Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(83)

? ? ?

Professor Penchant stands at the front of the classroom, pacing. “You’re a disgrace,” he says to all of us, spittle flying from his mouth. “Naughty things.”

I cringe at the use of the word “naughty”—it’s creepy and infantile at the same time. It bothers the other girls too. Annalise grips the edge of her desk, her nails digging into the wood.

“Who would want girls like you?” Professor Penchant demands. “Disobedient trash. I’ll be glad when your lot is finally gone. You’re worthless.” He looks at Rebecca like this particular insult was reserved for her.

Annalise’s hand shoots up in the air, and Professor Penchant glances at her in surprise.

“How dare you—” he starts, furious she would dare ask a question while he’s admonishing us.

“Pardon me, sir,” she says in her sweetest voice. “But I’m ready to be a better girl. I was hoping I could learn a lesson today—if you’re up for teaching.”

I fight back my smile. But no sooner does the thought amuse me than Professor Penchant storms across the room and stops at the side of her desk. He grabs Annalise out of her chair, knocking her to the floor. He then begins to drag her by the wrist toward the front of the room while she unsuccessfully tries to free herself from his grip. Several girls scream, and I stand up from my desk.

The professor unhands her, kicking Annalise in the thigh as she tries to move away from him. He grabs his pointer stick and whacks her with it. She cries out in pain, a red slash quickly appearing on her thigh.

“Stay,” he says, like she’s a dog. With sudden ferocity, the professor turns back to all of us.

“You think we don’t see,” he says. “See the wheels turning.” He makes a motion near his temple. “The girls who wrote those kinds of poems were wicked. They were corrupt. Girls were put on this planet for the benefit of men. And you—” He whacks Annalise again, on her arm this time, and she cowers away from him. “You are here to serve at our pleasure. There is no other way for you girls—know that. Outside these walls, without our grace, you are nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Brynn is crying next to me. Several other girls are trying to hold back their tears, afraid of being next in line for his cruelty.

The professor squats down next to Annalise. He raises his hand, and she flinches away. But to our horror, he runs the backs of his fingers along her neck, down to her collarbone. And the intimate touch is more horrifying than any slap. She moves away from him, but his threat is enough to break us all down. Highlight our vulnerability.

Every night we sleep behind unlocked doors in a school where the men hate us.

When the professor stands up, Annalise wipes her cheeks, quickly clearing the tears. He holds out his hand like a gentleman, and Annalise has no choice but to take it and thank him for the chivalry.

Professor Penchant smiles and watches her walk back to her desk, limping.

I hate him. I hate the professor with a fire I never thought was possible. And I know why we should be outraged.

? ? ?

We’re not allowed to close our doors anymore. That’s the new rule Guardian Bose has enacted. We can’t be in each other’s rooms, we can’t sleep with our doors closed, we can’t go outside.

This lockdown goes on for days, and it begins to work on our sanity. The isolation is torture. And it leaves me feeling sick and worn down. I just want to talk to the girls for a minute. Make sure they’re okay.

At night there are vitamins—one pink, one green, one yellow. Guardian Bose waits for us to take them. Several times, I had to throw them up after he didn’t leave fast enough.

I stare out the window in the evenings, confined to my room alone. I wonder if Jackson has come by the school. If he’s worried. I regret pushing him away, even if I’m angry that he lied to me. In the end, he could have helped us. I should have let him. I should have run.

Of course, every time I think that, I start crying. So I try not to think about that anymore.

And I start to think that Jackson has been worried. For example, one afternoon, I notice a police cruiser leaving our gates—leaving us here at the academy, unchecked. The professors don’t mention it, and I haven’t seen Anton or the doctor since Mr. Petrov talked to us about the poems, but I doubt they’ll tell me either. Jackson must have called them, but it was for nothing.

He was right—the men are too powerful.

There’s no one coming to save us. We’re alone in our penance.

And none of us has seen Valentine.

Whenever I get the chance, I go by her room and peer inside. It’s just as she left it: a book about plants open on her desk, her makeup scattered, and a pile of laundry waiting to be washed. I’m devastated with guilt, wishing I’d done more.

But I keep walking past, hoping each time that I’ll find her. But I never do.

? ? ?

It’s Sunday evening and campus is quiet. We no longer have movie nights. I’m cleaning the kitchen on my own after dinner, not allowed to work with other girls. I’m finishing up the last of the dishes, and when I pull open the wrong drawer, I see the keys again.

I stare at them.

“Looking for a way out?” a voice asks. Startled, I look up as Leandra enters the kitchen. It occurs to me that I haven’t seen Mr. Petrov’s wife since we returned from the field trip.