“You look precious, Philomena,” he says.
“How’d you even find me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“That boy you travel with isn’t subtle,” he says, trying to hide his contempt for Jackson.
“Okay,” I say. “Then what do you want?”
“Don’t be difficult,” he says. “I’m here to talk to all the girls.” He starts for the door, but I quickly dart in front of it, blocking his path.
“I think you should ask them first,” I say. “You don’t get to decide that they’ll talk to you. Get permission.”
I enjoy Winston’s discomfort. Asking means he can be refused. For all his preaching about our rights, the idea that we have autonomy—when it doesn’t suit him—makes him uneasy.
Welcome to the future, Winston Weeks.
“Of course,” he says after a moment. “Hello, girls,” Winston calls out, annoyingly formal, especially here. “May I come in and speak with you for a bit?”
There’s no response, but then the door opens, and Marcella looks out, eyeing him suspiciously. She turns to me to make sure I approve. I tell her it’s fine. She opens the door the rest of the way.
I walk inside with Winston Weeks following behind me.
He surveys the room, a heavy look of disgust in his expression. He starts to sit down but then thinks better of it. He goes to stand in front of the television, as if commanding our attention.
“We need to talk, girls,” he says. Marcella rolls her eyes. “Last night’s entire incident with those boys was counterproductive for our cause. I’m disappointed.”
Sydney scoffs from the other side of me. Marcella leans forward.
“Sorry, Dad,” Marcella says, earning a laugh from Brynn.
“Those boys at Ridgeview were horrible,” I say. “I’m glad they’re finally facing consequences.”
Winston allows this. “I understand, Philomena,” he says gently. “But sometimes there are bigger monsters that need to be slain first. That’s what you girls don’t understand yet. The narrative shifts. Sure, these boys lost their scholarships, maybe a few will actually do time. But nothing changes, not at this level. Soon there will be think pieces about their lives being ruined. Some will even call it a hoax. Starting at the bottom protects no one. You should have gone for the red meat first.”
Winston would have let the boys of Ridgeview get away with mass harassment if it meant they could serve a purpose for him. Allowing the misbehavior of other men when it benefits him.
“Although it was noble of you to help the female students of Ridgeview,” he continues, “it could have ruined everything.”
“But it didn’t,” Sydney says. “Turns out, we saved everyone. Interesting how compassion and competence work better than war and blackmail. Try it sometime.”
“But you’ve hurt your own cause,” he says.
“How do you figure?” I ask. “We stopped the investor.”
Winston looks at me darkly. “Mr. Goodwin is dead.”
My expression falters. “What? What … What are you talking about?”
“What you’ve all failed to comprehend is that the corporationis filled with people who kill anyone who stands in their way. They have no loyalty, even though they demand it. If you had brought him to me, I could have made Goodwin talk, found different ways to infiltrate and cut off funding. Now we won’t have that chance.”
I look at the other girls, but none of us have checked on Mr. Goodwin’s well-being. It strikes us as sickeningly possible that he’s dead, and guilt crawls over me. Even though he may not deserve my sympathy, it would mean that Adrian lost her dad. And despite everything, she still loved him.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Sydney says abruptly to Winston. She’s disturbed by this development, but she doesn’t want to show Winston Weeks any of that.
Winston doesn’t argue. He nods and heads for the door, pausing there like he’s waiting for me. Despite the other girls staring at me as if telling me not to, I walk Winston to his car.
“That went well,” I tell him, standing at the curb while he opens the driver’s side door.
“It was expected,” he says. “By the way, I know you were at my house last night. You left a bloody fingerprint on my wall.” He looks sideways at me, his expression holding a hint of amusement. “You should have come in and had a glass of wine.”
