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

“So they’ll send you home,” I say.

She tilts her head as if asking whether I really believe that. And even though there is a bit of doubt, I refuse to believe that my parents would send me to a school that would kill me if they couldn’t control me.

“That’s why you follow the rules, Mena,” she says. “They expect us to obey—to want to obey. But we can use their expectations to manipulate them. So, if you want to know what goes on behind the scenes, you’re going to have to act out. And then, of course,” she smiles, “beg Anton for forgiveness. Tell him you want to be a better girl. He loves to be the hero.”

“But what if they kill me?” I ask, breathless, still not sure I believe it but scared of it nonetheless.

“His prize?” she asks. “No. You just have to be convincing. Do you think you can do that?” She sounds honestly curious.

I lower my eyes, not sure I can just walk into something like this. “I . . .” I’m not sure how to answer. So when I look at her again, I shrug. “I have to talk to the other girls,” I say instead.

Valentine nods as if this is an acceptable answer, one she understands. I tell her I’ll see her at breakfast, and I walk out of her room, pausing in the hallway.

I turn toward the Guardian’s door again. I’ll have to pretend I don’t remember him in my room last night. I’ll have to pretend, or the academy will know that I don’t take the vitamins. Maybe it’s not all that different from pretending to need impulse control therapy.

And I wonder if my best play is to play along.





18


I get ready for classes, and as I head out for breakfast, Guardian Bose is already in the hallway.

“Hurry up, girls,” Guardian Bose calls loudly before yawning. “Let’s get downstairs. I’m starving.” He glances in my direction, and I’m amazed by how easily I smile in return. Almost like I’m outside myself, cut off from the real feelings that are under the surface. Like an actor, I’m assuming.

I don’t get to say anything to the girls. But I see the way Sydney looks at me from across the hall, the way her eyes search the room, a bit confused. She didn’t take her vitamins last night.

We have so much to talk about.

Breakfast is another bowl of unsweetened oatmeal. I realize now as I sit in front of it, this is not just about nutrition. They think it’s indulgent for us to want better-tasting food.

I glance over to the professors’ table and watch as they pile scrambled eggs onto their plates, generously sprinkling them with salt and pepper. I look at the pile of bacon they could never finish, and I know it will be wastefully tossed in the trash.

“I feel different today,” Sydney says as she takes her spot next to me. She looks down at her food. “The moment I woke up, I felt different.”

“I feel angry,” Annalise says, and we all look at her. Brynn tells her to keep it down, worried the Guardian or one of the professors will hear her, but she lifts her chin defiantly. “I don’t care,” she says. “I am.”

It’s such a surprising statement, being angry. Do the professors even know we can get angry? Would that be assigned immediate impulse control therapy?

The dining hall doors open, and I’m surprised to see Rebecca walk in. If she’s back already, it must have been a short impulse control therapy. I watch her as she walks to take a seat next to Ida, smiling pleasantly when she does. She immediately picks up her spoon and takes a bite of oatmeal.

“Are you okay?” I hear Ida ask her. Rebecca tilts her head, seeming confused by the question.

“Yes,” she says finally. “Anton and I had intensive therapy, and he offered me coping mechanisms. I’m one hundred percent now.” She smiles. “I’ve made him very proud.”

Ida furrows her brow, but then nods like that’s great. She goes back to eating, but I notice her slide in her seat, getting a bit of distance from Rebecca.

I, on the other hand, watch her. I want to note any changes in Rebecca, trying to figure out what I’d be getting myself into if I went through with this plan.

What if I end up like that? Obedient. Unaware. I swallow hard, considering the horrible possibilities. But then, there is a shadow as Valentine comes to sit with us at the table, taking Lennon Rose’s spot. I see Sydney flinch at this, but she doesn’t ask her to move.

“We should do it before the field trip,” Valentine says, mumbling it under her breath so as to look like she’s not talking. My stomach clenches, prickles of fear on my skin.

“And when’s that?” I ask.

She looks up at me, her brown eyes sparkling in the light. Her face flawless as usual. “Wednesday,” she says, “I heard Professor Levin talking about it. A movie, I think. Either way”—she checks to make sure the staff can’t hear us—“we’ll be off campus. We’ll have possibilities. But it’ll be a lot harder if we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“What is this about?” Sydney asks, looking from Valentine to me. “What are you talking about? What are you planning to do?”

She’s worried, and I know what I’m about to tell her will only make it so much worse.

I’ve thought about intentionally putting myself in impulse control therapy, considered the options. Sure, the girls and I could just run—but what would we say? What would stop our parents from sending us back? Where would we go if not home? Jackson told me the men who run the academy are powerful. What does that even mean?

And it’s not just that. It’s not just about getting away from the school.

Where is Lennon Rose? What did they do to her? What if—?

I stop the thought. I won’t imagine that anything terrible has happened to Lennon Rose. I won’t even let that thought into my mind.

We need knowledge; we crave it regularly. And this is my chance to get answers. Even if it’s risky. But it’s not just about me. It’s about us. It’s about the girls.

I lean into the table and motion for the girls to do the same. As quickly and as quietly as I can, I tell them that I plan to get sent to impulse control therapy. We know that we wake up in a separate room where the procedure is administered. So while I’m there with Anton, it’ll be up to the girls to look for information in his office—things about the school, the investors. And when I return from therapy, they have to make sure I don’t take the vitamins. I want them to show me the poems to remind me of why I’m fighting.

“Figure out what the school is doing to us,” I say. “Figure out why. And figure out how to undo it. But . . . don’t let them erase the therapy,” I ask, my eyes tearing up with the possibility. “Don’t make me go through this for nothing.”

“We won’t,” Marcella promises, reaching over to grab my hand. Valentine smiles like it’s all settled, but next to me, Sydney sniffles. I look at her, telling her not to cry.

“I can’t let you do this,” she says. “If they’re really doing these kinds of things, Mena, I can’t—”

“Something else happened,” I whisper. I wasn’t going to tell the girls, afraid of upsetting them. But I see now that secrets can be dangerous. And keeping this from them puts them in danger of being his next victim.

“Guardian Bose came to my room last night,” I say, barely audible.

The girls look at me, sensing there’s more to the story. I take a moment, letting us sit in quiet so it doesn’t look like we’re conspiring, and then I tell them about him drugging me, touching my leg, threatening to kill me.

Marcella’s face is flushed, and I see Annalise grip Brynn’s arm under the edge of the table. We can’t react, holding in our righteous anger.

“So if doing this can stop them from hurting other girls, can stop Bose”—I look at each of them—“it’ll be worth it.”

A second goes by, all of us looking at each other, and then we turn toward the end of the table where Rebecca is sitting obediently. She is pleasant and proper as she eats her tasteless oatmeal.

As she follows the rules.