“Do you feel brave, Philomena?” he asks, his tone cutting through my hollow words.
“Excuse me?” I ask, wilting slightly.
“Did the words in that book make you feel brave? Make you think... you were better? Equal? Did they make you want to talk back?”
I shake my head, but inside, my heart is racing. How do they know how those poems affected us? “No, Mr. Petrov,” I say. “They were just words. I didn’t even understand them. The other girls didn’t even read them!”
He hums out a sound, running his eyes around the room. “Words create rebellions,” he says. “Better I crush yours right now before you hurt the other girls. Before you try to convince them with lies.”
I’m scared. I don’t know what he’s going to do to me, and I turn back to Sydney, I see her eyes brimming with tears.
“Who gave you this book?” he demands.
“I found it in Lennon Rose’s room,” I say. “I swear. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Who gave you this book?” he asks, louder. Brynn jumps from the sound, and he drags his eyes over her. Mr. Petrov nods to Guardian Bose.
The Guardian stomps over to grab Brynn by the collar of her shirt, hauling her to her feet violently. Several girls gasp. Marcella begs him to stop.
“Who gave you this book?” Mr. Petrov asks me again, his threat to Brynn obvious.
I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure what lie will help protect the other girls. And then suddenly, Valentine stands up.
“I did,” she says simply. “I gave the book to Lennon Rose. Mena must have found it there.”
“Ah, there we go,” Mr. Petrov says. He waves the Guardian toward her. “I believe Dr. Groger would like a word with Valentine Wright.”
The Guardian pushes Brynn down in her seat—she folds in on herself, still in shock from being mishandled.
The Guardian walks to Valentine’s table. Slowly, as if completely unbothered, she smiles at him politely.
“Time’s up, sweetheart,” Guardian Bose says. “Time to go visit the lab.”
I quickly look back at Marcella, who confirms it’s the locked room in the basement.
Valentine nods, stepping away from the table to follow the Guardian out. Her eyes slide to mine with a wave of panic. She told me that the next time they thought she needed impulse control therapy, they would kill her.
“Valentine,” I call, breathless in my terror. She looks away from me because there’s nothing I can say. There’s nothing I can do. I would just endanger us all, like I already have with the book.
Valentine begins to shake. Her eyes go vacant, her expression serene, as she lets the Guardian lead her from the room.
Are they really going tokillValentine? This can’t be happening. They can’t do this—even the idea of losing one of the girls is unbearable. But I don’t know what to do. What can any of us do?
“This school is on lockdown,” Mr. Petrov announces. “There will be no phone calls, no parental visits. Campus is closed and open houses are canceled. The fences will be reinforced and the doors bolted at night. You will pay the price for your audacity.” He stops when his voice gets tight with anger. He takes a breath, and then begins again.
“Guardian Bose will step up your supervision,” he says. “Mandatory impulse control therapy will begin shortly—we have no way of knowing how far these poisonous ideas have spread. Make no mistake,” he says, wagging his finger at us, “your parents will not be removing you from this building until you are worthy. Nobody needs another opinioned girl. You will obey!”
The words take the air out of the room and make my skin crawl. We sit there quietly, afraid it might get worse. It can always get worse. I know that now.
Mr. Petrov glances at his watch. “You will report for classes in the morning as usual,” he says. “And if you get any moreideas, you will be isolated. And it can get very lonely,” he adds menacingly. “We can’t have you spreading discontent.”
And then the Head of School walks out.
25
That night, when Guardian Bose comes to my room to give me my vitamins—one yellow and one sedative—he stands there and watches me take them. I make a show of it, extra apologetic. The pills rest just under my tongue, and I can feel them dissolving, unable to do anything while the Guardian is here.
I can barely stand it. The idea of the silver tech gliding over my tongue and down my throat, or the sedative making me powerless with sleep, almost makes me gag. But the Guardian casts a dirty look in my direction and leaves to harass another girl.
