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

“How are you feeling?” he asks, and then pastes on an exaggerated frown. “Your girls were very worried about you.”

I was worried about them, too. There’s a pang in my heart at the memory of my isolation after therapy. Even though I was in and out of consciousness in the impulse control therapy room, I was still aware of missing my friends.

“I’m feeling great,” I tell the doctor, holding my smile. “Very content.”

“That’s excellent news!” he says, holding up his hands in a jazzy little hurray. “Anton says you reacted very positively to treatment. I knew you would,” he adds with a grin.

“I appreciate your confidence in me.”

Dr. Groger takes a syringe from his coat pocket and uncaps it. “Now if you don’t mind,” he says, “I’d like to draw some blood and check you over officially.”

My posture weakens—I don’t like pain—but I roll up my sleeve obediently. I hold my arm out, watching apprehensively as he swabs the inside of my elbow with alcohol. I study his face while it’s so close, the small bit of sweat on his temple. He’s . . . nervous.

I wince when he injects the needle into my vein. He apologies and withdraws my blood. I think we’re both surprised by how dark the fluid is. It’s a blackish green, not the usual dark red. It unsettles me, but the doctor smiles when he notices me watching.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” he says. “Our systems sometimes get out of whack when we have such an intensive treatment.”

He says our like he undergoes the same procedures, although I don’t point out the fallacy in his words. That would be rude.

Dr. Groger has me hold a gauze pad over the spot after he removes the needle. He walks to his desk, making a note in his file before putting the vial into his desk drawer. He makes a show of locking it, and then slides the key into his pocket. He watches me for my reaction, but I stare at him blankly before I remember to smile.

He nods and comes back to wrap my arm in a bright pink bandage. He stands in front of me, very close, and takes out his penlight to shine it into my eyes, studying me.

“Your demeanor is quite lovely,” he says. “Friendly. Obedient.” He lowers the penlight with a sigh, his other hand falling to rest on my bare leg.

“Thank you, Doctor,” I say, although dread coils in my stomach. A sickening feeling.

“Now,” he says, removing his hand as he turns away. “Another day or so, and I dare say you’ll be better than ever. Anton offered you some excellent coping mechanisms. You’ll be one hundred percent.” He smiles. “You’ve made him very proud.”

I nod, thanking him.

“Limit your interactions with others until you’re completely settled,” he says. “And limit your physical activity. You can resume exercise next week. And I’m clearing you to attend the field trip on Sunday,” he adds. “Just so long as you behave. I believe you’re all going to the movies.”

I beam at him, thrilled. “Thank you, Doctor,” I say gratefully. “I’m so excited!”

He chuckles. “I thought you might be.”

He motions for me to hop down from the table. Then he comes over and holds out a sugar-free lollipop.

I take the sucker and unwrap it, sticking it between my teeth and cheek. But the sudden shot of sweetness turns my stomach. I can barely swallow down the chemical flavor. The doctor puts his hand on my low back and leads me toward the door.

“We’ll see you in a few weeks, my girl,” he says. “Have a wonderful day.”

I smile around the lollipop, thanking him again, and walk out into the hall. Once his office door shuts, the smile falls from my lips and I immediately take the lollipop out of my mouth.

I decide that I don’t like it anymore. In fact, I never want another lollipop again.

The idea comes in a flash, something angrier than warranted. I’m reminded of what Valentine said to me outside the office: You should be outraged.

Outraged about what?

But just as quickly as it came on, the anger fades, leaving me uncomfortable instead. I start back to my room to gather my books for class, dropping the lollipop in the trash along the way.





Impulse Control Therapy Analysis Philomena Rhodes Y2, S2

Philomena was displaying signs of distress, related to the dismissal of another girl.

To alleviate this pain, the emotions were overwritten. She is now happy for the student and very contented.

Parental memories were also reset, offering a more loving backstory. It increases her attachment to the Rhodes family and positions her for a successful future after graduation. She should be very amenable to their requests.

The past week of memories were also adjusted to avoid confusion.

After a consult with Winston Weeks, it is my belief that Philomena is still on track for graduation, although she has entered probationary status for the remainder of the year. However, it was advised that she continue socialization. Her character thrives when in proximity to others.

From all accounts, impulse control therapy appears to be a success and no follow-up is necessary at this time.

Anton Stuart

Innovations Academy





21


Professor Allister makes a scene when I rejoin the class. We’ve moved on from phone manners to stylization. How to best present yourself to make a memorable impression.

“And look what we have here,” the professor announces as I walk in. He runs his gaze over me approvingly. “You see, girls,” he tells the class, “this is beauty. Pleasant and contained.”

He comes to stand next to me, and I can smell his perspiration through his suit. “Outrageous hair and wild makeup will turn people off. It’s an act of rebellion, displeasing to men. We want to see your natural beauty, not a trick of mirrors. Mr. Petrov has determined your best assets and wants you to accentuate them, not make a spectacle of yourself.” He turns to me, offering his hand. Reluctantly, I slide my palm into it.

“Thank you, Philomena. You are lovely.”

He sends me in the direction of my seat, and I’m happy when his hand falls away from mine. I sit down in my chair, and Marcella leans up behind me.

“You are lovely,” she whispers teasingly. I sniff a laugh and turn back to look at her.

“I missed you,” I say.

“Missed you, too,” she replies with a wink, and goes back to drawing flowers in the corner of her notebook.

I turn around, feeling a bit of peace now that I’m back among my friends.

When class ends, Marcella waits for me. We have a short break before our next session, so we opt to sit on a couch in an alcove. We’re barely there a minute before Sydney appears, out of breath.

“There you are,” she says to me, nodding hello to Marcella. She drops between us on the couch. “I booked it here from Professor Penchant’s class. He’s still really angry with you,” she says, widening her eyes.

“Why?” I ask, feeling horrible. I’m normally well-behaved. I wonder what I’ve done to vex the professor.

Marcella and Sydney exchange a look.

“Hi, girls.” Brynn pops her head in, relieved to have found us. She comes over to give me a quick hug. “Glad to have you back, Mena,” she whispers.

“Sit down, sit down,” Marcella tells her, grabbing her hand to pull her down on the couch with us.

“Jackson was outside yesterday,” Sydney says quietly. Marcella exhales heavily, looking away. Brynn purses her lips. “He came to the fence.”

“I noticed him too,” Marcella says. “Did you end up talking to him?”

“I couldn’t,” Sydney replies. She looks at me. “The Guardian was with us—some new monitoring, I guess. But when I saw Jackson, I shook my head no. Pretty adamantly. I was scared he’d come onto the property anyway—it wouldn’t be the first stupid thing he’s done. Anyway, on the last lap, the Guardian fell behind and—”

“Hah!” Brynn says, grinning at Marcella. “Told you he couldn’t keep us with us.”

Marcella laughs and then tells Sydney to continue.

“On the last lap,” Sydney starts again, “I went wider, as close to the fence I could get without being obvious. I told him, ‘Downtown on Sunday.’?”