Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(55)

There’s a loud beep and we both jump, grabbing on to each other. There’s a scraping sound, a series of buzzes, and then a piece of paper gets sucked into the fax machine. We stare at it, unsure what’s happening. And then the machine spits out the paper, facedown.

We stay very still until Sydney steps forward to pull the page out of the machine. She flips it over and reads it. Her lips part, but she doesn’t say a word. She holds out the paper to me.

And when I read it, I find that it’s a fax to Anton. From EVA.





FAX


To: Anton Stuart From: EVA Re: Philomena Rhodes Date: April 18th Pages: 1

* Urgent For Review Please Reply Comments: Philomena Rhodes displayed unusual behavior patterns while calling the Rhodes residence this evening. The situation was diffused, but per guidelines, this message was generated to keep you informed.

Action is not suggested at this time.





17


Every conversation I had with EVA was a lie. She’s a computer system, a “parental assistant.” She was in the academy the entire time. She would ask questions about my contentment, and then . . . what? Pass my answers along to Anton, I guess.

“We have to go,” Sydney says, still staring at the panel of names. But then she turns, and I follow behind her. We shut off the light and close the door.

On the way back to our floor, I’m still trying to process. Sydney doesn’t say a word.

We rush back to the other girls and find them waiting in my room, sitting on the bed. When we walk in, Brynn looks up hopefully.

“Did you talk to your parents?” she asks. “Did they believe you?”

I stare back at her, suddenly unable to speak. Sydney steps beside me, and we exchange a look, knowing we have to tell them.

“EVA answered,” I say. “But . . . our parents’ assistants aren’t real,” I say. “They’re part of a computer system. And they report directly to Anton. Pretty much right away.” Sydney nods to let them know it’s true.

Annalise laughs like I’m joking. But as she stares at me, her expression starts to sag. “They’re not . . . real?” she asks. “Stella?” I shake my head no. She considers it a moment, blood rushing to her cheeks. We sit in shock, absorbing the information. Feeling more isolated than ever. Sydney looks at the bars on the window again.

“I talked to Valentine,” I say.

“Good,” Marcella says. “Did she have any answers?”

“None that she would give me. She told me we have to behave. And that ‘we’d know’ when it was time to leave.”

“Leave?” Brynn repeats, seeming confused by the sentiment. It didn’t occur to her that we’d have to leave the school, just like it hadn’t occurred to me. What if we’ve been trained to ignore that option?

We sit with the thought for a moment, and then Annalise jumps up suddenly. She glances at the clock. “I have to go,” she says. “I was supposed to meet Professor Driscoll in the greenhouse five minutes ago.”

She grabs her jacket, and we all stand so the other girls can go back to their rooms. We promise to meet up at dinner, although we have no solid plan going forward. I think we all need to process. And I think they need to get clearer heads.

Sydney grips my hand before we part, and then we separate to our own spaces. Once everyone’s gone, I stand in my room.

Even though I’ve learned how alone I really am at this school, I feel stronger now that the girls and I are on the same page. Together, we’ll figure this out. I walk to my window and stare out, trying to see beyond the woods.

I think about Jackson’s questions: Who are your parents? Why would they send you here?

And now the question hurts even more. I’ve never had an ability to contact them. Who would allow that? What do they want this school to do to me?

I put my hand on the cold glass of the window. On Sundays, the afternoons can be used for leisure time, or in some cases, visits from family or custodians. That’s happened to me once. My mother came out to visit. The only time she’s done so since dropping me off.

“How do you like it here, Philomena?” she asked, sitting across from me in the reception hall. I’d been at the school for a month, and I liked it just fine. I told her so, and she nodded, studying my expression.

My mother is quite beautiful, although more reserved than some of the other adults I’ve seen come through here. She was wearing a white turtleneck, a sleek white coat, and no jewelry. Her dark hair was smoothed straight and long, her dark eyes fanned out with perfect makeup. She placed her hand over mine, and I was surprised by the warmth in her gesture.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your time at the academy,” she said, watching me. “These are important years in your life. Remember everything. It’ll go by fast.”

I nodded that I would, and thinking back on it now, I didn’t say much while she was here. I was sort of in a fog then—all of us were. We were a bit overwhelmed with our new lives, our classes, the monitoring. I was very compliant then, and less . . . me. I think my mother must have seen that, because her brow furrowed in concern.

“We’ll check in periodically,” she said. “And the analyst will give us updates monthly.” Her dark eyes swept over me once again, and then she stood. I followed her lead.