“Yes,” he says. “It belonged to a former student.” He turns it over, examining it. “And you say you got this from Lennon Rose’s room?”
I nod. He flips through the pages, pausing on “Girls with Sharp Sticks” to read it.
“Philomena,” he says, his voice low. “Have you read this poem?”
“Just that one,” I say. “But I don’t know what it means.” My lies come out so smoothly, so innocently, that I would believe them myself.
Anton takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. He seems exhausted. When he looks at me again, he sighs. “Here’s the thing,” he says. “These poems... They’re not allowed at this school. They’re propaganda.” He leans his elbows on the desk. “You see, there are people outside of this academy who don’t believe in what we do,” he says. “They don’t think you deserve a well-rounded education. They want to push their values on you.
“I suppose they’re just jealous,” he continues. “Jealous of our success, our commitment to protecting you. Perfecting you. Innovations Academy is cutting edge and exclusive. Not everyone can send a girl through our program.” His expression grows very serious. “These people want to take that from us,” he says. “They try by deliberately spreading falsehoods. They make people angry and unhappy—especially girls—in hopes of turning you against us.
“But it won’t work,” he says with a smile. “Because we’ve trained you girls to appreciate what we do for you.”
“I’m lucky to be at such an esteemed academy,” I say immediately, without even a twinge of guilt.
“Good. Because, you see, the girl who wrote those poems must have been very unhappy to disrespect the men trying to help her. She spread that unhappiness to others. And then she dared to give it to one of our girls. I wouldn’t want—” He stops, seeming upset by the memory. “I wouldn’t want that to happen to you. You are a prize, Philomena. I want you to be successful.”
I hold my expression, but his words “you are a prize” are a cold splash of water through my chest, sending chills over my skin.
“I wouldn’t want that either, Anton,” I say evenly. “I’m so close to graduation.”
“Exactly,” he says, relieved. “So I think it’s best if we have a meeting with all the girls. Make sure we’re all on track. Make sure you have the right attitudes.”
The suggestions stuns me, scares me. But I thank him for his time; I don’t want to stay in Anton’s office for even a second longer than I have to.
I stand up and reach for the book, but Anton quickly puts his hand on it and slides it out of my reach.
“I’ll hold on to this,” he snaps. “Lennon Rose won’t need it again.”
“I’m sorry,” I reply, angry at myself for even trying to take it. I wasn’t thinking clearly. He waves me out.
I leave his office, shivering off the shadows that try to follow me out. And even though I don’t want to think it... Anton all but confirmed it.
Lennon Rose is truly gone.
•••
When I get back to my room, some of the girls are waiting in their doorways. Before I can tell them what’s happening, Guardian Bose’s voice booms like thunder down the hall.
“Back in your rooms until I come for you!” he shouts. I flinch at the violence in his tone, exchanging a worried look with Sydney.
Not wanting to be defiant, we all do as he asks.
The Guardian doesn’t come back to get us until late in the evening. They didn’t even let us have dinner.
I’ve nearly gone out of my mind while waiting, staring out the window at the woods as they darkened. Longing to escape. I should have left from the movie theater with Jackson.
Guardian Bose doesn’t speak as he leads us downstairs to the ballroom. But we’re not allowed near each other, let alone able to talk. Guardian Bose has us each sit at a different table. I hope this separation doesn’t last. The thought that it might terrifies us.
We watch Guardian Bose head to the front of the room. My leg shakes under the table.
The door opens and Mr. Petrov walks in, his suit wrinkled in a surprising way. He’s always very careful about his appearance, but he’s unnerved. He’s angry and bitter. This is him in his truest form.
Mr. Petrov stops at the front of the room, slowly looking each of us over until he lands on me. He takes the book out of his coat pocket and holds it up.
I’m not sure how he knows, but this is my fault. I put us all at risk—I can’t let the girls take any blame.
“It was my fault,” I say, pitching up my voice to sound sweeter. “Just mine. I was curious.” I shake my head. “Weak. I didn’t mean to read the book. I should have turned it in the moment I found it.”
