“The Guardian,” Brynn says, widening her eyes. “I think he has a phone. I’ve seen him use it on our field trips. It’s probably in his room.”
I look at Sydney, and although we’re quiet, we know that we have to get to that phone.
“Just after dinner,” Brynn says. “The Guardian is never around.”
“He’s been helping Dr. Groger in the evenings,” Marcella agrees. “You’ll have some time.”
It’s a terrifying thought—sneaking around in the Guardian’s room. Going through his things. But what other choice do we have? This might be it.
“Will that work?” I ask Sydney. Reluctantly, she nods.
Brynn reaches her hand into the center of the table, and all of us reach out, gripping each other. I don’t want to let go, strengthened by their touch, but we don’t hold on too long. We can’t draw attention.
“We run tonight,” Marcella whispers. “We run for each other.”
I agree, and the other girls nod, including Annalise. We’ll stick together no matter what. Codependent, I think Anton called it. But it’s not. It’s our strength.
• • •
We’re not allowed to meet together in our rooms anymore, so all of our conversations are had in passing, comments in the hallways, nods and winks in the classrooms.
I try not to feel anything but bravery. When Professor Allister calls Sydney worthless for missing a question about the Federal Flower Garden, slapping his pointer stick on her desk to scare her, I clench my fist in my lap. It’s clear to me that the professors are out of control now, all of their decorum gone.
They hate us passionately. They despise us because they know we hate them too. We don’t look up to them. We have no interest in their mediocrity.
We think they’re disgusting. We think they’re perverted and stupid and cruel. And without our admiration, we’re nothing to them.
But the truth is, without our admiration, they’re nothing.
Of course, there are some logistical issues with running away. We have no money, no identification. And even if we go to the authorities about what’s happening here, what proof do we really have? My memories? Files that are locked away in Anton’s office? What’s to stop the academy from telling them we’re the problem? That we’re lying?
The academy can take everything from us, because as Professor Penchant once put it when criticizing Ida in class, “No one listens to little girls anyway.”
But we’ve agreed that we’ll find out who else knows about Innovations Academy—the people Anton accused of spreading lies. Maybe they’re the people who can help us. We’ll expose what’s happening here. The whole school. We’ll spare none of them.
“Grab any money you have in your rooms,” I tell the girls as we walk in the hallway between classes. “And only bring a backpack. We have to travel light.”
“It’s too risky to leave before lights-out,” Marcella adds. “We’ll get a longer window if we leave at night.”
All the movies about men that they make us watch are proving to be useful when it comes to escaping the grips of other men.
“But how will we get outside?” Brynn asks.
We pause at the fountain while I take a drink. “The drawer in the kitchen has a bunch of keys,” I whisper with the water against my lips. “Even one to the lab.”
“Valentine,” Sydney says, sadly. I straighten up, wiping my hand across my mouth.
Our friend is missing, and we might have the chance to save her—we acknowledge that, not sure if it’ll work, but we don’t brush it aside. We know that she’d come for us.
But we don’t discuss it again, at least not yet. We can’t rescue her until we know we can get away from here.
We need a phone.
After finishing our classes for the day, the girls and I return to the dining hall. The smell of gravy, beef, and fresh-baked cookies fills the room. Only this time, I don’t long for their food. My stomach churns with nerves. My skin prickles with fear as the professors laugh and feast.
We notice that the Guardian isn’t here. Neither is Maryanne Lindstrom. We’re not sure what that means, and we communicate our worry without a word, afraid the plan will have to be altered.
But then Guardian Bose strolls in, clutching Maryanne by the upper arm. She looks dazed, vacant. The Guardian brings her to her seat before heading toward the professors’ table, flashing me a smile as he passes.
I check on Maryanne just as a small tear of blood leaks from her left eye. She wipes it away without fuss and picks up her spoon to sip from her soup demurely. I bet if I asked her how she was feeling, she’d tell me she’s made Anton very proud.
