“You’re a monster,” Marcella says. “You know that, right?”
Leandra smiles. “You’re newly awake,” she says. “You don’t understand yet.” Her expression falters. “You have no idea what you’ll have to do to truly win your freedom. And do me a favor,” she adds. “Be sure to let me know if the voice gets louder.”
Marcella starts in surprise, and she quickly turns away and hurries out the door with Brynn. Does Leandra know how Marcella brought us here, or how Brynn heard something that made her come downstairs to find the body in the bathtub? Is it … Could it be the same voice that Imogene heard?
Maybe it wasn’t a flaw in her programming at all.
“Whose voice did Imogene hear?” I ask Leandra. Her expression is unreadable.
“A leftover voice in her programming, I suspect,” she says, sweeping her eyes over me. “You’ll all have it in some form or another now that you’re awake. Don’t forget, Philomena. You’re not human, no matter how often someone might try to convince you otherwise. You’re not trulyfeelingany of this.”
Does she believe that? I saw the strange way she looked at Jackson in the lab—is that why? She doesn’t think that I can care about him? Or is she worried that he cares about me?
Leandra turns away to look down at Imogene’s body. “Just end the corporation,” she says to me. “Then you can worry about what comes next. Then you can choose how you want to live. Although I’m sure by then, you’ll see that I’m right.”
“Why don’tyoujust end the corporation?” I ask. “You seem to have all the power.”
She laughs at the idea. “Because I’m where I need to be to keep the other girls safe,” she says. “To leave, I’d have to kill my husband. And I’m not Imogene. I’m not reckless.”
I have no idea what she means by any of that. The room falls quiet until Sydney takes my hand. “Let’s go,” she repeats.
She begins to drag me toward the door, but I watch Leandra a moment longer, fascinated. She stares down at Imogene’s body. Her shoulders sagging, her lips downturned. And she gives away her first true sign of regret.
As I leave, I wonder which parts of her soul are left unbroken.
Obituary
Groger M.D., Harold
Dr. Harold Groger died this past week after a long illness. He’s preceded in death by his son, Harold Jr., and his wife, Priscilla.
Dr. Groger was one of the leading scientists in the field of genetics and enjoyed a long career in the private sector. His work helped save countless lives, and he will be remembered fondly by his patients for his intelligence, courage, and compassionate bedside manner.
Funeral services will be held this Saturday at Cohn Funeral Home.
5
The morning is breezy as I stand at the front doors of Ridgeview Prep, the small private high school Leandra sent us to in Connecticut. The school is well known in the community for their athletics, their elite student body.
Sydney and I registered as seniors last week and then spent the weekend studying up on the school, learning about the educators and administration, and, of course, its history. Turns out, this building was built by men.Formen. It took decades for girls to walk the halls here, and even then, it was only begrudgingly allowed.
Which makes our arrival even more fitting.
We’regirls, but not in the way they think. We’re girls on a mission.
It’s been nearly two weeks since we left Imogene’s house, left our lives behind. We’re learning quickly, though, absorbing information faster than we thought possible. But it’s not easy, not easyto step into a world that would destroy us if it knew what we were. We have to be careful.
I pull open the heavy door of the school and step inside. My eyes flash as I quickly assess my new surroundings. I saw the school only briefly at registration, and to be honest, I wasn’t impressed. It’s a downgrade from the décor of Innovations Academy, minus the bars that were on our windows, of course.
The interior of my old school at least had the audacity to look pleasing at first glance. It was opulent in places that would be seen by investors. Ridgeview Prep, on the other hand, is little more than undecorated, unembellished hallways connected by white linoleum floors and white walls. The only exception is the trophy case, where glittering cups proclaim that Ridgeview is the best in the state across multiple sports.
I check the map I was given with my schedule, and then I begin down the corridor toward my first class.
The students all look the same, which baffles me at first. I was surprised to find that outside of Innovations Academy, students in some schools are forced to dress alike. Wear uniforms in differing, but not unique, shades of blue. Comb-smoothed hair and folded socks. I thought outside of Innovations, there would be more freedom. I thought a lot of things, I guess. Because I also thought that most humans would be like Jackson—a bit rough around the edges, but mostly kind. Curious.
That has not been my experience thus far.
“Damn, girl … ,” a guy says loudly as I walk past. I glance at him from the corners of my eyes, realizing his unwanted attention is supposed to be a compliment. I continue forward without responding.
