Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(71)

“Not here,” she whispers. Annalise laughs, disgusted.

“Then when?” she asks. “Bose is keeping her from us.”

They both look at me, and I feel oddly on display. I glance down the table and see Rebecca sitting alone, Ida on the other side of the table with Maryanne. I stare at Rebecca, thinking she looks so lonely. Just as I’m about to turn away, I notice Valentine. She smiles at me encouragingly. She’s so weird.

“What matters right now is that we don’t all get thrown into impulse control therapy,” Sydney says under her breath.

“Fine,” Annalise says, pushing away her salad. “I thought you girls might appreciate an idea I had earlier. Guess I was wrong.”

We all sit quietly, the other girls poking at their food. But I’m curious about Annalise’s idea.

“I want to hear the thought,” I whisper. Marcella looks up, concerned, but Brynn nods that she wants to hear it too.

Annalise makes sure the staff isn’t listening and keeps her voice low. “The juice,” she says. “Specifically the kind Anton uses during impulse control therapy—do you know what it does to you?”

“I don’t remember impulse control therapy,” I tell her, the thought making me feel vulnerable. “In fact, I don’t remember the past week very well.”

Sydney squeezes my hand as if to let me know it’s okay.

“We read the files,” Sydney whispers to me.

I turn to her. “Which files?”

Sydney glances around the table and then leans in. “Files about the school,” she says. “While Anton had you in impulse control therapy, Annalise and I were supposed to be in the greenhouse. Instead, we paid a visit to Anton’s office. There are files on each of us. Files on the investors. Files on our parents and sponsors.”

My heart is starting to race, and I quickly glance over to double-check that the professors aren’t paying attention to us.

“I read your file,” Sydney says. “There were communications between Anton and the professors, a report from the doctor detailing your injuries from the field trip. No mention of the Guardian. It’s described as an ‘accident.’ And . . .” She swallows hard. “And there were reports from your impulse control therapies.”

“Therapies?” I ask.

“There were four of them,” she says. “Not including the one you were in when we read the file.”

I’m shocked, sitting there listening. “When?” I ask. “Why?”

“That’s the thing,” Sydney says. “Not just you, Mena.” She looks at the other girls. “We’ve all been through it. Multiple times.”

“Which brings me back to my thought,” Annalise says. “They are using some high-tech gadgets here. There were files about networks, computer chips, and ‘silver tech,’ they called it. They’re making us ingest the stuff. And they put a paralytic in the juice for impulse control therapy—I saw it in the formula.”

The other girls look at her, surprised.

“I read plant,” she explains. “It’s deadly nightshade mixed with sodium pentothal and a splash of bloodroot. It’s why we’re sick afterward. Anyways,” she continues, “it’s how they perform the therapies—you can’t move. Then they inject you with something—that silver tech stuff. I’m not sure what it does. But I’ve already started to kill off the plant hybrids they made for the juice. At least that way they can’t make us defenseless.”

Sydney tells her that was a good idea, but I sit there staring at them. This is all too much. Too outrageous. Why would the school do this to us? To what end?

“Lennon Rose’s file was empty,” Annalise whispers. “Only thing in there was a notice of permanent dismissal citing money as the reason. But . . .” She shifts her eyes around checking for eavesdroppers. “There was no follow-up address. It’s like . . . It’s like she just disappeared.”

We’re quiet for a moment, sadness drifting into my chest. I was happy for Lennon Rose, I think.

“And the doctor has a lab in the basement,” Marcella says. “Annalise saw it mentioned in the file, so I went down there to check it out. It was locked. From what I can tell, he works there at night. Late night. Whatever’s happening at this school—the technology—I think it’s coming from there. I think they’re experimenting on us.”

My head is literally starting to hurt from all the information. It’s like I’ve dropped into a different world: same people, different reality.

“Tell her about the poems,” Brynn suggests.

“Poems?” I ask. The girls fall quiet.

There’s a loud clanking noise, startling us, and we all look up to see Professor Penchant knocking his bowl against the table while glaring at us. Glaring at me, specifically.

“That’s enough, girls,” he calls. “Leave Philomena on her own.”

The way he spits out my name is hate-filled, and I immediately lower my eyes, feeling horrible.

“My room before lights-out,” Annalise murmurs, spearing a piece of salad with her fork.

We agree, but I try not to think anymore. My head is killing me.

? ? ?

During quiet reflection before bed, I slip into Annalise’s room, hoping Guardian Bose won’t notice. The girls are in there already, waiting, and they jump when I open the door. Sydney has a book under her hand.