Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(101)

Sydney gathers me into a hug with Annalise; Marcella and Brynn come over to join us. And when we’re done saying that we love each other, that we’ll take care of each other, I step back and sweep my eyes over the lab.

They created us—these men. They wanted a girl who would behave. Who would be beautiful and never complain. Who would never fight back. An object. Property.

They thought us soulless. But really, the way they treated us shows that they’re the soulless ones. They’re the monsters, the creatures.

I think about the poems, about “Girls with Sharp Sticks.” And how, soon, we’ll be the ones teaching those boys how to behave. We’ll be the examples of decency. Of respect. Of love.

And we’ll win. Of that, I’m sure.

We head out into the main room of the lab, Jackson walking beside me. When we pause at the bottom of the stairwell, letting the other girls go up first, I look at him.

He must be . . . I can’t imagine what he must feel. I ask him.

“Uh . . . ,” he says, blinking away tears. “I’m pretty wrecked right now,” he says. Cautiously, he lifts his gaze to mine. “I just saw a guy die. And . . . And I’m scared for you,” he says. “I don’t think they’re going to just let you live your life.”

“Is it a life?” I ask, wondering how he feels about my truth. He seems offended by the question.

“Of course it is,” he says, limping toward me. “Mena, of course it is.” He pulls me into a hug, and I’m glad he’s here. I’m glad he stayed.

Jackson looks down at me, placing his hand on my cheek. I don’t flinch away when he touches me, despite how intimate it suddenly seems. How stripped away I feel. I smile at him.

“You are . . . ,” he whispers. “You are soaked in blood. This is weird.” He turns around. “And, my God,” he adds, “we have to go. Right now. Like right fucking now.”

“I agree with your gas station boyfriend,” Sydney announces from the top of the stairs. She looks down at Jackson and they smile at each other.

I wrap my arm around Jackson’s waist, helping him up the stairs. Together, all of us go through the kitchen and out the back door into the night. The air is cold on my wet skin. I see a car just outside the gate and assume Quentin is behind the wheel. Sydney jogs forward with the keys, while I keep one arm around Jackson, his leg still hurting. Brynn walks with Annalise.

Marcella catches up with Sydney, and together, they pull open the iron gates of the academy. Quentin gets out of the driver’s seat, taking a moment to survey the scene.

Here is a group of girls covered in blood. Jackson is limping.

Quentin blinks several times without a word, and then he looks at Annalise. She doesn’t shy away from his stare. In fact, she turns her face so he can see her scars. Quentin is quiet another moment, and then he nods his head.

“I’m Quentin,” he says, and opens the door for her.

“Annalise,” she says with a smile, climbing into the backseat. Quentin examines the other girls, a thousand questions on his lips, but he doesn’t have time to ask them now. To him, he’s helping a group of girls escape a dangerous school. He has no idea what we are. And no idea what we’ve done. He goes to the passenger seat.

I ask Jackson if he’s good to drive with his bad leg, and he tells me that he is. I help him to the door and then pause to watch the school. Looking at the bars on the windows. The mountain in the backdrop.

The bars weren’t strong enough to hold us. The mountain not big enough to isolate us.

And the men couldn’t keep us.

My eyes travel up to the second floor, to where Anton’s office is. I’m sure that I see a flash of movement behind the curtain. But then it’s gone.

I get in the car and slam the door, squeezing into the back with the other girls. Jackson shifts into gear and presses on the accelerator, spinning the wheels and sending out a spray of pebbles. He quickly turns the car around and then races forward in the dark, the woods only passing shadows.

The tires squeal as Jackson turns recklessly onto the main road; luckily there are no other cars. He eases off the accelerator, staying at the speed limit, and when the quiet in the car has settled from frantic to devastated, Jackson lifts his eyes to the mirror to find me.

“Does anyone else need a doctor?” he asks.

“I might need something,” Brynn admits, touching the back of her head and wincing. “Maybe a graft.”

Quentin furrows his brow and looks back at her. Brynn smiles brightly. Marcella intertwines her hand with Brynn’s on her lap.

My head swims now that I’m not fighting for my life. I imagine I’m covered in bruises. Hurt in places I don’t even realize yet. I lay my head against the car window, my eyes fluttering shut.

“And after that?” Jackson whispers, drawing my attention again. “What do we do now, Mena?”

I look at Sydney and the other girls, all of us bloody. Bruised. We did this together—saved who we could. What we could. Now we just have to finish it.

And we share the next thought, not having to speak it out loud to understand each other.

“We’re going to destroy Innovations Corporation,” I tell Jackson, although I never drop the gaze of the other girls. Sydney smiles back at me.

This is the beginning of the end for them. We’ll find Mr. Petrov. The investors. Our parents. We’ll find them all, and we’ll make sure they never hurt anyone again.