Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(49)

I assume Anton is telling Rebecca the good news. I don’t want to interrupt. I’m just grateful that Mr. Wolfe will never bother her again.

As Sydney and I walk down the staircase nearest the front door, we see several girls gathered there. It takes a moment for me to realize that Mr. Petrov and his wife are standing in the entryway, exchanging goodbyes with Mr. Weeks.

When I step off the bottom stair, Winston Weeks recognizes me immediately.

“Ah, there you are, Philomena,” he says. “I was hoping to say hello.”

I’m a little stunned to get called out in front of the other girls, in front of Mr. Petrov, and I play nervously with the string on my sweater. Leandra waves her hand at her side, as if telling me to stop fidgeting.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Weeks,” I say.

“Please,” he says in a smooth voice. “It’s Winston.” I nod, but don’t dare call him by his first name in front of the others. Behind him, Annalise rolls her eyes and I nearly laugh.

Mr. Petrov takes a step forward. “Mr. Weeks has come by the academy to make sure that you’re all being well cared for. It’s come to our attention that you’ve been cooped up too long.” He smiles warmly, his hands folded over his stomach. “So we plan to add more field trips to the schedule. We’re making arrangements now for this coming week.”

Several girls gasp excitedly, but Mr. Petrov wags his finger at them.

“Your education is top priority, of course,” he says good-naturedly. “But I agree with Mr. Weeks—it’s time for you to socialize more.”

He turns to Mr. Weeks, and the men smile at each other. Leandra nods along and then looks at each of us, widening her smile to tell us to be more grateful. Several girls vocalize their happiness in response.

The men shake hands, but it seems a bit forced. I wonder what hold Winston Weeks has over the school that he can make this kind of request. Despite how unusual this all is, I’m glad he showed up. Time away from school is exactly what I need. When Mr. Weeks looks at me again, I smile brightly. He winks at me.

Mr. Petrov flutters his hands toward the rooms. “That’s all,” he says with a chuckle. “Have a nice afternoon.”

“And, girls,” Leandra calls after us. “I’d like to have a word with you in the ballroom in an hour.” Her smiles holds like it’s frozen on her face. “Don’t be late.”

I’m about to depart when Mr. Weeks calls my name again. I glance over my shoulder at him.

“Try to have a little fun,” he suggests. “You look melancholy.”

“I’m always having fun, Mr. Weeks,” I reply, making him laugh.

Sydney and I sneak an amused smirk at each other and head back toward our rooms. When we’re clear of the main hall, Sydney looks sideways.

“So . . . Mr. Weeks, huh?” she asks.

“A little old for me, don’t you think?” I ask.

“True. You like those skinny college boys,” she says.

“I really do,” I sing out, and she cackles.

And I’m grateful for the good news—more field trips. More time beyond the fence.

? ? ?

Despite everything, we’re upbeat as we enter the ballroom. Marcella is telling us about her latest run time and how she’s pretty certain she could beat the Guardian in a foot race.

“Who couldn’t?” Brynn asks. “He hasn’t worked out since he started here. All that muscle would be heavy. We could lap him,” she says with a grin.

I laugh, but when I look up, I find Leandra standing in the middle of the ballroom, her expression deadly serious. Chairs fan out around her in a half circle. Rebecca is standing next to her, her head lowered, her shoulders sagged.

My smiles abruptly fades when Professor Penchant comes over from the back of the room to join them. Leandra signals for us to sit down.

Sydney sits next to me, and we exchange a worried look. Leandra smiles.

“Hello, girls,” she says. “I’ve asked Professor Penchant to join me in talking with you. I think his guidance here is necessary.” She glances over at him warmly, and he hikes up his pants, shifting the entire waistband, as he comes to stand next to her.

“I would say so,” he says rudely. Leandra doesn’t miss a beat, though. She nods gratefully.

“It’s come to our attention that there was inappropriate contact going on during the open house,” she says, motioning to Rebecca. “And before Rebecca enters impulse control therapy, I thought maybe she’d want to explain why she felt it was proper to violate herself and shame her family.”

The words come out sweet like honey, harsh like poison. Rebecca sniffles, but doesn’t answer, her hair hanging in her face.

“Nothing to say?” Leandra asks her with pretend sympathy. “Nothing at all?” Rebecca shakes her head no. “Very well. Professor,” Leandra says, looking at him, “would you like to take over?”

“Gladly,” he says, and turns to address all of us. “You are at this academy to become better girls—the best girls. That means you are”—he counts on his fingers—“beautiful, quiet, and pure. Take the last part away and you’re not special. You’re a common whore.” Several girls flinch at the statement.

The professor reaches over to grab Rebecca by the back of the neck like she’s a puppy. She whimpers, and when she lifts her face, mascara is smudged under her eyes. It’s jarring, seeing a girl so disheveled. So broken.