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

“We found him in the files,” Sydney whispers.

I stare at her, the world feeling like it just dropped out from under me. “What does that mean?” I ask. “Why would he be in the files?”

“His family is involved with the academy,” she says. “His mother . . . His mother used to work here, just before it became a school. They had a file with pictures of her and her family, and . . .” She shrugs. “I recognized Jackson. He was in the picture with his name and everything. It seems the school knew a lot about his family, like they researched them or something. Anyway, his father is still listed as an investor, although it doesn’t seem like an active account.”

“His mother died,” Annalise adds.

“I know,” I say, my mind racing to catch up with this information. “He mentioned that part. But . . .” I look at the others. “Why didn’t he tell me she used to work here?”

“I’m not sure,” Sydney says. “But this file they had on his family—it was thorough. It was . . . kind of threatening. And then it stopped after his mother died. Suicide, it said. After that, it was like they just forgot all about her.”

“What did she do for the company?” I ask.

Sydney pauses before answering. “She was an analyst.”

I physically recoil, hurt. Betrayed. How could he keep this from me?

“Not like Anton,” Sydney adds. “She wasn’t an analyst for girls. It was for technology—computers or something. It wasn’t specific.”

“The boy might be looking for information,” Valentine says. “I say we give it to him. If the word gets out about what the school’s doing to us, maybe it’ll get shut down. Otherwise,” she says, “if we run, they’ll just bring us back. Trust me.”

“So we tell him what we found?” I ask, looking around at the others. “Even though he’s lied?”

“Find out why he lied,” Sydney says. “But then . . . yes. We tell him.” The other girls agree.

“At the field trip,” Annalise says. “You can tell him there.”

“What if he doesn’t show?”

She starts to smile, but holds it back when she realizes it isn’t appropriate considering the circumstances. “He’ll show,” she says.

The girls and I go over everything else we can think of, deciding we’ll be excellent girls this week, obeying all the rules. But never taking our vitamins. We’ll manipulate these men with their own expectations.

But when I go back to my room ten minutes later, I pause a long moment before lifting my hand to look at the scar on my palm. My vision blurs with tears, the idea that Jackson was manipulating me breaking through my newfound courage.

How could he? What else has he lied about?

Seeing him at that gas station. Seeing him outside my school. I’m embarrassed that I was such an easy target, so willing to tell him everything he wanted to know.

I don’t forgive Jackson for his betrayal, just like I didn’t forgive Anton. And I intend to tell Jackson so on Sunday.

? ? ?

Sunday morning doesn’t come fast enough. The days in the week last a lot a longer when you have to be well-behaved, especially when you notice every wrong. But we make it without incident. The Guardian even comments on what good girls we are.

I shower and get dressed in my required uniform for the trip. Only this time, I decide to wear my hair in a ponytail, going against my specifications. It’s oddly freeing—a small infraction, but enough to break from my routine. I smile in the mirror just as I hear the girls calling excitedly for me, saying it’s time to go.

As we board the bus and leave the academy, the day seems brighter—the sun is even shining. This isn’t a normal field trip, we know too much to fully enjoy it, but we can’t help but relax a little. Annalise says we deserve it.

I absorb the sights as they pass by the bus window. Every tree, every building. I’ve never been to a movie theater before, and I’m curious what it will be like.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on some popcorn,” Sydney says. “And I mean my entire hand.” She mimics picking up a fistful of popcorn and shoving it into her mouth, making several girls laugh.

I smile, but then I catch sight of Guardian Bose turned around in his seat. Rebecca is next to him, her face downturned. They allowed her to come with us, but Sydney says she hasn’t been the same since her impulse control therapy. We’ve considered telling her to stop taking the vitamins, but we’re afraid she’ll let the doctor know.

I wish Guardian Bose didn’t have to come to the movies with us; he’s obviously miserable about it. But we knew there’d be rules for this field trip—of course there would be. It’s going to be tough to avoid him.

The bus turns onto Main Street, and we’re all pressed to the windows. The town is small, less than fifteen hundred people, but there are dozens of residents walking around downtown right now. People watch us drive by, men tipping up their hats to get a better look. Women shaking their heads in disapproval.

I think about the hosts at the places we visit, always scurrying out of sight the minute we arrive. Jackson said the town knew about the school, but not about the girls. They wonder about us. But not enough to question the men in power.

I used to fantasize about coming into town. But now that I’m here . . . I feel suddenly vulnerable. It makes Winston Weeks’s request seem more appropriate than ever. We need to be socialized to society, and society needs to be socialized to us. By hiding us away, the academy made us outsiders. Maybe they wanted it that way.

Who would believe girls they’ve never seen before? Who would believe outsiders?

The bus hisses to a stop at the corner gas station, and the doors fold open. Guardian Bose moves to the block the aisle.

“We’re heading down Main Street toward the movie theater,” he says. “Straight there, understand? No funny business.”

Brynn snorts a laugh at “funny business” and quickly covers her mouth. We try to nod solemnly and deeply like we’re taking him very seriously. He rolls his eyes, annoyed with all of us.

We file off the bus, gathering to wait for everyone. The open air smells like gas and trash from a nearby dumpster. Weirdly, despite our important mission, the sudden freedom is intoxicating. We find ourselves smiling, accepting the abnormality of our lives to have these few moments. Sydney smiles at me.

Guardian Bose leads the way, but several of us hang toward the back. I keep my eyes out for Jackson, scared the Guardian will notice him before I do.

We continue down Main Street, passing people who don’t say hello, even though we’re very polite to them. Mostly, they avoid our eyes.

As Annalise pauses at a shop window, distracted, a woman walks toward us with a child, clutching her hand to her side as they pass. The woman doesn’t look at me, but the little girl does. Her large blue eyes study me, her fingers in her mouth. I smile at her and offer a wave.

The little girl smiles back with several missing teeth, and I find her response delightful. She continues to look back over her shoulder at me. And then she pulls her fingers out of her mouth to hold them up in a wave. Her mother tugs her forward and tells her to keep walking.

“She was cute,” I say. Brynn comes over, looking after her too.

“I’ll take several of those,” she says, pointing at the kid, but talking like Annalise would while shopping. We both start laughing.

The Main Street theater is old fashioned, with a freestanding ticket booth. The boy selling tickets—not much older than we are—averts his eyes. His hands shake as he takes our money and slides the tickets in our direction, making sure never to touch us.

“Thank you,” Annalise sings out, leaning in to kiss the glass window. She leaves a red lipstick mark. When the boy looks up at it, he actually gulps.