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

After a few more moments, I sniffle hard, wiping my face with the backs of my hands. I step out of the shower and pull on my uniform. I brush out my tangles of wet hair and then slick it back into a tight bun, ignoring my specifications. I put on only the required makeup so I don’t get reprimanded for looking plain. I’m supposed to “take pride in my appearance at all times.”

When the Guardian tells us all to gather in the dining hall for an announcement, we already know what it’s about, and the finalization of it feels even more devastating.

I leave my room and head downstairs, the first to arrive. Other girls begin entering the dining hall, and the ones who don’t know about Lennon Rose yet are chatting, smiling. Unaware of how we’re changed.

Brynn nods to me when she comes to the table, but we don’t say anything. I’m surprised when Valentine sits with us, saying a pleasant hello to Marcella when she arrives. Valentine smiles, seeming oblivious to what’s happened to Lennon Rose. I thought she’d said something to upset her, but the doctor told me Lennon Rose’s dismissal was over money. Maybe Valentine had just been trying to comfort her.

Sydney and Annalise are the last to arrive. Sydney’s eyes are puffy from crying. As they sit at the table, drawing stares from the other girls, there’s an open space left on the bench for Lennon Rose.

But Lennon Rose won’t be joining us today. She’s somewhere else, without shoes. Without her girls.

Valentine tilts her head, examining our expressions. “What’s wrong?” she asks. We’re silent for a moment, but I can’t ignore her question.

“Lennon Rose has left campus,” I tell her quietly. “She’s . . .” My voice hitches. “She’s not coming back.”

Brynn lowers her head, sniffling. And the other girls look positively sick over it. But Valentine stares back at me with no noticeable response. And then she says, “Huh.”

It’s stunning, her nonreaction. I’m about to say something about it when I hear the doors to the dining hall open.

“Can I have your attention, please?” Anton calls loudly as he enters the room. He’s wearing a fuzzy blue sweater over his polo, his glasses gone. Several girls smile at his presence, immediately comforted. But I watch with impatience, waiting for an explanation. Waiting for words that can alleviate my pain.

“This is going to be very difficult,” Anton begins, stopping at the front of the room. He slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, appearing both caring and vulnerable as he surveys our faces. He pauses, pressing his lips together when he notices me. He returns his focus to the room.

“One of our girls has left us,” he announces sympathetically. “It is with a heavy heart that I have to tell you that Lennon Rose is no longer with Innovations Academy. Her father came for her early this morning, as their family is moving out of state, and Lennon Rose will attend a wonderful school out east. She sends her love. As soon as she’s settled, I’ll reach out to her and see if we can start a correspondence. Not before. Until then, all we know is that Lennon Rose would want you to be happy,” he adds with a smile.

But his words ring hollow to me. I can tell by the way Sydney squeezes my hand that she’s not buying them either. Yes, Lennon Rose would want us to be happy. But this morning, she must have been scared, terrified. She wouldn’t have left so easily. She would have begged to see us one last time.

“Now if any of you have questions,” Anton continues, “or want to come speak to me privately about this development, let me know and I’ll work you into the schedule. Otherwise, please keep your upward momentum by being excellent girls in and out of the classroom. You make your parents, Mr. Petrov, and all of us here at Innovations Academy very proud.”

He nods his goodbye, and without even pausing, he heads straight for the door and walks out. So much for taking questions.

The room buzzes as the other girls wonder aloud what made Lennon Rose leave. A few wonder if she was in trouble, but that thought is immediately dismissed because it’s Lennon Rose they’re talking about. Eventually, I hear someone mention money—or more specifically, the lack of it—and the excuse spreads quickly throughout the room.

Overall, the others determine that Anton knows what’s best. If he says it was time for Lennon Rose to leave, then it must be true.

But Sydney and I are destroyed, almost like we can physically feel a piece of us missing. Marcella stares at her hands folded on the table, sniffling every so often as Brynn comforts her. Annalise stares out the window again.

It’s Valentine, sitting across from me, who catches my attention. She meets my eyes, and then there is the slightest turn of a smile on her lips.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Philomena,” she says calmly. “You’ll see.” And then she stands up and leaves the dining hall.

As the other girls go back to their rooms for self-reflection, I decide to track down Anton. I need to talk to someone about the crushing pain in my chest. The loneliness. Who better than the analyst?

I don’t see him in the halls, so I head straight for his office, relieved when I see his light on inside. I knock softly on the glass.

“Come in,” Anton calls with a hint of surprise.

I open the door and find him at his file cabinet. His face tightens when he sees me, but then he smiles.

“Philomena,” he says, closing the drawer. “What can I do for you?”

His question seems odd, considering the circumstances. “I’m here about Lennon Rose,” I say.

“I should have figured,” Anton replies, a little embarrassed, and goes to sit behind his desk. “You want to talk about how you’re feeling.”

I nod, and he motions for me to sit down in the oversized leather chair across from his desk. I cross my legs at the ankle, not resting back the way I usually do during our therapy sessions. This time is different.

We sit in silence until Anton leans forward on his elbows. “Should I start, or . . .?” he begins, and his lips pull into a smile. Normally, I appreciate his casual demeanor, but in this situation, it feels inappropriate.

“I can be honest with you, right?” I ask. The smile fades from his lips.

“Of course,” he responds. He leans forward in his chair, his elbows on the table.

“I’m worried about Lennon Rose,” I say. “You told me she was going to be better than new, that she was just resting. You didn’t mention money. Her parents didn’t mention money. So . . . what really happened?”

Anton watches me for a long moment and then eases back in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I can’t discuss the specifics of another girl’s education with you.”

“Why was she crying during lineup yesterday?” I ask, undeterred.

“Because she’d just learned about her family’s financial situation,” he responds easily.

I furrow my brow. “How?” I ask. “When? She didn’t mention any—”

“I told her,” he cuts in. “So I assure you, she knew. Perhaps she didn’t want to tell you.”

The thought stings. Lennon Rose was keeping a secret from me? From us? Then again, she’d been talking to Valentine—maybe she told her. Anton must notice my confusion, so he continues talking.

“I suspect Lennon Rose was embarrassed about her situation and had hoped to resolve it without your interference,” he says. “But unfortunately, despite all I could do, there wasn’t enough money to fund her education any longer. She left this morning before you woke up. She told me to tell you goodbye.”

I look up at him. “You talked to her?” I ask.

“Of course,” Anton says. “I walked her out myself.”

“With the Guardian?”

He shakes his head no. “Guardian Bose was supervising the floor—doing his job. I’m the only person who spoke with her. She will miss you.”

I swallow hard, noting the discrepancy between Anton’s and Dr. Groger’s descriptions. The doctor told me the Guardian walked Lennon Rose out.

Anton closes his eyes and slips off his glasses. He seems exhausted, and I notice for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping.

“Mena,” he says, his voice soft like he’s whispering a secret. “I’m going to confide something in you, understand?”

I nod that I do, although I’ll admit it’s a little weird to have my analyst confide in me.