of me.
He pulls a pill bottle out of the middle desk drawer and shakes out a capsule, then he positions it next to the glass. “Take this,” he says. “It’ll help you calm down.”
“I’m calm,” I say, although my voice is strangled. My arm aches from where the Guardian grabbed me, and I rub the area. Anton smiles and nods to the pill.
“It’ll make you calmer,” he corrects. “Then it’ll be easier to talk. I insist.”
Do I have a choice? Tears leak from my eyes at the thought that I don’t. If I want to know more, I have to play the game—isn’t that was Valentine would suggest? Isn’t that what the girls with sharp sticks would do? Get answers.
I’m so scared.
Hesitantly, I pick up the pill and swallow it down with water. My hands are shaking so badly that the water spills down my chin.
“That’s v
ery good, Mena,” Anton says, leaning his elbows on his desk. “Very good, indeed. Now, we have to talk. I think we have a lot to discuss.”
I nod, and there is the smallest bit of numbness in my throat, as if some coating rubbed off from the pill that I swallowed. I wait for my nerves to calm, gripping the arms of the chair.
“You had an outburst in class, and I’ll admit that the timing is unusual. We’re four months from graduation. What triggered it this time? My first guess is it was because of Lennon Rose’s abrupt departure. Am I right?” He seems curious about the answer.
There is a small sway in my chest, a release. The pill is beginning to work, and my breathing slows—still elevated, but approaching normal. My throat is dry when I try to answer. I start to talk, but I struggle and have to take a sip of water and try again. Anton waits patiently.
“What happened to Lennon Rose?” I ask.
“I told you—her parents couldn’t afford the tuition, and—”
“What really happened to her?” I ask, my guard lowering. My words honest. “She didn’t even have her shoes.” And an idea strikes me, scares me. “Did the Guardian do something to her?”
Anton laughs. “What?” he asks. “No, of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”
I watch him to see if he’s lying, but he seems surprised by the question.
“He has been violent with us before,” I say. “Dr. Groger said the Guardian was with her before she disappeared. Contradicting what you told me.”
“First of all,” Anton says. “Lennon Rose didn’t disappear. I assure you, she walked out of this academy of her own volition. Guardian Bose, although his methods are becoming concerning, would never hurt you.”
“He has hurt me.”
“Not in a way that can’t be repaired,” Anton corrects. “So, no, he didn’t kill Lennon Rose, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He looks me over. “Is that it?” he asks. “Your outburst was about Lennon Rose? Nothing else?”
Girls with Sharp Sticks Page 18
