Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(59)

Ida furrows her brow, but then nods like that’s great. She goes back to eating, but I notice her slide in her seat, getting a bit of distance from Rebecca.

I, on the other hand, watch her. I want to note any changes in Rebecca, trying to figure out what I’d be getting myself into if I went through with this plan.

What if I end up like that? Obedient. Unaware. I swallow hard, considering the horrible possibilities. But then, there is a shadow as Valentine comes to sit with us at the table, taking Lennon Rose’s spot. I see Sydney flinch at this, but she doesn’t ask her to move.

“We should do it before the field trip,” Valentine says, mumbling it under her breath so as to look like she’s not talking. My stomach clenches, prickles of fear on my skin.

“And when’s that?” I ask.

She looks up at me, her brown eyes sparkling in the light. Her face flawless as usual. “Wednesday,” she says, “I heard Professor Levin talking about it. A movie, I think. Either way”—she checks to make sure the staff can’t hear us—“we’ll be off campus. We’ll have possibilities. But it’ll be a lot harder if we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“What is this about?” Sydney asks, looking from Valentine to me. “What are you talking about? What are you planning to do?”

She’s worried, and I know what I’m about to tell her will only make it so much worse.

I’ve thought about intentionally putting myself in impulse control therapy, considered the options. Sure, the girls and I could just run—but what would we say? What would stop our parents from sending us back? Where would we go if not home? Jackson told me the men who run the academy are powerful. What does that even mean?

And it’s not just that. It’s not just about getting away from the school.

Where is Lennon Rose? What did they do to her? What if—?

I stop the thought. I won’t imagine that anything terrible has happened to Lennon Rose. I won’t even let that thought into my mind.

We need knowledge; we crave it regularly. And this is my chance to get answers. Even if it’s risky. But it’s not just about me. It’s about us. It’s about the girls.

I lean into the table and motion for the girls to do the same. As quickly and as quietly as I can, I tell them that I plan to get sent to impulse control therapy. We know that we wake up in a separate room where the procedure is administered. So while I’m there with Anton, it’ll be up to the girls to look for information in his office—things about the school, the investors. And when I return from therapy, they have to make sure I don’t take the vitamins. I want them to show me the poems to remind me of why I’m fighting.

“Figure out what the school is doing to us,” I say. “Figure out why. And figure out how to undo it. But . . . don’t let them erase the therapy,” I ask, my eyes tearing up with the possibility. “Don’t make me go through this for nothing.”

“We won’t,” Marcella promises, reaching over to grab my hand. Valentine smiles like it’s all settled, but next to me, Sydney sniffles. I look at her, telling her not to cry.

“I can’t let you do this,” she says. “If they’re really doing these kinds of things, Mena, I can’t—”

“Something else happened,” I whisper. I wasn’t going to tell the girls, afraid of upsetting them. But I see now that secrets can be dangerous. And keeping this from them puts them in danger of being his next victim.

“Guardian Bose came to my room last night,” I say, barely audible.

The girls look at me, sensing there’s more to the story. I take a moment, letting us sit in quiet so it doesn’t look like we’re conspiring, and then I tell them about him drugging me, touching my leg, threatening to kill me.

Marcella’s face is flushed, and I see Annalise grip Brynn’s arm under the edge of the table. We can’t react, holding in our righteous anger.

“So if doing this can stop them from hurting other girls, can stop Bose”—I look at each of them—“it’ll be worth it.”

A second goes by, all of us looking at each other, and then we turn toward the end of the table where Rebecca is sitting obediently. She is pleasant and proper as she eats her tasteless oatmeal.

As she follows the rules.

? ? ?

I consider the options. I’m capable of doing that, now that the vitamins are most certainly out of my system—no longer clouding my judgment. Despite the sedative making me sleep, it seems to have no other lasting effect.

Sitting on my bed, I open up my palm and look at the tiny scratch left over from my last trip to the woods. I trace it as I think.

If I go straight to Anton, he could instantly put me in impulse control therapy. But . . . I fear it’ll be harder to convince him. He might see through my act. I wouldn’t just volunteer, not out of the blue like this. I need a professor to turn me in. Someone who can tell Anton secondhand about my behavior.

It’s one thing to hear I’ve been misbehaving. It’s another thing to see it firsthand. I worry that if Anton witnesses a meltdown, he could give me a deeper therapy, one I might not be able to come back from.

I have to outsmart the men of Innovations Academy. Press on their weaknesses. Their soft spots.

I glance at the clock and see that it’s time for Modesty and Decorum with Professor Penchant. And I know he’ll be an easy target—he’s already so dismissive of us. Always ready to punish us. Afterward, I’ll tell Anton that perhaps my teacher was a bit . . . overzealous.