Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(78)

Jackson adjusts his stance. “It doesn’t work that way,” he says. “People don’t wake up once they die.”

“No,” I say, furrowing my brow. “Not . . . dead dead. The school . . . They changed my name to Philomena Rhodes.” I run my hand through my hair, confused. Deeply confused. “And my parents came with me to the academy. . . . They dropped me off for the first day.”

Only it doesn’t make sense. I was already at the academy. The memories of my life contradict the flashback.

“It started all over again,” I say to Jackson. “The academy trained me, same rules.” I try to catch my breath. “Same . . . future.”

“You’ll be a prize for any man,” I whisper Anton’s words, hating them. I look at Jackson. “That’s what they’re doing,” I say. “The experiments. They’re training us to be perfect girls for men. Just like in ‘Sharp Sticks.’?”

“Sharp sticks?” Jackson repeats confused. He reaches to touch my arm, but I jerk away from him.

“Don’t touch me,” I say.

“Whoa, yeah, I’m sorry,” he says, truly apologetic. “I just . . . You’re not making sense. But I believe you anyway. So let’s get out of here. I’ll hit that guy over the head”—he hikes his thumb toward the theater—“and we’ll all run for it. All the girls.”

That won’t work. We’d have nowhere to go. If that memory is right, the investors know. Our parents and sponsors know. They’re all part of the same sick system. Who are these people? Are they . . . Are they even my parents?

“I have to get back inside,” I say, starting toward the theater. “I have to warn the other girls. We have evidence now—my memories, those files. We just have to use it all to shut down the academy.”

Jackson jogs ahead to stop in front of me, holding up his hand as if to show he’s not trying to be pushy. “What if it’s not enough?” he asks. “What if the school is still too powerful?”

I stare at him, waiting for an answer to come to me. Instead, I’m met with the unimaginable horror that he might be right. I shiver once and dart my eyes away before going back inside.

Jackson doesn’t follow me. I clear my cheeks, making sure the tears are gone. And just as I get to theater nine, the door swings open and Guardian Bose comes rushing out. He stops abruptly when he sees me.

“Where the hell were you?” he demands.

“Bathroom,” I answer, breathless. He grabs my elbow, making me wince.

“Get back inside,” he growls, and pushes me ahead of him. He escorts me down the aisle to my seat, then pushes me down into my chair. It takes everything I have to not fight back.

“Don’t leave this theater again until I tell you,” he says, pointing in my face. I work to look sufficiently ashamed.

“I promise,” I say.

Guardian Bose goes back to his seat, and when he’s gone, Sydney exhales.

“You were gone awhile,” she murmurs. She realizes how bad I’m shaking, and she threads her fingers through mine, asking if I’m okay.

Being close to her, being together, lets me finally break down. I cry into her shoulder, unable to tell her the horrible truth. Not yet. I just let her hold me and tell me that we’ll take care of each other.





24


I’m quiet on the bus ride home, afraid to say anything in case the Guardian overhears. And more than that, I’m devastated. The girls will know soon enough, but I can’t tell them now and expect them to keep it in. They’ll need space to grieve. We’ll need space to plan.

I can’t wait for Jackson to find a way. We’ll find our own way. I lean my head against the window, emotionally and physically exhausted. I close my eyes, searching the memory.

And as I do, other ones begin to fill in. Other truths become obvious even though they weren’t at the time.

I haven’t been at Innovations Academy for eight months. I’ve been there for almost two years. I’ve been through their education before as a girl with a different last name. Anton sent me home with a man I was supposed to please. An . . . investment. Instead, I tried to get away and was hit by a car.

When I woke up, Dr. Groger was leading me up the stairs. Physically, nothing hurt, but I was lonely—I knew something was wrong. He told me I missed my parents—the Rhodeses. At the time, I agreed, thinking of them fondly—my parents.

But then, I saw the other girls in the reception hall. Sydney first, of course. Our eyes meeting across the room. And then there was Marcella and Annalise. We all stared at each other, relieved. Loving each other instantly.

Only it wasn’t instantly. It was again. The four of us had been here before. Each of us returning to the academy for an additional year of training.

Annalise no longer had blond hair. She was now a redhead—something that aggravated her, even if she didn’t understand why. After I tried to paint her hair, Anton put us all through impulse control therapy.

“Abide by your specifications,” he said. As if that was the bigger sin.

The other girls came later, Lennon Rose and Brynn. They were new. We loved them, too. We made each other stronger, each moment together feeling like a lifetime.

And there were other girls who had returned, like Valentine.