“Retrain them?” I ask. “Sounds like a big job. Exactly how many girls do you have working for you?” I ask. I’m worried I’ve interacted with more of her people. I even wonder if Raven is somehow involved.
“I only have a handful of girls,” Rosemarie says. “I use Winston Weeks when necessary, but he’s becoming power hungry, just as I predicted. For a time, I thought he’d be different. But he’s proven otherwise.”
“What is it you want me to do?” I ask. “I doubt I can help you even if I wanted to.”
“Not yet,” she agrees. “But soon.”
She stands and walks over to a shelf, then sorts through a stack of books. She plucks one out and hands it to me. My lips part when I see the title.
The Poison Flowersis creased into the brown leather cover.
I trace the words with my fingertip.
“Read the poems, Philomena,” Rosemarie says. “Show the other girls. It will guide you.” She smiles. “I know we can work together to make a better world. And once the men are in their place, you’ll be safe to live as you are. You won’t have to hide.”
Rosemarie acts as if only men treat us terribly. But I’ve seenwomen feed into this hierarchy. I’ve seen it at Ridgeview Prep. They support our continued harassment because it places them closer to men. I don’t know if women like that would accept us as willingly as Rosemarie believes.
“Take the poems,” Rosemarie says. “My gift to you and the other girls. And please, let them know I’d like to meet them, as well.”
“No more hijacking our brains,” I warn her.
She holds up her hands in apology. “I will stay out of where I’m not invited, but if you need me, I’ll be there.”
She takes a step toward me like she might give me a hug, and I trip over my feet trying to move back. She watches this, pursing her lips.
“Are you okay, Philomena?” she asks, studying me.
I suddenly don’t want her to know anything else about me. Her overfamiliarity makes me deeply uncomfortable, especially after she already tried to invade my thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I have to get back to the girls.”
Her jaw tightens. “Never say you’re sorry,” she snaps at me. “They conditioned you to default to that to please men, to let them have a say over what behavior they find acceptable. I don’t ever want you to utter those stupid fucking words again.”
I nod, not arguing, but not agreeing either. Although compulsive apologizing can be seen as a weakness, I also think it’s important to admit when you’re wrong. Other times, like now, it can be used to fake authenticity to get out of a situation.
“I’ll drive you back,” Lennon Rose says, sounding disappointed in my response. “Thank you for seeing us, Rosemarie.”
“Of course,” she says. She turns to me. “Read the poems and see how you feel after.” The book is heavy in my hands; I’m not sure if I want it anymore.
Lennon Rose stays behind a moment, whispering to Rosemarie, but I walk out. As I get onto the porch, I no longer gaze at the beauty of the poisonous flowers. Because it occurs to me that we’re like them. Our beauty is a distraction from our deadly potential.
We’re poison. Beautiful and contented when left alone to grow together, but lethal when used by others for a malicious goal.
A lesson the men of Innovations Academy have already learned.
19
Itake Lennon Rose up on her offer to get my scratches taken care of after she promises that Winston won’t be home. She and I don’t say much to each other on the ride, but I keep the book of poetry in my hands, afraid of leaving it behind accidentally.
Ultimately, I decided that visible scratches would bolster Garrett’s thirst for violence. Show that he can physically harm me without repercussions. Leave his mark. I don’t want him to intimidate me, but when he does, I don’t want him to know.
I sit very still as Lennon Rose slides the red light over the skin graft, my neck tilted painfully far to the side. When the doctor used to apply the grafts at the academy, they didn’t hurt. Lennon Rose isn’t quite as skilled, but I appreciate her help.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as she wipes the area with a silicone gel.
“I doubt it will be scar free,” she replies, and then meets my gaze. “But I’ve learned to like the scars. The only reason we weren’tallowed to have any at the academy was because it lowered their profit margin.” Her eyes flash. “Guaranteed perfect.”
Leandra used to promise investors that any girl they bought would beguaranteed perfect.We were to be scar free, our bodies toned, our clothing and appearance matched to their preferences. Lennon Rose is right. The scars are ours to keep.
