Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(75)

The school is using us, using our futures. Our potential. To what end, I’m not sure. I think we’ve been trained to not imagine the possibilities.

The Guardian calls gruffly from behind the line for us to hurry up. We’re not in control of the line, but I glance back at him and smile obediently anyway. I can feel him checking every person who comes near us. But after a bit, he must give up because he goes to wait at the theater door.

We’re each allowed one item from the concession, at Dr. Groger’s suggestion. You need to learn how to moderate your choices, selecting items based on what you’ve learned here.

Well, I’m obviously buying candy. That seems like a good choice to me.

Once I have my candy and Sydney has her large popcorn, we meet the others at theater nine. I’m surprised by how big the room is—all the seats and the massive screen.

It’s a little crowded, so we can’t all sit together. The Guardian allows Sydney and me to grab two seats in a row near the back. Annalise and the others opt to move closer, asking the Guardian to sit with them. They’re going to try to keep him distracted while I talk to Jackson. If ?Jackson shows up.

The room suddenly darkens and I gasp before realizing it’s supposed to happen. The screen expands and the volume gets louder as a voice over a loud speaker tells us we’re about to watch trailers for upcoming movies.

We watch, mildly interested even though the previews are men with guns, men with fast cars, and men diving from one skyscraper to another. In the hallway there were posters for movies that seemed much more interesting.

I’m growing impatient when suddenly there’s a flash of movement at the end of the row. I glance over casually just as he sits next to me, and when I see it’s Jackson, I viciously rip off a piece of licorice with my teeth.

Jackson’s out of breath, his eyes wide as he stares at me. Worried, I guess. I haven’t seen him all week.

I sweep my gaze over him in the darkened theater. And then I narrow my eyes and ask, “When were you going to tell me about your mother?”

He runs his hand though his hair and whispers, “Fuck.”

“Jackson,” Sydney whispers, leaning forward to look at him. She quickly checks to make sure the Guardian hasn’t noticed him sitting with us. “For the record, I knew you’d show up.” I give her a pointed look, and she presses her lips together and goes back to watching the movie.

“We need to talk,” he whispers to me, sounding a bit desperate.

“Oh, you think?” I ask. He doesn’t seem to like my coldness, but I don’t care what he thinks about my behavior. For once, I’m acting the way I feel. Speaking my mind. And right now, my mind is angry.

Sydney checks on the Guardian again. “If Bose comes looking for you,” she says, “I’ll tell him you’re in the bathroom. Just hurry.”

I get up, motioning for Jackson to follow me, and duck as I hurry down the aisle past him. At the door, I check to see if the Guardian noticed me. When I’m sure he hasn’t, I slip into the hallway.

The light is much brighter out here, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust. Jackson walks out of the theater and immediately comes over to me, stopping closer than I expect. I take a step back from him. It clearly hurts his feelings, and his eyes weaken.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding up his hands. “But—”

“We can’t talk here,” I say. I start for the exit doors, checking around to make sure no one is paying attention. They’re not. I even walk behind the ticket booth so the boy there doesn’t notice.

When we get to the side of the building, I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Jackson. Even though I’m upset, there’s a small soft spot when his brown eyes meet mine. I quickly look away.

“I can explain,” he says. “Just tell me what you found, and I’ll explain.”

I scoff. “Don’t do that,” I say. “You don’t get to lie to me and then demand answers. Tell me what your mother was doing with the academy. Your father. The school has pictures of your family in their files. Why??”

Jackson’s expression flashes anger at the idea of this. He moves to stand next to me, his jaw tight.

“You mentioned his name the other day,” Jackson says. “Mr. Petrov. I did my homework on him,” he continues, “him and all of his buddies. Back in the day, they were lobbyists—all tied up in politics. They backed legislation that tried to strip women’s rights. Do you remember?”

I’m shocked by the idea, but I shake my head. I don’t remember anything like that.

“Okay,” Jackson says, leaning against the brick wall. “Well, when that didn’t work out, when women were like, Fuck no, this guy Petrov bought the technology plant my mother worked at: Innovations Metal Works.

“At first, my mom didn’t mind the change. But then she started working later nights, longer hours. My dad was unemployed—had been for a while. He was big into men’s rights—some really backward shit. He and I would fight about it all the time. I don’t know how my mom put up with it. She’d just say he wasn’t always like that.”

I lean my shoulder against the wall, listening to Jackson. I’ve never heard of women’s rights, but I bet the book of poetry fits into what Jackson is saying.

“The last straw for her,” Jackson says, “was when my father invested in the company that Petrov built. My mother said she told him what they were doing. How could he?” Jackson shrugs. “My father is excellent at making terrible decisions.”