Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(84)

She turns before I see her face and walks over to the stove, picking up a kettle. She’s wearing a fitted black dress, her hair hanging long. She wags the teapot and sighs.

Leandra moves past me to fill the kettle at the sink, the water loud in the silent room. She sets it back on the stove and lights the range.

When she turns around, she leans against the cabinets, her face on display.

Her left eye has a bruise underneath, the white of her eye turned bloodred. She lets me look. She wants me to see.

“Are you okay?” I ask, unsure of what else to say.

She smiles. “Anton and I had a very intense therapy session. I’m one hundred percent now. I’ve made him very proud.”

My heart dips, and I look between her and the door before I step closer.

“You . . . You got impulse control therapy?” I whisper.

She nods. I point to my own eye to indicate hers.

“Why do you have a bruise?” I ask. “I’ve never—”

“My husband opted against the patch kit,” she says. “He thought I’d prefer to see the damage firsthand. You know, as a reminder.”

“A reminder?” I ask.

“Of what happens to girls who misbehave. Seems that book of poetry caused quite a stir,” Leandra says. “The men are afraid the discontent will spread. They want to root it out; they started with me. Valentine should have been more careful,” she adds. “It was, after all, a secret.”

My mouth drops open, and it takes me a second to find my words.

“You gave her the book?” I ask.

“It had been mine,” Leandra replies, her expression giving nothing away. “A gift someone had given me when I was different. Back when I was one of you. It woke me up. I’m curious if it’s done the same for you, Mena.”

I assume Leandra did give the book to Valentine, but she doesn’t say it outright. I don’t press the issue. I’m not sure if she’s purposefully being evasive or if she just can’t remember after impulse control therapy.

It’s shocking to think that Leandra Petrov was once a girl at this academy. However, what’s more shocking is that she owned those poems of rebellion—of revenge. What kind of friend would give her the book and then leave her here? It seems cruel. Then again, Leandra understands what this academy does to us, and yet . . . she stayed. She’s part of their system.

“Then what are you doing here?” I ask, incredulous. “Why have you stayed all this time?”

My question gives her pause. Leandra steps closer to me and runs her perfectly manicured fingernail down my cheek.

“I’m right where I belong, Philomena,” she whispers. “And when I grow discontented, Anton removes that piece. Again and again. As often as it takes.”

Staring at her bloody eye with her sharp nail against my skin, I’m certain that Leandra is not here to help me at all. Even when the men here abuse her, she stays. Because if she admits that what they’ve done to her is wrong, she’ll have to admit her role in hurting us.

The kettle begins to whistle, and Leandra turns to take it off the heat.

“In fact,” she says as she pours hot water into a cup, “Anton checks me over once a week, just to make sure.” She gets a tea bag from the wooden box next to the stove. “It’s at my husband’s request. Although it’s not really a request, you understand.”

She sets the kettle aside and turns to study me.

“Do you like cookies, Mena?” she asks curiously. Her question catches me off guard.

“I . . . I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I’ve never had one.”

“They’re too sweet,” she replies with a shrug. “You should avoid them.”

I don’t respond. I’m not sure if she’s really talking about cookies, or if there’s some deeper meaning in her advice that I don’t quite understand. To be honest, I don’t understand her. I never have.

Leandra picks up her cup from the counter. “Gold one opens the kitchen door,” she adds, motioning to the drawer of keys. “But you might want to take the silver key instead. I believe it opens the door to the lab downstairs. All this technology . . . ,” she says, looking around. “You’d think they would have changed the locks.”

My heart is pounding wildly, scared that Leandra will tell Anton I’ve been dreaming of escape. Scared that if she does, I’ll end up worse than her.

But then, as if we never spoke at all, Leandra sips from her tea and leaves the kitchen.





To: All Staff RE: Emergency Impulse Control Therapy From: Petrov, Roman Today at 6:33 AM

As many of you have noted, this year’s class of girls has shown an unprecedented level of defiance. Due to this disruption, Innovations Academy is instituting emergency impulse control therapy, starting immediately. Once we have analyzed the data, we will take the necessary steps to preserve our investment. Girls who are not cleared for graduation will be dismissed permanently.

Evaluations are expected to be completed by the end of the week. Intensive follow-ups will be given to those exposed to the recovered reading material.

In addition, arrangements are under way to speed up the vetting process for a new batch of girls. Until further notice, Dr. Groger will be unavailable in the evenings as he continues his important work.