Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(32)

“She did,” I agree. “But I don’t mean at the party. They were in the hall, hidden in one of the alcoves. They were . . . kissing,” I say even lower.

Sydney stares at me for a long moment as if she doesn’t understand what I mean. Then she shakes her head. “Rebecca and Mr. Wolfe?” she asks.

I nod, but she looks doubtful.

“You sure it’s not the wine?” she asks. “I watched you drink a glass.”

“Two,” I correct. “But, yes. I’m sure. And that’s not all. Mr. Wolfe slapped her.”

This makes Sydney frown. “Why?” she asks. “What did she do?”

“She called him by his first name. And it turns out, Mr. Wolfe has been kissing her since the first open house, telling her they’d continue doing so until she graduates. Rebecca wants to go home to get away from him. But he . . .” I furrow my brow. “He was wrong to hit her, right?”

“I don’t know,” Sydney says honestly. “He is in charge of her education. . . .”

But the reasoning doesn’t hold up. The academy has warned us that there are terrible people in the world—ones who will lie to us, manipulate us. The academy promised to protect us from them.

What if Mr. Wolfe is one of those people they should be protecting us from?

“Is she all right?” Sydney asks suddenly. She turns to find Rebecca, but we both realize she and Mr. Wolfe have left.

“Yes,” I say. “I told her I’d go to Anton with her and tell him what I saw, but she asked me not to. Said he’d devalue her.” My tone is helpless, and I can see that Sydney is struggling too.

“I think we tell Anton anyway,” says Sydney with forced certainty. “If nothing else, her lawyer’s distracting her from her education.” She pauses. “Right?”

We’re both quiet as we think it over, the hum of quiet conversation still echoing around the room. The piano player’s gone for the evening, and the bartender is packing up. There was something about the interaction between Rebecca and Mr. Wolfe, something . . . familiar. Even though that’s not possible.

We definitely need Anton to sort this out. He is our analyst, after all.

“I haven’t seen Anton in a while,” Sydney says. “Do you think he left?”

“He might have.” I worry that we’ll have to wait until morning; it wouldn’t be appropriate for us to go to his office at night.

But when I glance out the glass doors of the patio, I see Anton outside, talking on his phone. I’m relieved that he’s still here. I pat Sydney’s arm, getting her attention, and then we rush that way.

When Anton sees us coming toward him, he turns his face, saying something into the phone before clicking off his call. He slips the phone into his pocket as we open the doors and are hit immediately with chilly night air. Sydney noticeably shivers.

“Hello, girls,” Anton says, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smile. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are red from the cold, and he doesn’t seem happy to see us. We interrupted his call.

Anton adjusts the knot on his tie to loosen it. “I’ve been in and out of meetings tonight,” he says. “Were you looking for me? Because if this is about Lennon Rose again, then—”

“It’s not,” I say quickly. “I just . . . I saw something,” I tell the analyst. “And Sydney and I think you should know about it.”

Anton resets his stance, completely serious. “Go on,” he says, motioning for me to continue.

It feels a bit like a betrayal, telling Anton about the private moment between Rebecca and Mr. Wolfe—especially after promising her I’d stay out of it. But it also feels like something the school should be aware of. At least, that’s what I predict Anton will say.

I describe Rebecca and Mr. Wolfe on the couch. The slap. The threat. And then I tell him what Rebecca said to me afterward. Anton’s throat visibly bobs as he listens, and he occasionally flicks his gaze to Sydney to make sure she’s agreeing with what I’m saying.

When I’m done, shaking in the cold and embarrassed to have told the analyst such an explicit story, Anton crosses his arms over his chest. He nods appreciatively.

“You were right to tell me,” he says, and I sigh out my relief. When I turn to Sydney, she smiles like she’s proud of us for making the right decision.

“Was it wrong?” Sydney asks him. “Was it wrong of Mr. Wolfe to treat Rebecca that way?”

But something about the question seems to trouble Anton, and he examines her, pausing long enough to make Sydney apologize.

“It’s not for you to judge,” Anton says finally, even with a bit of humor. “You leave that sort of analysis up to me. It’s why I get paid the big bucks.” He smiles at both of us, and Sydney and I are reassured.

“I’ll handle the situation,” Anton says. “But if you see anything like that again—I suspect you won’t, but if you do—you can always come to me. Understand?”

“Yes,” we say. Anton puts his hand on Sydney’s arm, rubbing it for moment to warm her up.

“Let’s keep this between us,” Anton says. “It’s a private matter. Now,” he adds with a smile, “the party’s over, girls. Go back to your rooms.”