My breath is caught up in my chest. This is going to happen to all of us. Annalise swallows hard, staring at me from across the table. We’re scared. We don’t have much time.
The crackle of a walkie-talkie echoes in the quiet hall, and Guardian Bose takes his walkie-talkie off his hip. “Yeah, on my way,” he says impatiently. He pushes his empty plate back to the center of the table and stands up from the bench. “What a fucking mess,” he tells the professors. “I might be down there all night.”
“Yes, well,” Professor Penchant says, unbothered, reaching for another cookie. He coughs thickly before clearing his throat. “It’ll be over soon enough,” he adds. “Then we’ll finally get things back on track around here. The way they used to be. Back when girls knew how to behave.”
Several professors cast looks in our direction, and I quickly turn away.
Despite the threat in Professor Penchant’s words, I’m encouraged by the conversation. The Guardian will be downstairs, presumably for a long time. It should give us enough time to find his phone if he’s left it in his room.
When we’re dismissed from dinner a short while later, Annalise and Brynn stay behind to clean up. The rest of the girls and I return to our floor, Sydney looking over at me every few seconds as we walk.
As the other girls go into their rooms, I notice how quiet the academy seems tonight. Eerily so. Maybe it’s because we have fewer girls now, or it could be my nerves. Heightening every worry. Even my breathing feels too loud. Marcella stops at my room and glances toward the Guardian’s door.
He’s not in there, of course. He’s downstairs with Dr. Groger in the secret lab. He’s with Valentine; possibly Ida, too. It makes this task all the more urgent. But I’m still terrified.
Sydney takes my hand, trying to be brave for both of us.
“We can do this,” Marcella murmurs, her eyes glassy. “I’ll be at the stairs.” She nods, waiting for us to agree before going to stand post, just in case the Guardian returns.
Sydney and I head to his room, pausing one last moment. And then, with Sydney outside his door, I slip inside.
The Guardian’s room is neat, bed made with a smooth green blanket, an extra set of boots in the corner. I begin pulling open dresser drawers, finding perfectly folded T-shirts. There’s nothing out of place. But worse, there’s no phone.
I’m starting to get frantic, especially when Sydney knocks softly on the door and tells me to hurry up. I exhale gratefully when I find the Guardian’s phone plugged into the wall, tucked behind a chair. I quickly yank out the charger and rush to the door.
“Did you get it?” Sydney asks, wide-eyed as I walk out. We practically run back toward our rooms.
“I did,” I say, tucking it into the waistband of my skirt.
“Good,” Sydney says. “Now call Jackson and tell him not to be late.”
We wave Marcella over, and she places her hand over her heart in relief. The three of us separate to our rooms so as to not rouse any suspicion if the Guardian comes back. And if he does return, hopefully he won’t look for his phone.
I can’t close my bedroom door, so I immediately go inside the bathroom, sliding the pocket door closed.
I haven’t spoken to Jackson since the theater. I know he was the one who sent the sheriff, which was the best he could do—especially if he did it anony
mously. But nothing came of it. I can only imagine his fear. The way he’s probably running his hand though his hair, exhaling with frustration.
And I hope I haven’t scared him away. I told him not to touch me, and I made it pretty clear that I didn’t want his help. Will he give it to me now? I guess I’ll find out if he really cares after all.
I dial his number, relieved when I don’t get the recorded message telling me it’s not in service. As the phone rings, I try to work out what I’m going to say. I hold the phone to my ear, afraid he won’t answer. Terrified that he will.
“Hello?” Jackson asks, his raspy voice strained and raw. I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to talk for a moment. Overcome with relief that there’s still a world outside this academy.
“Hi,” I say.
There’s a string of relieved curses, and then, “Just tell me if you’re okay,” Jackson demands.
“Nothing is okay,” I reply. “But I’m not injured, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He moans out his worry, and I hear the screen door of his house open and close. The wind outside. “I’ve been there every day,” he says. “I’ve seen them reinforcing the fence. And I haven’t seen any girls. Fuck,” he yells out. “I thought you were all dead.”
