Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(74)

As we board the bus and leave the academy, the day seems brighter—the sun is even shining. This isn’t a normal field trip, we know too much to fully enjoy it, but we can’t help but relax a little. Annalise says we deserve it.

I absorb the sights as they pass by the bus window. Every tree, every building. I’ve never been to a movie theater before, and I’m curious what it will be like.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on some popcorn,” Sydney says. “And I mean my entire hand.” She mimics picking up a fistful of popcorn and shoving it into her mouth, making several girls laugh.

I smile, but then I catch sight of Guardian Bose turned around in his seat. Rebecca is next to him, her face downturned. They allowed her to come with us, but Sydney says she hasn’t been the same since her impulse control therapy. We’ve considered telling her to stop taking the vitamins, but we’re afraid she’ll let the doctor know.

I wish Guardian Bose didn’t have to come to the movies with us; he’s obviously miserable about it. But we knew there’d be rules for this field trip—of course there would be. It’s going to be tough to avoid him.

The bus turns onto Main Street, and we’re all pressed to the windows. The town is small, less than fifteen hundred people, but there are dozens of residents walking around downtown right now. People watch us drive by, men tipping up their hats to get a better look. Women shaking their heads in disapproval.

I think about the hosts at the places we visit, always scurrying out of sight the minute we arrive. Jackson said the town knew about the school, but not about the girls. They wonder about us. But not enough to question the men in power.

I used to fantasize about coming into town. But now that I’m here . . . I feel suddenly vulnerable. It makes Winston Weeks’s request seem more appropriate than ever. We need to be socialized to society, and society needs to be socialized to us. By hiding us away, the academy made us outsiders. Maybe they wanted it that way.

Who would believe girls they’ve never seen before? Who would believe outsiders?

The bus hisses to a stop at the corner gas station, and the doors fold open. Guardian Bose moves to the block the aisle.

“We’re heading down Main Street toward the movie theater,” he says. “Straight there, understand? No funny business.”

Brynn snorts a laugh at “funny business” and quickly covers her mouth. We try to nod solemnly and deeply like we’re taking him very seriously. He rolls his eyes, annoyed with all of us.

We file off the bus, gathering to wait for everyone. The open air smells like gas and trash from a nearby dumpster. Weirdly, despite our important mission, the sudden freedom is intoxicating. We find ourselves smiling, accepting the abnormality of our lives to have these few moments. Sydney smiles at me.

Guardian Bose leads the way, but several of us hang toward the back. I keep my eyes out for Jackson, scared the Guardian will notice him before I do.

We continue down Main Street, passing people who don’t say hello, even though we’re very polite to them. Mostly, they avoid our eyes.

As Annalise pauses at a shop window, distracted, a woman walks toward us with a child, clutching her hand to her side as they pass. The woman doesn’t look at me, but the little girl does. Her large blue eyes study me, her fingers in her mouth. I smile at her and offer a wave.

The little girl smiles back with several missing teeth, and I find her response delightful. She continues to look back over her shoulder at me. And then she pulls her fingers out of her mouth to hold them up in a wave. Her mother tugs her forward and tells her to keep walking.

“She was cute,” I say. Brynn comes over, looking after her too.

“I’ll take several of those,” she says, pointing at the kid, but talking like Annalise would while shopping. We both start laughing.

The Main Street theater is old fashioned, with a freestanding ticket booth. The boy selling tickets—not much older than we are—averts his eyes. His hands shake as he takes our money and slides the tickets in our direction, making sure never to touch us.

“Thank you,” Annalise sings out, leaning in to kiss the glass window. She leaves a red lipstick mark. When the boy looks up at it, he actually gulps.

“Let’s go,” Marcella says, grabbing Annalise’s arms. “Let’s not terrorize boys so early into the afternoon.”

Annalise laughs, and we head inside. The entry is dramatic, with oversized red drapes and statues of famous actresses set up throughout the lobby so people can take pictures with them. While the others check them out, Sydney and I head straight for the concession—mostly to keep an eye out for Jackson. Well, mostly so she can get popcorn and I can get candy, but also to watch for him.

It’s thrilling to have to wait in line with other people. It shouldn’t be, I’m sure. But Sydney and I exchange a few smiles as we overhear people talking about their lives. Their jobs. Their favorite soda.

It occurs to me then that the girls and I don’t talk about our futures, not in a significant way. The academy tells us to trust them, that they know what’s best. Clearly that’s not true. The only one who ever questioned our futures was Lennon Rose. And soon after . . . she was gone.

I look around at the people in this concession line, wondering if I’ll be like them once this is over. Able to make my own choices. Or will Mr. Petrov hand us over to another man—one we have to marry. Or will it be our parents, telling us to charm our fathers’ rivals?