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.
Our diets here at the academy are strict, measured, and always monitored. Even when we cook, it’s with natural ingredients, no additives. No extras. But every once in a while, we’ll get the chance to taste something different in cooking class—“chef tasting,” they call it—to make sure it’s correctly seasoned. Men like their foods flavorful, and we’re expected to provide a tantalizing meal. But it would be inappropriate for us to indulge, crave food for ourselves.
Same goes for our movies. The school selects what we watch: mostly films from the early 50s. There is the occasional action film with explosions, but I imagine those are Guardian Bose’s influence. We’re sometimes asked our thoughts on the entertainment, but the conversation always steers back to how Guardian Bose felt about it, and we’re to echo his sentiment. It makes for a more pleasing conversation.
The academy has no cable or internet, which we’re told is a good thing.
“The internet is rife with falsehoods,” Professor Levin told us in Modern Manners. “You’ll do best to ignore it completely, even after graduation. Your husbands or custodians will let you know any important news you need. Trust in their supervision.”
Before the academy, my parents didn’t allow me on the internet either. Being homeschooled, I was protected—just like I am here. So when it comes to the internet, I don’t know what I’m missing. I defer to the professors’ knowledge on the matter.
There are a few types of books at the school: gardening, beauty standards, or social etiquette, but I’ve already read them all. So most days, it’s just me and the girls. Which is more than enough. We’re fast learners, absorbing words, phrases, and ideas quickly. And we tell each other everything—our own kind of internet, I suppose.
I look down to the other end of the table and see the empty spot where Valentine normally sits. It’s a bit jarring for her to be missing, and I blink quickly as I resettle myself. Even though Valentine doesn’t socialize with us, she’s still part of our class. And none of us likes to be separated.
I poke through my salad with my fork before looking up at the other girls. “Hey,” I say quietly, drawing gazes from Marcella and Brynn, from Sydney and Lennon Rose. “When I was with Dr. Groger earlier, I asked him about Valentine.”
Marcella’s eyes narrow slightly, as if she’s both confused and interested in what I have to say next. Brynn sets her elbow on the table.
“What did he say?” Sydney asks from next to me.
“He told me that Guardian Bose can be overzealous sometimes,” I say. “And that he’d talk to him about it.”
“Dr. Groger is very kind,” Lennon Rose says in her quiet way. She nods that we should agree.
“What does he mean by ‘overzealous’?” Brynn asks, pushing her blond braid over her shoulder. “Valentine wasn’t listening to him. He redirected her.”
“He did injure Mena,” Marcella suggests as a reason, turning sideways to Brynn. I’m immediately embarrassed again by my behavior.
“I’m not sure what the doctor meant,” I say. I lean into the table and drop my voice lower. “But Valentine is getting impulse control therapy right now.”
“Good,” Brynn says, nodding. “Hopefully it’ll get her back on track.”
I look down at my salad, the feeling of dread coming over me again. “The impulse control therapy part doesn’t bother you, though?” I ask, barely a whisper.
“Why would it?” Sydney asks curiously. “It’ll fix her.”
The other girls nod, perplexed by my question. Lennon Rose recently underwent her own impulse control therapy. She’d been acting a little sad, and we were told she was homesick and needed to reassess her goals. We haven’t discussed it with her since she returned—Anton said it would be best not to.
Lennon Rose is no longer contributing to the discussion now, clearly uncomfortable. The other girls watch me, puzzled, and I feel bad for worrying them.
“Never mind,” I say with a quick wave of my hand. “I was probably just shaken up after seeing so much blood.”
Sydney scrunches up her nose, admitting that the sight of blood was disgusting. The girls agree, and the conversation about impulse control therapy fades away.
As the other girls eat, I glance around the dining hall and find the Guardian sitting with the professors as they devour their dinners. Overflowing plates of meat and gravy, potatoes, and vegetables. Steam rises from their plates, and for a moment, my mouth actually waters. I spear a piece of lettuce and shove it between my teeth.
Sydney uses her straw to stir her juice, poking at the thick liquid. “You have to come to my room later,” she says. “After evening classes. We have a lot todiscuss.” She emphasizes the last word, and I know she wants to talk about the boys we met. I fight back my grin and tell her that I’ll be there. Next to her, Lennon Rose’s eyes light up.
On Thursdays, we all attend classes well into the night, but it gives us a shorter school day on Friday. And this Friday is especially important because it’s an open house. Parents, sponsors, and potential investors are invited to see the grand achievements of the Innovations Academy. Namely: us.
The events are lavish and impressive, a chance to mingle and socialize. We all look forward to them because these are our only chances to see our parents during the year.
“Drink your juice,” Sydney says, taking a big sip of hers and gagging before finishing it off. I tell her she’s out of her mind and slosh the straw around in my drink, wishing the entire thing would just evaporate.
I feel heat on the back of my neck. Sensing him, I look up to find Guardian Bose watching me. I’m conscious that I don’t want to break any more rules. I pick up my juice and guzzle it down. When I set the glass on the table, sick to my stomach, the Guardian smiles and goes back to his meal.
5
