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

Mr. Petrov takes a step forward. “Mr. Weeks has come by the academy to make sure that you’re all being well cared for. It’s come to our attention that you’ve been cooped up too long.” He smiles warmly, his hands folded over his stomach. “So we plan to add more field trips to the schedule. We’re making arrangements now for this coming week.”

Several girls gasp excitedly, but Mr. Petrov wags his finger at them.

“Your education is top priority, of course,” he says good-naturedly. “But I agree with Mr. Weeks—it’s time for you to socialize more.”

He turns to Mr. Weeks, and the men smile at each other. Leandra nods along and then looks at each of us, widening her smile to tell us to be more grateful. Several girls vocalize their happiness in response.

The men shake hands, but it seems a bit forced. I wonder what hold Winston Weeks has over the school that he can make this kind of request. Despite how unusual this all is, I’m glad he showed up. Time away from school is exactly what I need. When Mr. Weeks looks at me again, I smile brightly. He winks at me.

Mr. Petrov flutters his hands toward the rooms. “That’s all,” he says with a chuckle. “Have a nice afternoon.”

“And, girls,” Leandra calls after us. “I’d like to have a word with you in the ballroom in an hour.” Her smiles holds like it’s frozen on her face. “Don’t be late.”

I’m about to depart when Mr. Weeks calls my name again. I glance over my shoulder at him.

“Try to have a little fun,” he suggests. “You look melancholy.”

“I’m always having fun, Mr. Weeks,” I reply, making him laugh.

Sydney and I sneak an amused smirk at each other and head back toward our rooms. When we’re clear of the main hall, Sydney looks sideways.

“So . . . Mr. Weeks, huh?” she asks.

“A little old for me, don’t you think?” I ask.

“True. You like those skinny college boys,” she says.

“I really do,” I sing out, and she cackles.

And I’m grateful for the good news—more field trips. More time beyond the fence.

? ? ?

Despite everything, we’re upbeat as we enter the ballroom. Marcella is telling us about her latest run time and how she’s pretty certain she could beat the Guardian in a foot race.

“Who couldn’t?” Brynn asks. “He hasn’t worked out since he started here. All that muscle would be heavy. We could lap him,” she says with a grin.

I laugh, but when I look up, I find Leandra standing in the middle of the ballroom, her expression deadly serious. Chairs fan out around her in a half circle. Rebecca is standing next to her, her head lowered, her shoulders sagged.

My smiles abruptly fades when Professor Penchant comes over from the back of the room to join them. Leandra signals for us to sit down.

Sydney sits next to me, and we exchange a worried look. Leandra smiles.

“Hello, girls,” she says. “I’ve asked Professor Penchant to join me in talking with you. I think his guidance here is necessary.” She glances over at him warmly, and he hikes up his pants, shifting the entire waistband, as he comes to stand next to her.

“I would say so,” he says rudely. Leandra doesn’t miss a beat, though. She nods gratefully.

“It’s come to our attention that there was inappropriate contact going on during the open house,” she says, motioning to Rebecca. “And before Rebecca enters impulse control therapy, I thought maybe she’d want to explain why she felt it was proper to violate herself and shame her family.”

The words come out sweet like honey, harsh like poison. Rebecca sniffles, but doesn’t answer, her hair hanging in her face.

“Nothing to say?” Leandra asks her with pretend sympathy. “Nothing at all?” Rebecca shakes her head no. “Very well. Professor,” Leandra says, looking at him, “would you like to take over?”

“Gladly,” he says, and turns to address all of us. “You are at this academy to become better girls—the best girls. That means you are”—he counts on his fingers—“beautiful, quiet, and pure. Take the last part away and you’re not special. You’re a common whore.” Several girls flinch at the statement.

The professor reaches over to grab Rebecca by the back of the neck like she’s a puppy. She whimpers, and when she lifts her face, mascara is smudged under her eyes. It’s jarring, seeing a girl so disheveled. So broken.

It’s also unusual—like she’s crossed a line the school can’t forgive.

“You see, girls,” Leandra says, her heels clicking on the floor as she begins to pace, “we expect you to be prizes. Not worthless junk. Investors pay good money for exemplary girls.”

Professor Penchant smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. “Propriety is crucial for girls,” he says. “Otherwise, you invite this sort of behavior. Men can’t control themselves around beautiful girls like you,” he says, his voice raising. “So it’s up to you to draw that line. Save yourselves for your future husbands. It is, after all, what they deserve. What they are entitled to.”

I literally feel sick to my stomach, and next to me, Sydney shifts uncomfortably. I know that Professor Penchant is wrong, despite this being an extreme version of what we’re normally taught. Without the vitamins, maybe I’m just not that willing to listen anymore.

Leandra claps her hands together loudly, like she’s applauding the professor’s statements.

“You want to be treated well?” she asks us. “Then act like a girl who deserves respect. We won’t stand for this kind of behavior again—we’re not running a brothel.” She glances at Rebecca before reaching over to take her by the chin, lifting her face for all of us to see again.

“You’re weak,” she says with contempt. “You didn’t say no. You didn’t even tell anybody.” She leans in closer and whispers, “You’re worthless now.”

Rebecca breaks down sobbing, and Sydney grabs my hand, squeezing it so tightly that it hurts. My eyes are stinging with the start of tears at watching another girl be humiliated. Leandra immediately turns and strides out of the room, head held high. Professor Penchant stays a moment longer to gloat, looking over Rebecca in a predatory way, as if her vulnerability makes her more of a target for his malice.

I see the worry in Annalise’s expression, the way she wants to protect Rebecca from their humiliating remarks. But she doesn’t. She lowers her face.

I turn around in my seat and find Valentine. When she looks at me, her eyes are glassy with tears. She nods, acknowledging that this isn’t right.

It’s a sudden validation, the fact that she can see it too. I turn away, scared to get caught—like our ideas are out in the open, able to be read. I’ll have to talk to her later and see what she knows about the book I found in Lennon Rose’s room.

“Have a nice lunch,” the professor announces. He walks out, pulling a crying Rebecca alongside him as he leaves.

When the door closes, some of the girls sit stunned. Brynn openly cries, and Marcella comforts her, shock resting on her face.

It wasn’t Rebecca’s fault. Sydney and I told Anton that—he seemed to understand.

And it hits me . . . Is this my fault? If I didn’t tell Anton, would Rebecca still be punished? I quickly try to push the thought away, deciding that stopping Mr. Wolfe was important. This is the school—they’re at fault. They’re wrong to treat her this way.

“Mena,” Sydney murmurs miserably. I turn to her and hug her.

We stay here, all of us together, until we know we have to clean ourselves up and head to lunch. The school is unhappy with us, and we’ll have to make amends for Rebecca’s behavior.

I pull back, sniffling, and tell Sydney that I have to show her something. She swipes her fingers under her eyes and we get up. I look for Valentine, hoping she’ll provide more information. But she’s already gone.

We head toward the door so I can run to Lennon Rose’s room to get the book.

“Have a good lesson?” the Guardian asks, startling me as we walk out of the ballroom. He’s leaning against the wall, picking his nails and looking bored. Something about the fact that he was eavesdropping is extra creepy, and I must not hide the facial expression well.