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

I’m about to explain that I’m not allowed to leave campus when there’s a series of clicks from the register. The woman behind the counter tells us the total for the candy, and Jackson removes several bills from his wallet to hand to the woman.

The bell on the glass door jingles, and I turn to see Guardian Bose walk in, a hulking mass in the small store. The woman at the register busies herself by putting my items in a plastic bag.

“Philomena,” the Guardian calls in a low voice, darting his gaze from me to Jackson. “It’s time to go.”

I flinch at his scolding tone. I’d been told not to get distracted.

“Be right there,” I say politely, avoiding Jackson’s eyes as I wait for my candy.

The Guardian stomps to my side and takes me by the wrist. “No,” he says, startling me. “Now. Everyone’s already on the bus.”

Jackson curls his lip. “Don’t touch her like that,” he says.

I look at the Guardian to gauge his reaction; I’ve never heard anyone speak to him that way. He opens his mouth to retort, his grip loosening, and I quietly slip free to take my bag off the counter.

But the moment I do, Guardian Bose grabs my forearm hard enough to make me wince and I drop my candy on the floor.

“I said get on the bus, Mena,” he growls possessively, pulling me closer. I’m frightened, ashamed that I’ve upset him. I apologize even as he hurts me.

Jackson steps forward to intervene, but the Guardian holds up his palm.

“Back off, kid,” Guardian Bose says. “This is none of your business.”

Jackson scoffs, red blotches rising on his cheeks and neck. “Try and grab me like that, tough guy,” Jackson says. “See what happens.” Guardian Bose laughs dismissively.

I have no doubt that the Guardian would easily best Jackson in any fight, but at the same time, I’m struck by Jackson’s open defiance—how stupid and brave it is at the same time. It’s fascinating. I start to smile just before Guardian Bose yanks me toward the door.

“Come on,” the Guardian says. I struggle to keep up, tripping over my own feet as his grip tightens painfully on my arm.

When I look back at Jackson, he nods at Quentin, calling him over.

“You’re hurting me,” I tell the Guardian. He doesn’t listen, using my body to push open the door. He forces me out into the misty parking lot. My shoes scrape along the pavement as I try to look over his shoulder toward the store. But the Guardian keeps me in front of him, his fingers digging into my upper arm.

When I turn toward the bus, the girls are watching, wide-eyed, from fogged windows.

The bus doors fold open, and Guardian Bose shoves me angrily. I trip going up the stairs and cry out in pain when my knee scrapes the rubber mat on the top step, tearing my flesh. The Guardian hauls me up by my underarms and dumps me on the seat next to Valentine. A trickle of blood runs down my shin and stains my sock.

The bus driver witnesses all of this with a flash of concern, but the Guardian whispers something to him. The white-haired driver closes the bus doors and shifts into gear.

Tears sting my eyes, but Guardian Bose doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t even look in my direction. There are murmurs of concern from some of the other girls.

“You’re responsible for the damages,” Guardian Bose says. “The visit to the infirmary will come from your savings.”

Ashamed and injured, I turn toward the window, looking past Valentine. She hasn’t spoken to me, not even to ask if I’m okay. But her hands are balled into fists on her lap.

Jackson and Quentin come out of the store and watch as our bus pulls away. Jackson is clutching my bag of candy. Despite my circumstance, his thoughtfulness makes me smile. I reach to press my fingers against the window in a wave.

In return, Jackson holds up his hand in the same way he did when I first saw him. He stays like that until we’re on the road. I watch as long as I can, until Quentin says something to Jackson, nodding to the car at the pump. And then they both turn away as I disappear.





3


The mood on the bus has shifted from excitement to dread, and the driver seems to be going over the speed limit. I’m embarrassed that he saw me fall, saw me get redirected by the Guardian. But more than that, I’m regretful that my behavior led to this consequence.

Professor Penchant stays near the back of the bus with the other girls. When I glance at him, he purses his lips in disapproval, and I turn toward the front again.

Although the Guardian isn’t one of our professors, he watches over the students on a daily basis. He’s typically indifferent, but not unpleasant. He’s never spoken to me so viciously.

I’m shaken by it all, but at the same time, I’m deeply ashamed. We’re not supposed to anger the men taking care of us. I never have. It was selfish of me to not listen immediately.

I glance at Valentine, watching her as she stares straight ahead. Her body sways along with the movement of the bus, her nails causing indents in her skin where her fists are clenched. But she doesn’t say anything to me. I’m almost convinced that I imagined our entire conversation at the Federal Flower Garden.

I slide my eyes to the side so I can peer over at Guardian Bose. He’s angry, his jaw set hard. I should apologize, but before I can, there’s a flash of dark hair as Sydney sits down next to him. The Guardian is ready to argue, but she smiles sweetly.

“I got you something,” she says to him. He eyes her suspiciously. Sydney pulls a pack of gum from her pocket and holds it out to him.

Guardian Bose takes it, not realizing Sydney must have stolen it while in the store. He unwraps a piece and folds it into his mouth, not offering gum to the rest of us.

Sydney waits patiently, and after a moment, Guardian Bose nods and turns toward the window. Sydney beams, having won my freedom, and she reaches for my hand and brings me to my usual seat.

The moment I sit down, Lennon Rose crosses the aisle to hug me, sniffling back her tears. I promise her that I’m okay, petting her blond hair. She sits back down in her seat, watching me with concern. I’ve never been injured before. Not even a scratch.

Sydney bends forward to look at my knee. She sucks at her teeth and straightens up. “There’s so much blood,” she says, lifting her eyes to mine. “Do you think the doctor will be able fix it?”

Lennon Rose gasps. Sydney and I both turn to her.

“Of course he’ll be able to,” I say for Lennon Rose’s benefit. Although the idea that I might be scarred for life creeps into my worries. “Dr. Groger is the best around.”

“Absolutely,” Sydney agrees in the same tone. Lennon Rose’s panic eases slightly, but her brow is still furrowed. She’s the most sensitive of all the girls. We try not to burden her needlessly.

We all understand that there are consequences for poor behavior. But since we don’t act out, we’ve never earned them. What I did was wrong, therefore I deserved the pain that followed, even if I didn’t like it. My opinion on the subject is irrelevant.

I rest my head back against the seat and close my eyes, trying to relax in hopes of lessening the stinging in my knee. There is the occasional pop of gum from the front seat.

I’m struck suddenly by the feeling of being watched. I open my eyes and lean out into the aisle. To my surprise, I find Valentine Wright turned around to face me with the same fierce expression she had at the Federal Flower Garden. It raises the hairs on my arms.

I’m not sure what to say to her, not sure what she wants. She’s unsettling me.

I quickly glance around, but the other girls haven’t noticed her. The Guardian, however, looks in Valentine’s direction. His head tilts slightly, examining her.

“Turn around,” he orders.

Valentine doesn’t listen. Doesn’t even acknowledge the command. She continues to watch me, her eyes finding the blood running down my leg. In the seat behind her, Ida Welch and Maryanne Lindstrom exchange a concerned glance.

My heart begins to beat faster. Lennon Rose looks over the seat to see what’s going on, her eyes wide and fearful.