Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(88)

I stand just inside my doorway, listening as the Guardian returns to his room. I look back to where the phone is stashed on my bed. There’s no way I can return it now. Hopefully he doesn’t realize it’s missing. I wait for his booming voice, my hands shaking at my sides, but as the minutes pass, so does my fear.

When the quiet goes on, I turn to look around the small space of my room, waiting for a hit of nostalgia. But it doesn’t come. This room has always been my prison, even when I thought I was content. The academy stopped me from thriving, a flower they manipulated to only grow a certain way.

But instead, all of their flowers combined our roots and outgrew their pots. Their greenhouses. Their academy.

Even if we never get out of here, we’re free of their manipulation. And we can never go back to the way things used to be. And to that, I smile and quietly pack my bag.





27


Lights out, girls,” Guardian Bose announces from the hallway at the end of the night. This time, none us argue. None of us groan.

Instead, our hearts are pounding as we lie in our respective beds. I fake taking my vitamins as usual, and the Guardian lets his gaze linger on me a moment more than necessary. But he seems distracted, checking his walkie-talkie several times. He doesn’t even say good night.

Once he’s gone, I lie in the dark and watch the clock in anticipation.

At eleven forty-five, I get up to dress in my running clothes without turning on the light. After I slip on my sneakers, I look out the window, expecting some sign that Jackson is waiting. But of course he wouldn’t be sitting there with his headlights on.

I go to my door and stick my head out into the hallway. For a moment, I’m all alone. But then Sydney’s head pokes out from her doorway. In quick succession Annalise, Marcella, and Brynn all appear. We turn to the Guardian’s door, waiting. When there’s no movement, we slip outside our rooms, each of us in our running clothes with backpacks.

We’re nervous—glassy-eyed and jerky in our movements. We need to get the key for the kitchen door. Marcella motions us forward, leading the way. We follow closely behind her, checking around corners and in alcoves, making sure no one sees us as we descend the staircase toward the kitchen. The hallway is bleak with a flickering light on the wall.

The girls and I hold on to each other’s arms as we make our way into the dark kitchen. Normally, light would filter in through the window over the sink, but it’s pitch-black outside.

Marcella feels her way along the counter and gets to the drawer near the pantry. She quietly eases it open and begins to run her hand through it, looking for the key. She stiffens before darting over to the fridge, opening it to cast light into the room. I see a small plate of cookies next to the teakettle. An open box of tea.

Marcella begins going through the drawer again, her moves more frantic.

“What’s wrong?” Brynn asks. She looks around at us concerned. “Marcella, what’s wrong?”

“It’s not here,” Marcella whispers back. “There’s no gold key.”

“What?” Brynn asks, racing over to her. She begins to dig through the drawer, items rattling around. “No, it has to be.”

“There’s only this,” Marcella says, holding up the small silver key. The one that unlocks the lab in the basement.

My heart stops with the realization. “It was Leandra,” I whisper. “She . . . She took the other key so we couldn’t escape.”

The girls turn to me, horrified. “Why did she leave this one, then?” Marcella asks.

I don’t have the answer, and we don’t have time to figure out her reasoning. Every second we’re not in our rooms is another second we’re in danger.

We can’t get out.

“Come on,” Sydney says, grabbing my sleeve and pulling me toward the stairs to our rooms. “You have to call Jackson back,” she says. Marcella, Brynn, and Annalise follow—all of us growing reckless in our impatience. The fear that we’ll miss our chance for escape.

We get upstairs, keeping our eyes on Guardian Bose’s door while we hurry toward my room.

“Make sure he’s almost here,” Sydney whispers. “And tell him to bring a crowbar if he has to,” she adds in a shaky voice. The idea that we’re really trapped at the academy when we thought we had a way out makes us desperate. Irrational.

I still don’t know how we’ll get beyond the fence, but first we have to get outside. I dash over to my bed, dropping my backpack before taking the phone out of my pillowcase. I dial Jackson’s number.

“Hey,” I whisper the second he picks up. “The kitchen door is locked. We’ll need another way.”

The girls shift impatiently, motioning for me to hurry.

“I’m about fifteen minutes out,” Jackson says. I can hear that he’s in the car. “I’m coming to get you. Q is with me and—”

I open my mouth to tell him we can’t get out the door when I hear a shout at the end of the hall. “Girls!” Guardian Bose roars.

It’s like the floor drops out from under me. The phone falls from my hands, and I scramble for it, clicking it off and barely getting it under my pillow before the Guardian appears in the doorway, angry that we’re up past curfew.

“What the hell is going on?” he demands. But then his eyes travel over us, noting our clothing, our backpacks. His expression grows darker, his mouth flinches.