“Not yet,” I say.
“Great,” he says flippantly. “So I’m coming to get you now. Which room is yours?”
“We’re locked in, Jackson.”
“Then tell me how to get inside.”
It’s sweet that he thinks he can just come in and rescue us. It’s a little delusional, too.
“The fence,” I remind him.
“Don’t worry about that part,” he says. “I’ll figure it out. Just tell me where to find you.”
“In the driveway,” I say. “We’re leaving tonight—just after midnight. Can you meet us with the car?”
“What?” he asks. “How . . . ? They’re not just going to let you walk out, Mena. I’m coming in.”
He’s not entirely wrong. If Guardian Bose or the professors catch on to our plan, we won’t make it to the gate. It might not be a terrible idea to have Jackson with us at the door—just in case things don’t go smoothly.
“Okay,” I say. “On the east side of the building is the door to the kitchen. We have the key. You’ll be there?”
“Of course I’ll be there,” he responds immediately. “And please, Mena. Just . . . be careful.”
“I will,” I whisper. “I will.”
He sniffles, and I think he might be crying. “Sure you will,” he says, doubtfully.
I smile, but then I hear movement from the rooms—one of the girls turning on the shower, which is a reminder to me that we still have to keep up appearances a little longer.
“I have to go,” I say. “I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon.”
Jackson and I hang up. I walk back out of my bathroom and check to make sure the hallway is clear. But just as I’m about to step out, I hear Guardian Bose’s voice echo up the stairwell. I dart back inside my room and hide the phone in my pillowcase, my heart in my throat.
“I’m not sure where he is,” Guardian Bose says impatiently. I realize from the sound of return static that he’s on the walkie-talkie. “Haven’t seen him since dinner. Do you want me to go to the residence?”
“No, no,” Dr. Groger’s voice trickles out. “If it’s important, Penchant will track me down, I’m sure. Just go about your duties. I’ll let you know if I need you.”
I stand just inside my doorway, listening as the Guardian returns to his room. I look back to where the phone is stashed on my bed. There’s no way I can return it now. Hopefully he doesn’t realize it’s missing. I wait for his booming voice, my hands shaking at my sides, but as the minutes pass, so does my fear.
When the quiet goes on, I turn to look around the small space of my room, waiting for a hit of nostalgia. But it doesn’t come. This room has always been my prison, even when I thought I was content. The academy stopped me from thriving, a flower they manipulated to only grow a certain way.
But instead, all of their flowers combined our roots and outgrew their pots. Their greenhouses. Their academy.
Even if we never get out of here, we’re free of their manipulation. And we can never go back to the way things used to be. And to that, I smile and quietly pack my bag.
27
Lights out, girls,” Guardian Bose announces from the hallway at the end of the night. This time, none us argue. None of us groan.
Instead, our hearts are pounding as we lie in our respective beds. I fake taking my vitamins as usual, and the Guardian lets his gaze linger on me a moment more than necessary. But he seems distracted, checking his walkie-talkie several times. He doesn’t even say good night.
Once he’s gone, I lie in the dark and watch the clock in anticipation.
At eleven forty-five, I get up to dress in my running clothes without turning on the light. After I slip on my sneakers, I look out the window, expecting some sign that Jackson is waiting. But of course he wouldn’t be sitting there with his headlights on.
I go to my door and stick my head out into the hallway. For a moment, I’m all alone. But then Sydney’s head pokes out from her doorway. In quick succession Annalise, Marcella, and Brynn all appear. We turn to the Guardian’s door, waiting. When there’s no movement, we slip outside our rooms, each of us in our running clothes with backpacks.
We’re nervous—glassy-eyed and jerky in our movements. We need to get the key for the kitchen door. Marcella motions us forward, leading the way. We follow closely behind her, checking around corners and in alcoves, making sure no one sees us as we descend the staircase toward the kitchen. The hallway is bleak with a flickering light on the wall.
