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

I keep my head down as I walk into Modesty and Decorum class, worried that Professor Penchant will scold me in front of the others. I’m still a little tender from Dr. Groger’s reprimand. Eva’s disappointment.

“Shame is the best teacher,” the professor said last week when Lennon Rose started to cry. He told her she looked unkempt, a poor representation of the academy. He made her go back to her room to take out her ponytail and brush her hair; he held the class until she returned. I offered to help her, but he told me it was a lesson she needed to learn.

“I know girls these days like to think their appearance doesn’t matter,” he lectured us. “Pajamas in a movie theater, messy hair at the grocery store.” He scrunched up his nose as if he found these types of girls particularly distasteful. “But you will take pride in your appearance at all times. No exceptions. And why is that?”

“Because beauty is our greatest asset,” we said in unison, knowing the appropriate response. Knowing we’d be graded on it.

“Correct,” the professor replied, assessing each of us.

Lennon Rose came back to class shortly after that, a vision with her long hair smoothed, fresh makeup applied, her uniform shirt tucked in, and her socks perfectly folded. Professor Penchant showed her off.

I feel his eyes on me now as I sit at my desk, but he doesn’t call my name. I take out my book and follow along with the lesson.

“Compliance is an appealing quality,” he says from the front of the room. “Especially with graduation growing near. You’ll find that out there,” he motions toward the windows, “people won’t appreciate your opinions. Hold your tongue and listen. It’s a good lesson for all young women.”

We can’t wait for graduation—the chance to show what exemplary girls we’ve become. Better girls. Once we’ve completed our education at Innovations Academy, Mr. Petrov works closely with our parents or sponsors to find us the perfect opportunity for success, usually through marriage. He says there are other prospects as well, but he hasn’t explained them. Instead, he tells us to trust him; he only wants what’s best for us.

We’re going to make our parents so proud.

There’s a loud exhale behind me, and I put my chin on my shoulder and look back covertly. Annalise sits in the desk behind me, and when she notices me, she rolls her eyes.

Annalise is outspoken, more so than the rest of us. Brutally honest, Anton told her once, a description that Annalise found appealing.

A few months ago, Annalise suggested that Professor Penchant try compliments rather than admonishments. It’s no surprise that he didn’t “appreciate” Annalise’s opinion on this matter. Now she keeps them to herself during class.

She winks at me and I smile.

“Ah, Philomena,” the professor calls, startling me. I quickly spin around. “Glad you’ve recovered from your little mishap on the bus. All is well?”

“Yes, Professor Penchant,” I reply, back straight, chin up.

“Very good,” he says. “Now, would you like to stay after class with me and discuss why you find it so difficult to pay attention during my lesson?”

“No, sir,” I say, heat rising to my cheeks. “I apologize for my disruption.”

He narrows his dark eyes on me. “Correct answer,” he responds, darting his gaze at Annalise before turning back to the board to finish the lesson.

Suddenly, the classroom door opens and Leandra Petrov sweeps into the room. We all position ourselves to look our best, exemplify the teachings of the academy. She smiles politely, and when she turns to Professor Penchant, she lowers her head in a show of respect. He puffs up with confidence and allows her to take the floor.

“Hello, girls,” Leandra says to us. Her voice is graceful and elegant. Her light hair is styled in thick waves, tucked at the nape of her neck. Her navy blue dress is formfitting and flattering. I turn to Lennon Rose, who is watching Leandra with unbridled admiration.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your lesson,” Leandra continues, “but I’d like to speak with you about Valentine Wright.”

A few girls shift in their seats and I see Professor Penchant scowl at their lack of restraint. Leandra steps forward, her heels clicking on the linoleum.

“As you’re aware, Valentine was insubordinate while on the field trip. She defied Guardian Bose, and by extension, she defied the academy.” She pulls her eyebrows together, a slight frown on her full lips.

“Innovations Academy has given you girls everything,” she says. “Arranged for you to lead an exemplary life. You should appreciate it. Appreciate what Guardian Bose does to keep you safe. What your esteemed professors”—she glances at Professor Penchant—“teach you in the classroom.” Leandra takes a few more steps so that she is almost at the front row of desks.

“You are perfection personified,” she continues, “and we must ask that you act like it. I never want to hear about this kind of behavior again. It would break my heart.” She puts her hand on her chest to drive home the point. Several girls nod emphatically, as if promising they would never dream of upsetting her.

“We are lucky,” Leandra says, holding open her arms, “to have such wonderful girls. And you are lucky to have such wonderful men to guide you. Don’t ever forget that.” She smiles for a long moment, gazing at each of us, before taking a cleansing breath and directing us to do the same. We all feel a little better once we have.

“Now,” Leandra says, “although we are deeply disappointed in Valentine’s behavior, we are committed to returning her to her best self. She is currently being sent through impulse control therapy to identify the cause of her actions. I’m here to assure you that she’ll be fine. No,” she corrects, “she’ll be better than ever.” She pauses a moment and waits for us to clap. When I look sideways, Lennon Rose beams at me.

I’m grateful that Valentine will get the help she needs. And to prove it, I clap along with the others.

Leandra glances around once more, and for a moment, her eyes hold mine. And then, just as easily as she walked in, she dips her chin to the professor in gratitude and sweeps back out of the classroom.

? ? ?

I don’t see Sydney until dinner. We only have a few classes together, and none of them were this afternoon. I’ve missed her, and I’m grateful to find her waiting at our usual table in the dining hall. The area where we take our meals is small, and we sit close enough together that there are few conversations that are private.

For example, as I approach the table, I hear Marcella talking about the “bloodbath” that was her period last weekend. I snort a laugh and take a seat next to Sydney.

“Let me see it,” Sydney says, motioning toward my knee. I put my foot on the seat and slowly pull off the glitter Band-Aid with a wince. She leans close to examine it like she’s a scar specialist.

“Pretty good,” she says, nodding. I hope she’s not feeling self-conscious about her scar, but when she reaches for the center of the table, I notice that she tugs down her sleeve to cover the mark. She grabs a salad and slides it in front of me.

“No chicken today?” I ask, picking through the dry lettuce.

“They announced we’ve had too many calories this week. Now it’s salad and juice cleanses until next weigh-in.”

“Gross.”

“Don’t be negative,” she sings out, pushing a green sludge–filled glass my way. I try a sip and it’s awful, of course. She laughs. None of us like the juice.

The green juices are made of plants from our garden. Assorted flowers that we grow specially mixed with vitamins for an added boost. The juice keeps our moods centered, content.