Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks #1)

I leave, but once in the hallway, I’m startled by a figure near my room. Guardian Bose smiles at me, holding a glass of water and a small paper cup with my nightly vitamins. I politely smile back at him.

“How’s your knee?” he asks, not looking at it as I approach.

“All better,” I say. “Thank you for asking.”

He nods while I enter my room, then follows me inside. He closes the door behind me.

“Let me ask you something, Mena,” he says, turning to study my expression. “That boy you were talking to today, did you know him?”

I’m taken aback by the question. “Of course not,” I say. “Why?”

“No reason,” he says. He walks over to the nightstand to set down my vitamins and water. “He was probably just captivated by your beauty. Or perhaps you led him on, either way . . .” He shrugs like it doesn’t matter, and runs his gaze up and down my pajamas, taking me all in.

Something about the way he does this makes me feel ashamed, and I lower my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest even though we’re not supposed to fidget.

“Well, you have a good night, Mena,” the Guardian says. He steps closer, towering over me, and leans down to press his dry lips to my forehead. “See you in the morning,” he murmurs.

I stand there a moment after he leaves, my arms still around me. I turn expectantly to my nightstand. Next to the glass of water is the small plastic cup with capsules, two pinks and one green.

Every night, the academy delivers a regimen of vitamins tailored to our specific needs. I’m normally one pink and one green. But I’m guessing the incident at the gas station requires an extra dose.

I sigh heavily and quickly gulp down the capsules before getting into bed.





6


I love mornings. The other girls think I’m unhinged, the way I normally smile through breakfast and hum in the shower. Only Lennon Rose likes mornings as much as I do, but Lennon Rose likes almost everything.

As I stretch this morning, I see the white box lying inside my doorway with a big red bow. My dress.

I rub my eyes, sleep still clinging to the edges of my mind. I never remember my dreams, but this morning, there is the hint of something there—an idea just out of my reach. Something about roses. But the more I try to grab it, the farther away it gets.

When it’s gone entirely, I look at the white box again.

Mr. Petrov furnishes each girl with a gown for the open house. He has them made especially for us. Part of me wishes I could pick out my own dress, one without so many sparkles, but the Head of School is very particular. I’m grateful for his attention to detail.

I get up, tugging down the hem of my pajama shorts, and walk over to the box. I bring it back to my bed and untie the bow, carefully removing the lid. I brush through the tissue paper and my fingers graze the garment. It’s sharp with sequins. I slowly drag the fabric from the box, making sure it doesn’t touch the floor.

It’s beautiful. A full-length white sequin dress—iridescent in the light. Formfitting with a low-cut top. It’ll fit perfectly since the academy has my measurements, but it weighs a lot in my hands now. I lay the dress on top of its box without trying it on and go to the bathroom to put on my clothes for Running Course.

Running Course isn’t terrible—we mostly enjoy it. We get to be outside, creating lean muscle and toning our legs. The best part, though, is that since we’re already surrounded by iron fencing, the Guardian doesn’t join us. It’s one of the few places where we have zero supervision.

Although I’m wearing my warmest track clothes and a head band covering my ears, the wind is cold on my face. The other girls have already been out here for a while when I fall into step next to them, little puffs of air visibly escaping our lips as we round the building. Nights and mornings in these Colorado mountains are always cold. The spring is no exception.

We reach the side of the academy where there are no windows or doors. Just a wall of bricks. Sydney is beside me when she suddenly reaches out to grab my arm, making me stumble to a stop. I’m about to ask if she’s okay when I see her staring into the trees. I follow her gaze there.

Nothing moves other than the occasional shake of leaves in the wind.

The rest of the girls continue past us, taking their run times very seriously. Sydney moves a step closer to the woods, and I come to stand next to her.

“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

When Sydney turns back to me, she can barely contain her smile, her eyes flashing mischief.

“Quick,” she says, taking my hand and pulling me toward the fence before the other girls can notice we’re gone. She tucks us between the iron and an overgrown bush that has overtaken the bars, creating an arch.

My heart races, unsure of what Sydney has planned. I check back for the other girls, but they’ve already rounded the side of the building, buying us about five minutes.

Sydney takes me by the shoulders, and I ask again what she’s doing. She responds by licking her palm and then using it to smooth down my flyaways. I swat her hand, but she’s determined. She moves me to the side, posing me so that I’m completely hidden under the leaves.

When she’s done fussing, I put my hand on my hip, glaring at her.

“Please, Sydney,” I say. “My head is starting to hurt.” And it does, a small pain behind my left eye, presumably from the extra capsule I took last night. Nothing else about my routine is different. It happens occasionally if we have too many vitamins. I’ll let the doctor know.

Sydney smiles brilliantly. “You have company,” she says, and motions behind me.

I spin around, confused, and catch sight of someone behind the bush. I gasp, but before I get truly frightened, the person steps toward the fence.

Jackson.

He looks understandably mortified to be hiding in the bushes outside the bars of my school.

I turn back to Sydney. “How did you know he was—?”

“I saw him this morning,” she says, impatiently waving Jackson over. I look at him and he takes a step closer.

“You’re all right,” he says to me, sounding relieved. “I had to check on you. And I, uh . . . I also brought your candy.” He holds up the plastic bag. “Most of it got crushed, and Quentin ate, like, half, but there’s still some left. Thought you might want it. You know, if you were still alive. Which you are. Thankfully.” He closes his eyes, admonishing himself for rambling. After running his palm down his face, he flashes me an embarrassed smile.

Sydney leans in. “You’re doing a great job, Jackson,” she tells him encouragingly.

He thanks her, and his eyes find mine. He reaches out with the bag so I can grab it through the bars.

Before I take it, Sydney points to a hidden section of the bars where the rusted metal is cracked, offering enough space for me to slip through. It would break several rules to do so, and I have a strong moment of doubt, thinking about Anton’s warning: Be better next time.

But it also would be rude to leave Jackson standing there without at least seeing why he came all this way. I feel a shot of adrenaline as I slip through the bars.

Sydney checks over her shoulder and tells me to be careful. I hear the echo of the other girls’ feet jogging this way. “See you in fifteen,” she adds, winking at me. She exchanges a quick goodbye with Jackson and then runs to rejoin the girls.

My heart is thumping wildly as Jackson and I walk a few yards into the woods to keep out of sight. We find a thick patch of bushes with a broken log behind them that we can sit on. It’s a little damp, but I don’t mind. When Jackson sits next to me, the wood creaking, I notice scratches on his hand, and a few marks on his leather coat.

“You’re hurt,” I say, concerned. I trace one of the longer scratches on his hand with my fingertip, never actually touching him.

Jackson inspects his scratches now that I’ve pointed them out. “Huh,” he says. “Well, yeah. Those woods are downright treacherous. Not exactly student-friendly.”