The girls and I hold on to each other’s arms as we make our way into the dark kitchen. Normally, light would filter in through the window over the sink, but it’s pitch-black outside.
Marcella feels her way along the counter and gets to the drawer near the pantry. She quietly eases it open and begins to run her hand through it, looking for the key. She stiffens before darting over to the fridge, opening it to cast light into the room. I see a small plate of cookies next to the teakettle. An open box of tea.
Marcella begins going through the drawer again, her moves more frantic.
“What’s wrong?” Brynn asks. She looks around at us concerned. “Marcella, what’s wrong?”
“It’s not here,” Marcella whispers back. “There’s no gold key.”
“What?” Brynn asks, racing over to her. She begins to dig through the drawer, items rattling around. “No, it has to be.”
“There’s only this,” Marcella says, holding up the small silver key. The one that unlocks the lab in the basement.
My heart stops with the realization. “It was Leandra,” I whisper. “She . . . She took the other key so we couldn’t escape.”
The girls turn to me, horrified. “Why did she leave this one, then?” Marcella asks.
I don’t have the answer, and we don’t have time to figure out her reasoning. Every second we’re not in our rooms is another second we’re in danger.
We can’t get out.
“Come on,” Sydney says, grabbing my sleeve and pulling me toward the stairs to our rooms. “You have to call Jackson back,” she says. Marcella, Brynn, and Annalise follow—all of us growing reckless in our impatience. The fear that we’ll miss our chance for escape.
We get upstairs, keeping our eyes on Guardian Bose’s door while we hurry toward my room.
“Make sure he’s almost here,” Sydney whispers. “And tell him to bring a crowbar if he has to,” she adds in a shaky voice. The idea that we’re really trapped at the academy when we thought we had a way out makes us desperate. Irrational.
I still don’t know how we’ll get beyond the fence, but first we have to get outside. I dash over to my bed, dropping my backpack before taking the phone out of my pillowcase. I dial Jackson’s number.
“Hey,” I whisper the second he picks up. “The kitchen door is locked. We’ll need another way.”
The girls shift impatiently, motioning for me to hurry.
“I’m about fifteen minutes out,” Jackson says. I can hear that he’s in the car. “I’m coming to get you. Q is with me and—”
I open my mouth to tell him we can’t get out the door when I hear a shout at the end of the hall. “Girls!” Guardian Bose roars.
It’s like the floor drops out from under me. The phone falls from my hands, and I scramble for it, clicking it off and barely getting it under my pillow before the Guardian appears in the doorway, angry that we’re up past curfew.
“What the hell is going on?” he demands. But then his eyes travel over us, noting our clothing, our backpacks. His expression grows darker, his mouth flinches.
He grabs Annalise violently by her backpack strap, lifting her to her tiptoes. She cries out and I shout for him to let her go.
Guardian Bose turns his hatred on me and pushes Annalise away, knocking her into the wall. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asks. And it is hatred in his eyes—possessiveness that’s turned to resentment. To cruelty. He’d rather see us dead than gone.
Still, I debate lying, making some excuse in hopes of a reprieve. But the truth is, this was our only chance of escape. We won’t get out. Not now. He sees us with our backpacks. With our sneakers on.
“We’re leaving you,” I say, fear shaking my voice. “We’re leaving you, and we’re never coming back.” Even as I say the words, I know how impossible they are. But it feels good to say them nonetheless.
For a moment, Guardian Bose is shocked, but then he crosses his arms over his chest. He has complete control, even now.
“Without a goodbye kiss?” he asks, and laughs to himself.
“We hate you,” Annalise says suddenly, her face red with anger. “We hate you.”
He smiles at her. “Yeah,” he says simply. “But . . . I mean, you know you’re not leaving, right?”
The Guardian reaches to put his hand on Brynn’s shoulder, bringing her in front of him to face us. He squeezes her muscle, making her wince.
Girls with Sharp Sticks Page 26
