“No offense, Lennon Rose,” Sydney says, leaning forward, “but I think you should tell us what happened to you first. You disappeared from the academy in the middle of the night. We thought … We thought they’d hurt you. It destroyed us.”
The clouds grow darker. “They always hurt me, Sydney. Hurt all of us. I found a way to escape their control.”
“How?” I ask. “How did you get past Anton?”
She examines me. “Are you awake?” she asks me suddenly.
The abruptness of the question startles me. “Yes,” I say. “It was the poems—the ones we found in your room.”
Lennon Rose relaxes slightly. “Good,” she says. “Those poems helped me see things more clearly. They made me realize that girls can fight back. That we can win. As far as Anton goes,” she says with a hint of disgust, “I used his misplaced thirst for admiration to manipulate him. He thought himself a hero, when really, he was always the villain. Once I was awake, I knew how to twist the words around his heart. Make him believe I’d be better off outside of the academy. I fawned over his heroism.
“That’s the thing,” she adds. “Anton controlled us while pretending to love us. It was cruel and unethical. And once I found outhowwe were created, well … it helped me realize I didn’t want to be a part of their system anymore. I wanted to burn it down.”
“But you didn’t warn us,” Sydney says, pain in her voice.
“You weren’t ready then,” Lennon Rose says simply. And her statement leaves little room for argument. She’s right.
Those poems did have the ability to affect a change in our outlook. The words were powerful, but also violent. Extreme. In the end, the girls and I wanted to find a better way. It was … not possible. At least, not entirely. But we tried.
“Leandra helped you?” I ask.
“She got me to Winston Weeks,” she says, and then smiles broadly. “And he saw my potential. I owe him everything.”
This statement more than any other sets me on edge. Winston Weeks is a major investor at Innovations Academy. Yes, he was working with Leandra, but we don’t know anything about him. We can’t trust him.
“You left with him?” I ask. “And he—”
“Yes, and he … ,” she says, anticipating my question, “brought me to this town. We’re on a larger mission, Mena. This isn’t just about you or me. Not even the other girls.” She betrays a flash of worry at their mention. “Winston Weeks has a larger plan for all of us, and once it’s done, society will be afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Sydney asks.
“Us.”
Lennon Rose seems to believe her own words, but they scare me. Why would we trust another man to control our destinies? That’s what we’re running away from. With that thought, I look around this big house, all these books. A desk …
“Lennon Rose,” I start, turning back to her, “whose house is this?”
Her face splits into a wide smile. “Winston Weeks. In fact”—she glances at the clock on the wall—“he’ll be home shortly.”
10
Sydney and I shift our gazes around the room without moving. I can hear the change in her breathing and imagine her heart is beating just as fast as mine.
We’re in the house of an investor. Winston Weeks may have helped Lennon Rose escape. He may have helped Leandra get us out. But there is no scenario where we’d willingly seek his guidance now. Lennon Rose seems perfectly content. She reminds me of Imogene in that way.
“Winston Weeks sent you to Ridgeview?” I ask. “Why?”
She waves off the question. “We’re here because this is where his lab is. Wait until you see it. You’re going to be very impressed.”
“Doubt it,” Sydney mutters, looking toward the window.
And suddenly it occurs to me who could have been close enough to try to hack my brain.
“Lennon Rose,” I start. “Have you gotten any odd phone calls?”
She laughs, shaking her head no. “I don’t have a phone. Winston said they’re dangerous.”
Sydney and I immediately exchange a glance. We don’t have to say it out loud. Winston Weeks might be the person calling us, or at least knows who is. Why else would he tell Lennon Rose that a phone was dangerous? It’s suddenly imperative that we get out of here before Winston returns.
