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

Panic rises in my chest, making me feel overwhelmed. Where are my parents? Why haven’t they called to check on me? Why have they abandoned me here?

Jackson furrows his brow, watching me. “I’m sorry,” he says. I brush off his apology, sniffling before any tears can fall. We sit quietly until I can calm myself again.

“You mentioned an . . . analyst?” Jackson says after a moment. “What’s that? What does he do?”

“He helps us control our impulses,” I say.

“My guess is he’s doing more than that,” Jackson says. “They’re manipulating you somehow, with the vitamins, through him—I don’t know. I think you should leave. I think we should go right now.”

I look at him, surprised. “I can’t just leave,” I say. “What about the other girls?”

“You all need to leave.”

“We . . . We can’t. Our parents—”

“I think they’ll understand,” he says, growing impatient. “Mena, this shit isn’t normal.” His voice gets loud, and I put my hand over his mouth, scared someone will overhear us. When I touch him, he freezes, staring into my eyes. And for a moment, I see . . . guilt.

Jackson slowly removes my hand, nodding an apology for losing his composure.

“Fine,” he says, looking away. “If you won’t leave, then we need to figure out what the academy is using you for. Can you get that kind of information?”

The question seems suddenly cold, businesslike. I wonder if I’ve offended in him in some way.

“What exactly are you looking for?” I ask.

“Files,” he says. “Employee files, parent files, whatever you can find. Something I can research.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “Where would I even get that sort of thing?”

“Maybe this analyst,” he suggests. “He probably has everything in his office.”

“I don’t think I could do that,” I say, scared. He wants me to break in to my analyst’s office? That’s . . . That’s too much. I couldn’t disobey the rules like that.

“Then just keep your eyes open,” Jackson says. I’m surprised when he reaches over to smooth down the edge of the Band-Aid on my hand that’s come unstuck. “Notice anything out of the ordinary.”

At his soft touch, I long for him to look at me again, the way he did that first time. I want to watch the words die on his lips when his eyes meet mine. I want him to like me. But right now, I can’t read how he feels. It’s not obvious, and I can’t bring myself to ask, scared of the answer.

Instead, I opt to tell him about the poems. But the moment I open my mouth, there is the sound of a metal door slamming shut.

I quickly turn and look toward the school, alarmed when I see Guardian Bose out on the track. The girls are jogging on the other side of the building, but when they come around, he’ll see that I’m not with them.

Scared, I get to my feet. Jackson stands up too, his jaw tightening when he sees the Guardian. When he turns back to me, his expression is pleading for me to run away.

To my relief, the Guardian seems frustrated and goes back inside, as if he doesn’t have the time to wait for the girls. I sigh, my hand on my chest.

“I have to go,” I say.

Jackson stares down at me, impatient. “Mena,” he whispers, pained. But when I walk to the fence, he doesn’t try to stop me.

I decide that I’m going to look for evidence, just like in the movies that the Guardian lets us watch. If I find anything, I’ll pass it along to Jackson. What he’ll do with that information afterward, I’m not sure. But he’s made it sound like it’ll help us.

“Please be careful,” Jackson says.

I smile and promise him that I will. I let him know that I’ll be running again on Tuesday.

“That’s funny,” he says. “I’ll happen to be skulking around these woods early that morning. Should we meet?”

Before I answer, he snaps his fingers. “Hold on,” he says, darting over to his backpack. He returns with a small piece of paper.

“I wrote down my number,” he says. “Call me later and let me know that you’re all right.”

I take the paper and stare down at the number. “I’ll try,” I say. “And . . . my friend?” I look up hopeful. “Her last name is Scholar,” I say. “And her mother’s name is Diane.”

“Lennon Rose Scholar,” Jackson says, nodding. “Got it. I’ll find her. She has to be somewhere.”

We get to the cracked part of the fence, and I turn to him before I slide through.

“Thank you,” I say. “For helping me.”

He bottom lip tightens before he smiles, a gorgeous smile that I think is meant to charm me. And it does. But I notice that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he seems sad. He seems lonely.

He murmurs goodbye as I slip through the fence.

As soon as he’s gone, I pull off the Band-Aid he’d given me, seeing the red scratch still on my hand. And I decide not to the tell the doctor about it, to leave it as a memory instead.





15


When the girls round the building for the last time, I slip out from behind the bush and fall into step next to Sydney. She examines me, her nose red from the cold, her eyes shiny.

“How’d it go?” she asks between heavy breaths.

“I have so much to tell you,” I say, darting my eyes around.

She smiles but keeps running. No mention of me trying to get Lennon Rose’s number. I move closer to her, earning a confused look and a laugh.

“What?” she asks.

“I read a poem last night,” I whisper. Sydney keeps jogging, her pace fast.

“Really?” she asks. “Where did you see a poem?” I tell her to keep it down, not wanting the other girls to know yet.

“It’s called ‘Girls with Sharp Sticks,’?” I say. “And . . . it’s about girls fighting back. They killed the men who—”

Sydney comes to an abrupt halt, making me jog a few paces past her. She stares at me, alarmed.

“What are you talking about, Mena? Why would you read something like that?”

I come back to her, nodding politely to the other girls as they jog past. “I found it,” I say. “And the girls were—”

“Stop,” Sydney says, holding up her hand. “Do you hear yourself? You just said . . .” She can’t say the words. “Men are here to give us guidance,” she says, lowering her voice. “Why would you be so disrespectful?”

I stare at her, seeing how worried she is about me. And it’s like I can predict what she’s going to say next. That she’ll say the men have our—

“—best interests at heart,” she finishes.

There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. I wonder what was in last night’s vitamin.

I beckon for Sydney to jog with me again, smiling sweetly. She does, returning the expression just as easily.

“I miss Lennon Rose,” I say, testing her.

“I know,” Sydney says with exaggerated sympathy. “It’s too bad about her parents’ financial problems. Innovations is very exclusive. Not everyone can afford it.”

I swallow hard and quietly agree. We continue jogging, and I’m horrified at the idea that Sydney doesn’t remember being upset about Lennon Rose. Just like she didn’t remember Rebecca and Mr. Wolfe.

I decide not to tell her any more about the poems, not yet. I’m scared of how she’ll respond. And when she doesn’t bring them up again, I’m grateful. Even if I hate keeping this secret from her.

It occurs to me that maybe this is why Lennon Rose didn’t tell us about the poems. She was worried we wouldn’t understand. Or worse, that we’d tell the analyst about it.

I have a peculiar feeling—like there are two narratives in my head. I have no idea how to explain that to Sydney.

“Sorry if I was rude,” Sydney says as we finish the run. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble for defiance. Think about what Anton would say.”

“But what if Anton’s not always right?” I ask quietly.

Sydney stands silently, thinking it over, before the metal door swings opens. Guardian Bose reappears, and we quickly go back to smiling.

The Guardian searches our faces and motions us inside. He looks angry, and I wonder why he was out here earlier. He must be looking for someone.