Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(70)

“Why?” I ask, feeling horrible. I’m normally well-behaved. I wonder what I’ve done to vex the professor.

Marcella and Sydney exchange a look.

“Hi, girls.” Brynn pops her head in, relieved to have found us. She comes over to give me a quick hug. “Glad to have you back, Mena,” she whispers.

“Sit down, sit down,” Marcella tells her, grabbing her hand to pull her down on the couch with us.

“Jackson was outside yesterday,” Sydney says quietly. Marcella exhales heavily, looking away. Brynn purses her lips. “He came to the fence.”

“I noticed him too,” Marcella says. “Did you end up talking to him?”

“I couldn’t,” Sydney replies. She looks at me. “The Guardian was with us—some new monitoring, I guess. But when I saw Jackson, I shook my head no. Pretty adamantly. I was scared he’d come onto the property anyway—it wouldn’t be the first stupid thing he’s done. Anyway, on the last lap, the Guardian fell behind and—”

“Hah!” Brynn says, grinning at Marcella. “Told you he couldn’t keep us with us.”

Marcella laughs and then tells Sydney to continue.

“On the last lap,” Sydney starts again, “I went wider, as close to the fence I could get without being obvious. I told him, ‘Downtown on Sunday.’?”

I have no idea what’s going on in this conversation, but I listen wide-eyed. Fascinated. “Then what?” I ask.

Sydney looks at me. “Then he said, ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’?”

I gasp at the curse.

“And I said,” Sydney continues, “?‘Field trip at the movies, downtown at one p.m. Bye.’?” She falls back into the couch. “I’m lucky the Guardian didn’t catch me.”

“You are,” Marcella agrees.

Brynn bites on her lip. “Wait,” she says with a flash of alarm. “Are you allowed to come on the field trip?”

“The doctor gave me permission this morning,” I say.

“That’s perfect,” Sydney says, exchanging a look with the other girls.

“What’s wrong?” I ask them. “Who is he?”

“Honey . . . ,” Sydney says, her expression weakening. The girls all grow uncomfortable, worried.

“Maybe you just need a little more time to adjust,” Brynn says, looking at the other girls for confirmation. But her voice is panicked. “Valentine swore this would work.”

“What would work?” I ask.

“That you’d remember,” she says.

“She will,” Marcella says. “Of course she will.” But she lowers her eyes, and I know they’re not telling me everything.

I want to ask for more information, but suddenly, a shadow falls over the alcove. We all look up to find Guardian Bose standing there, filling up the space.

“Girls,” he says, looking around at us. “I believe you were told not to disturb Mena. Does Anton need to discuss it with you again?”

“No,” Sydney says, shaking her head.

“I know you don’t understand medical procedures,” the Guardian continues, “but Mena is very fragile right now. Leave her alone for a bit longer. Give her space.”

They nod, but I don’t like that the Guardian is talking about me as if I’m not here. I don’t want space. I want to be with the other girls.

But the Guardian motions for them to get up, waving them out of the alcove, leaving me sitting on the couch by myself. When they’re gone, he turns to me, looking me over.

“Your behavior was out of control,” he says, surprising me. “That’s why you needed impulse control therapy. Anton gave you another chance. Don’t waste it. Or trust me, you’ll never see your girls again.”

My face stings with the admonishment, my heart beating fast at the threat of losing my friends. I wait quietly until he leaves. But when the Guardian is gone, I lift my head and stare at the space he vacated. Feeling the start of outrage.

? ? ?

I’m quiet at lunch, on my own special diet meant to help me recover from impulse control therapy. The juice is bitter and metallic as I sip it. I set it back on the dining table.

My mood has improved—the momentary anger after talking with Guardian Bose was hard to resolve with my desire to be well-behaved. But in the end, I realized that my education is my top priority.

And so the anger faded back to contentment.

The girls talk quietly around me, discussing their plans for the field trip on Sunday. Occasionally, they look over at me and smile. I nod along even though I’m not really part of the conversation.

Guardian Bose told all the girls to keep their distance, and most have. In fact, there’s an empty space around us, leaving me, Sydney, Marcella, Brynn, and Annalise on our own—our own island at the long dining table. Sydney holds my hand on the bench.

Annalise has been quiet, staring at me from across the table, pursing her bright red lips, deep in thought. After a few moments, she leans toward me.

“How’d it go with Dr. Groger?” she asks.

“Another day or so, and I’ll be better than ever,” I repeat.

“Oh, you mean recovered from the poison they made you ingest?”

Brynn gasps and quickly checks to make sure none of the professors overhead. The Guardian is sitting with them, all of them eating and chatting away. Marcella knocks Annalise’s arm with her elbow.