Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(23)

Annalise’s complexion pales, and she shifts her eyes to mine. None of us follow up on the question, taken aback by Valentine’s practiced response. After impulse control therapy, girls typically sit alone and stay quiet—at least for a while. I’ve never noticed this sort of behavior change before. This seems deeper, more controlled.

Then again, we’ve never asked a girl why she ended up in impulse control therapy. We accept the consequence as deserved and move on. Perhaps our question was too personal. We should have deferred to the school’s policy of giving a girl space after therapy, even if Valentine is the one who sat with us.

To fill the silence, Brynn starts talking about dresses again, and the other girls seem relieved for the usual conversation. But I’m still thinking about Valentine’s behavior modification, watching as she eats quietly. Peacefully.

I glance over to the professors’ table, and find Guardian Bose with them, watching us.

There’s something disconcerting about his attention, as if he’s been watching the entire time but I’ve only just noticed. So that he doesn’t think I’m ungrateful, I dip my chin in thanks for his care, and he returns the gesture with exaggerated slowness. I finish eating in silence.

? ? ?

We’re dismissed from lunch a short time later. Annalise and Lennon Rose are on cleanup duty while the rest of us head back to our rooms to prepare for tonight’s open house.

I walk with Sydney, but on the way, I glance back at Valentine. Her expression is empty, vacant. But when she catches me looking, she smiles. I turn around quickly and take Sydney’s arm.

“. . . and I promised Lennon Rose I’d do her makeup tonight,” Sydney says, midconversation. “The blue shadow I have matches her dress perfectly.”

“I’ll come by before we line up to witness your expertise,” I say.

Sydney grins, telling me she’ll see me later, and then goes into her room. When her door closes, I turn toward mine. I jump when I find myself alone in the hall with Valentine.

She’s standing there expectantly, waiting for me. She tilts her head to the side.

“I had a delightful memory recently,” she says in a faraway voice. “Do you remember the time Annalise asked us to paint her hair yellow? She said she was supposed to be blond, not a redhead. She was distraught. So you stole paints from art class and painted it yellow for her. She looked beautiful. Anton was furious with you.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “That . . . That never happened.”

Valentine smiles. “It was nice, then,” she adds, ignoring my comment. “I miss it.”

I’ve never stolen paints and I’ve certainly never painted Annalise’s hair. Valentine must still be adjusting after impulse control therapy, confusing her thoughts. Maybe the other girls and I should let Anton know.

“Well, see you at the open house,” Valentine says pleasantly. She turns on her heel and heads to her room, quietly closing the door with a click.

I stand there an extra moment, perplexed. A little frightened. But the emotion fades and I decide I’ll ask Sydney her thoughts when I go to her room later.





To: Stuart, Anton RE: Philomena Rhodes From: Allister, Tobias Today at 1:05 PM

Per our discussion, I’ve taken note of Philomena’s behavior in class. She has been daydreaming again, and also asking questions about interactions with men. Although her mannerisms seem consistent, I have concerns, especially after Valentine Wright’s outburst. I do not want a repeat of last time.

If the daydreams do not abate, then I suggest impulse control therapy to rid her of this nasty habit.

Sincerely,

Tobias Allister This communication may contain information that is legally privileged, confidential, proprietary, or otherwise exempt from disclosure. If you are not the intended recipient, please note that any dissemination, distribution, or copying of this communication is strictly prohibited. Anyone who receives this message in error should notify the sender immediately by telephone or return e-mail and delete it from their computer.





8


After I’m dressed, I go to Sydney’s room to watch her apply Lennon Rose’s eye makeup (Sydney is absolutely brilliant at cosmetology and aces every tutorial Leandra gives us), but Lennon Rose never shows. I hang out anyway, pulling up the low neckline of my dress, the material itchy on my skin.

Sydney places the last swipe of highlighter under her brow bone. As she got ready, I had a chance to tell her about my strange conversation with Valentine. When she sets down her brush, Sydney turns to me, tapping her lower lip with her index finger.

“Yellow hair?” she asks, as if that’s the troubling part. “First of all, Annalise would never let you touch her hair. Definitely not with paint. And Valentine said she was with you?”

“Said it was nice,” I tell her. “That she misses it.”

“Weird,” Sydney murmurs.

“I was going to ask if we should tell Anton,” I say, “but I’m afraid to get her in trouble so soon after impulse control therapy. She might just need a few days to adjust. What do you think we should do?”

“Talk to her,” Sydney suggests, turning to me. “Ask Valentine what’s going on with her. She obviously trusts you. Otherwise she wouldn’t keep telling you random, creepy things.”