Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(61)

“My parents have paid to send me here,” I say louder. “They have the right to discipline me. Not you. Not the Guardian. Don’t touch me again.” And suddenly, it’s like a dam breaks inside of me. I’m not just talking to Professor Penchant. I’m talking to all the men at the academy. “Don’t touch me again!” I scream, making the hairs on my arm stand up. “You’re nothing but a sad man who hurts little girls for fun. And I will do everything I can to get you fired!”

It feels good to talk back, to raise my voice and be heard. I smile, feeling wild and unruly. Feeling free. My cheek stings from where he struck me, but it only spurs me on more. From the look on his face, he would hit me again.

But instead, the door opens and Guardian Bose walks in.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Who’s shouting?”

Professor Penchant is heaving in breaths, his teeth bared. I’m sure it’s not easy for him when he tells the Guardian to remove me from class.

“Take her to Anton,” he says, furious. “Tell him she’s not coming back in this room until she gets impulse control therapy.”

I instinctively shrink back as Guardian Bose approaches me. But he seems perplexed as he grabs my arm. I follow him obediently from the room, exchanging a look with Annalise to let her know the plan is in motion.

I just hope I haven’t made a grave mistake.





19


As we walk, Guardian Bose looks sideways at me. “What the hell was that about?” he asks. He hasn’t let go of my arm, and his fingers are pressing painfully into my skin.

I don’t respond, not wanting to say anything that could contradict what I’m going to tell Anton. But my silence doesn’t sit well with the Guardian.

“You’re really starting to upset me, Philomena,” he says. He squeezes harder, and I wince, forcing myself to stay quiet. Only one more turn and then I’ll be at Anton’s door. I just have to make it—

But the Guardian jerks me to a stop. He spins me around to face him. He examines my eyes, looking me over thoroughly. I have to hold back any thoughts of him in my room last night. I have to block them out so they don’t show up plainly in my expression.

So when he gets nothing, I see his shoulders ease slightly. I realize he’s afraid I’m going to turn him in to Anton. She seems to decide that I offer no threats, so he lets me go. Instead, he puts his hand on my back and pushes me forward. And we walk in silence the rest of the way.

Anton opens his door before we knock. His expression is worried, his skin pale.

“Philomena,” he says, reaching for me immediately. “What happened?” He leads me inside, dismissing Guardian Bose without asking him his thoughts, and closes the door.

Anton motions to the chair on the other side of the desk and goes to sit down in his own. “Have a seat, Philomena,” he says. “I heard you’ve had quite the morning.”

Now that I’m in here, the idea of what’s going to come next—the fact that I don’t know—terrifies me. I dart my eyes around the room, wondering if I’ll be the same when I leave. My breathing is quickening, and the change in my behavior must be obvious.

Anton turns over the glass on his desk and fills it with water from a covered pitcher waiting there. “Here,” Anton says, setting it in front of me.

He pulls a pill bottle out of the middle desk drawer and shakes out a capsule, then he positions it next to the glass. “Take this,” he says. “It’ll help you calm down.”

“I’m calm,” I say, although my voice is strangled. My arm aches from where the Guardian grabbed me, and I rub the area. Anton smiles and nods to the pill.

“It’ll make you calmer,” he corrects. “Then it’ll be easier to talk. I insist.”

Do I have a choice? Tears leak from my eyes at the thought that I don’t. If I want to know more, I have to play the game—isn’t that was Valentine would suggest? Isn’t that what the girls with sharp sticks would do? Get answers.

I’m so scared.

Hesitantly, I pick up the pill and swallow it down with water. My hands are shaking so badly that the water spills down my chin.

“That’s very good, Mena,” Anton says, leaning his elbows on his desk. “Very good, indeed. Now, we have to talk. I think we have a lot to discuss.”

I nod, and there is the smallest bit of numbness in my throat, as if some coating rubbed off from the pill that I swallowed. I wait for my nerves to calm, gripping the arms of the chair.

“You had an outburst in class, and I’ll admit that the timing is unusual. We’re four months from graduation. What triggered it this time? My first guess is it was because of Lennon Rose’s abrupt departure. Am I right?” He seems curious about the answer.

There is a small sway in my chest, a release. The pill is beginning to work, and my breathing slows—still elevated, but approaching normal. My throat is dry when I try to answer. I start to talk, but I struggle and have to take a sip of water and try again. Anton waits patiently.

“What happened to Lennon Rose?” I ask.

“I told you—her parents couldn’t afford the tuition, and—”

“What really happened to her?” I ask, my guard lowering. My words honest. “She didn’t even have her shoes.” And an idea strikes me, scares me. “Did the Guardian do something to her?”