21
Rosemarie groans as if Brynn is being dramatic. And then, without answer, she leaves us in the room with the bodies of our decommissioned girls. Leandra appears in the doorway, looking aghast at the scene. Brynn cries softly and walks over to Letitia’s body, touching her cheek gently. She then tugs up the white sheet to cover the girl’s shoulders, as if she’s concerned she’ll get cold.
“I’m here, Brynny,” Marcella says, walking over to put her hands on Brynn’s arms. Marcella leans to rest her forehead against Brynn’s temple. “I’m here and I love you.”
Leandra exits, and her footsteps echo impatiently as she makes her way back to the kitchen. When we hear shouting, Sydney and I quickly run out there.
“How could you leave them like that?” Leandra demands, standing above the poet as she sits calmly at the table, stirring sugar into her tea. “And why did you call me here? Is this a threat?”
Lennon Rose still hasn’t left the table, still hasn’t touched her pie. Did she know about this? Did she allow Rosemarie to do this to our friends?
Defiantly, Rosemarie looks up at Leandra. “Do you think you’re special?” she asks. “Do you think you’re so radically different from the others? You’re not.” Rosemarie stands up to face Leandra. “You, my darling, are aging. Failing, if I’m guessing correctly.”
Leandra shifts on her feet, and I wonder what Rosemarie is talking about. Has Leandra been unwell? Is she like Claire?
Behind us, Marcella leads a crying Brynn out of the back room to join us, coming to stand next to Sydney and me.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leandra tells Rosemarie, her expression fierce and angry.
“No?” Rosemarie asks. “Well, if the kill switch doesn’t end you, society certainly will. There is no place for any of you. Not unless you carve that place out yourself.”
“You can’t leave the girls like that,” Brynn says, jabbing her finger back toward the room. “You can’t just… deactivate them and let them rot!”
“It’s not really your place to decide,” Rosemarie responds dismissively. “We have—”
“Wake them up!” Brynn commands, jolting forward. Marcella grabs her, holding her back.
Rosemarie laughs and ignores her. She instead trains her eyes on Sydney. “And what about you?” Rosemarie asks her. “You’ve seen firsthand how unfair humans can be. Together, we can change that. Yes, we’re fixing boys, but in the end, it will rewritesociety, too. Take down the entire system and rebuild it. It would force them to evolve. Aren’t you willing to fight back?”
“We have been fighting back,” Sydney says.
“You have small dreams, then,” Rosemarie says. “All of you. You’ve only been focused on small victories.”
“We helped take down the corporation,” I say. “We burned Innovations Academy to the ground. We wanted to save the other girls—but it’s too late. Look what you’ve done.” My eyes well up. “You’ve destroyed them, Rosemarie.”
Rosemarie smiles softly. “Isn’t that selfish of you?” she asks. “Sounds to me like all along, you’ve only been fighting for yourselves.”
“That’s not true!” Sydney says. “We’ve taken on Ridgeview Prep. We helped human girls!”
“Did you now?” Rosemarie asks, and her cynical tone stings.
In the end, the consequences for those boys weren’t what we hoped for. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t help things. The system needs an overhaul, Rosemarie’s right about that. But it doesn’t start with murder and mayhem.
Rosemarie clears her throat, tugging on the collar of her shirt as heat continues to radiate from the oven, the smell of pie hanging in the air. She moves toward the window, pushing it open to let in the breeze. The curtain billows, the smell of sweet flowers rushing inside.
“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in all of you,” she says. “I thought I wrote you better. You were supposed to be my revolutionaries. Instead, you’re wilting roses.”
“We’re not murderers,” I correct. “But we still fight for what’s right.”
Rosemarie comes over to the table and picks up the knife again. We take an involuntary step backward, but she then crosses to the counter and begins sawing into the rhubarb pie. She coughs once, turning away from the pie as she clears her throat.
Something’s wrong—I can feel it. Sense it.
I move to stand between Rosemarie and my friends, but Leandra pushes past me, walking up to Rosemarie, her face in anguish.
“How could you do this to us?” Leandra says. “I thought you cared about the girls. But you’re just like the rest of them. All of you humans, you’re hateful. Spiteful. If it doesn’t suit you and your agenda, then it doesn’t belong. I won’t let you hurt these girls. I won’t—”
Rosemarie spins, knife in hand, and slashes Leandra’s arm. Leandra screams, falling against the counter. We scream for Rosemarie to stop, but she swings out the knife again, this time jabbing it into Leandra’s shoulder and making her cry out in pain. When the poet withdraws the knife, there is a sucking sound followed by a spray of blood across Rosemarie’s shirt.
