You can’t kill them all, Leandra told us the last time we talked to her on the phone. She threw the comment away like it could apply to anything. But, of course, Sydney and I knew that she was talking about men in power.

You sure? Sydney replied. She meant it sarcastically, but Leandra told her she was impressed.

“Let’s go, Mena,” Sydney says now, collecting her things.

“Wait,” Annalise says. “What do you want to do about Raven?”

I grab my notebook and shove it into one of the backpacks Brynn picked up for us yesterday.

“We’ll think about it,” I say, and look sideways at Marcella. She nods her thanks.

“Let me know, okay?” Annalise says. “It’s important.”

“I know it is,” I reply. “And I promise we’ll talk about it when we get home.”

I notice that my headache is creeping back. I’m dreading the day ahead, interacting with the students of Ridgeview Prep. I just want to be with the girls.

I’m also worried that the woman’s voice is still banging around in my head somewhere, even if I can’t hear her. I’m afraid of ending up like Imogene.

We wave goodbye to the girls, and then Sydney and I go to school.

* * *

The day passes quickly, although I find I’m much further behind than I anticipated. Luckily, I retain information easily—we all do. At Innovations Academy, we were only taught the basics. They withheld education in order to control us.

I take notes as much as I can so that tonight the girls and I can research the answers online. It’s the opportunity for all of us to learn. And while Sydney and I are at school, Annalise does the same with our body systems.

We’re catching up, and to be honest, our sourced information about the world is sometimes more accurate than what they’re teaching in my classes.

It turns out, a steady diet of action films hasn’t prepared us for regular interactions with people. Our education gave us little in the way of actual learning. Even our beauty rituals seem out of place in the outside world—our makeup too heavy and our clothes too focused on male preferences. We’re learning, though. Brynn recently discovered sweatpants, and I don’t understand why people don’t wear them every day. Why is discomfort a synonym for professional dress?

When classes are over, I wait for Sydney near the door to the field. As I stand there, I see Adrian from my first-hour class. I hold up my hand in a wave, and she glances behind her. Then she turns back and points to herself. I smile.

“Yes, hi,” I say. She smiles in return and comes over to where I’m standing. “Are you going to the game?” I ask her. Her expression falters.

“The rugby game?” She looks horrified. “No. Why, are you?”

“I thought I’d check it out,” I say.

“Well, have fun,” she replies. “A bunch of dickheads and their dickhead friends screaming for them.”

I laugh, appreciating her candor. “Can I ask you something?” I start, leaning my shoulder against the wall.

“Sure.”

“Why do you hate them?” I ask. “Those boys. Have they done something to you?”

Adrian looks absolutely sickened by my question, and she takes a step away from me.

“I didn’t say that,” she snaps.

“I didn’t mean to imply …” She’s closing herself off to me; she doesn’t trust me anymore. “Never mind,” I say, feigning embarrassment. “I was just being nosey.”

“Well, if you want my advice,” she says, “stay away from them. All of them.”

Her warning bleeds into me, and for a moment, I’m back at the academy, trying to avoid the Guardian. My throat feels tight. I put my fingers there absently, remembering Guardian Bose’s hands wrapped around my neck.

Adrian pulls the straps of her backpack up on her shoulders and pushes her way out the exit door. I watch after her when suddenly there is a hand on my shoulder.

I gasp, spinning around.

“Whoa, sorry!” Sydney says, holding up her hands. I blink quickly, trying to regain my composure. She looks me over with a flash of hurt. A few weeks ago, I would have welcomed her touch.

“What’s up with that girl?” she asks, nodding toward the door. “She looks terrified.”

“Adrian? I’m not sure yet,” I say, catching my breath. “But I think she knows something. I’m just not sure she’ll tell me what it is.”

Sydney thinks this over before pushing the metal bar to open the door. “Game should be starting soon. Let’s stop by the concessions.”

Sydney buys a pack of gum and I get popcorn and a couple of waters before we head into the stands. It’s our first school sporting event, and it’s surprisingly violent. Not just on the field, but in the crowd, too.

People are shouting, slapping their fists into their palms. It’s unsettling to see people cheering for violence. But I guess it makes sense, given what we’ve learned about the outside world.

Sydney pops a bubble in her gum as we observe the players running back and forth on the field. We didn’t have time to learn the rules of the game, so we watch in confusion.

There are three guys sitting next to us. I haven’t seen them before, so I’m not sure if they attend our school or not. But they’re loud and vulgar. At one point, one of the guys looks over and grins at me. I turn away.

“Let’s go, Ridgeview!” the guy yells. As the cheerleaders take the field, he elbows his friend. “Show us your panties!” he shouts at the girls, and his friends laugh. Sydney flinches next to me. Several others in the crowd chuckle when the guy repeats it, even louder.

I look at the cheerleaders and see a girl tug on her skirt to keep it down as she kicks out one leg. I see the way this guy is humiliating her for his entertainment.

When the routine is done, the cheerleaders tell the home team to fight, and the guy stands up and claps loudly.

“Well done, ladies!” he yells. “Next time, show us a little something to get excited about!”

Calmly, Sydney reaches into her mouth to remove her gum and sticks it on the guy’s bleacher seat. She licks her fingers and takes out a fresh piece to place between her teeth. I try not to smile.

After the cheerleaders are off the field, the guy sits in the gum without noticing. He mutters some comment about the cheerleaders not being all that hot anyway, and his friends agree. Sydney sighs loudly.

“I don’t think I can stay until the end of this game,” she tells me.

I nod in agreement. “There has to be a better way to get noticed.”

“What about him?” Sydney asks, pointing to large guy on the field. The guy is chanting something, banging his fist into his palm to intimidate the opposing players, I suppose. He’s spirited. Angry? Or maybe it’s the culture of the game.

We watch him for a moment, and when he turns we see the name DOZER on the back of his jersey. On the next run down the field, he knocks into a guy so hard that the guy does a backflip in the air, landing with a thud. A whistle blows. The other player lies on the field until he’s helped off by his coach a few minutes later.

“Yeah,” I tell Sydney. “We’ll definitely add Dozer to our list.”