Girls with Razor Hearts

“It’s definitely interesting,” Sydney says. “And that stuff about the government taking away women’s rights … Did Jackson ever mention that to you when he was visiting the school?”

“He talked about locking down the internet,” I say. “But—”

“Hey there, new girl,” a male voice says. My stomach sinks when Garrett drops onto the bench next to me, jostling me toward Sydney as he grins. I didn’t invite him to sit with us. I turn to Sydney and she sets down her sandwich, annoyed.

“We’re in the middle of—”

“I wasn’t fucking talking to you,” he snaps at her. Sydney flinches and looks at me with a fiery expression.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” I tell Garrett. It strikes me that Garrett doesn’t smile or charm Sydney. Where he tries to embarrass and ridicule me, dominate me, he takes a different approach with her. He won’t allow her to talk at all.

“You need to leave,” I say to him. “Right now.”

Garrett laughs dismissively. “You don’t own this cafeteria, Phil-o-mena.”

I hate the way he says my name, and I suspect he knows that. It’s why he keeps doing it. To prove that he can.

“Now,” he says, leaning his elbow casually on the table. “Why don’t you bring your cute little behind over to my table. My friends want to meet you.”

The invite revolts me. Despite how awful he is, he still thinks I’ll be flattered, happy for his attention. I glance over to his table and see several boys watching us with breathless anticipation. I resent them for egging him on.

“Sorry,” I tell Garrett. “I’m not interested. I’m perfectly happy at this table.”

I turn back to Sydney, hoping to ignore Garrett until he leaves. But my rejection is gasoline to his burning insecurity. He reaches out and knocks over my chocolate milk, spilling it into my lap.

I yelp and jump up, brushing the liquid off my skirt and legs. I look at him and he offers a lazy smile.

“Think before you speak next time,” he offers, standing up. “I was being cool.” He drags his gaze over me, but I refuse to let his predatory gaze intimidate me. “Keep it up and I might revoke your invite,” he adds.

He grabs the apple from my lunch and takes a loud bite, a spray of juice squirting out. He walks away as streams of milk continue to run off the table onto my seat.

I turn to find Sydney staring at the milk. She’s angry, a bit defeated. When she lifts her gaze to mine, she begins shaking her head.

“Are they all terrible, Mena? Every last one of them?”

I’m not sure how to answer. I used to think there’d be others like Jackson, but I’m proven wrong every day. Given enough time, he might have disappointed me too.

“You okay?”

I turn to see Lyle, the boy from my first hour who spoke up during our lesson, approaching. He looks concerned as he holds out a huge stack of napkins. I take a few to clean myself up, and he tosses the rest onto the spilled milk.

I’m not sure about him at first, but he asks Sydney if she’s okay, and I decide that he’s genuine. After all, his mother protested the Essential Women’s Act.

“I’m good,” Sydney says, sounding wary.

Lyle looks at my uniform and winces. He turns back to the boys who watch with interest from their table. Lyle is pale with curly dark hair that he continually tries to tuck behind his ears.

“Those guys can be real assholes,” he says, wiping up the milk on my seat. “I apologize on their behalf.” He offers a small smile, and I thank him for his help.

After he cleans the milk, he tosses the napkins into the trash and returns to our table.

“Do you … Do you mind if I sit with you?” he asks.

I check with Sydney first. It will mean adjusting our conversation, but at the same time … Lyle will have insight into the boys at this school. We might be able to get some clues that can lead us to the son of the investor. Sydney nods.

“Sure,” I tell Lyle. “Join us.”

“Much appreciated.” He sits down and folds his hands in his lap.

He seems nice, just a little awkward. Something about his mannerisms, his deep but cracking tone of voice, makes him stand out. I’m not sure that’s something the average high school student wants—at least that’s what Marcella has told us. I’ve seen Adrian spend her day trying not to draw attention.

Garrett seemed annoyed with Lyle in class, and I wonder if they clash regularly, or if Lyle stays out of his orbit. I debate asking, but ultimately decide to keep things light to build trust.

“That was cool what you said in history class,” I tell him. “About your mom.”

He shrugs. “Thanks, but I didn’t do anything,” he says. “My mother’s the strong one. Well, she’s the only one.”

“What do you mean?” Sydney asks.

“My dad left. Back when the protests were going on,” he says. “He, um, he liked the new laws. The changes. My mom is a lawyer and he felt … inadequate, I guess. But, yeah. When things went back to normal, my mom didn’t want him home.” Lyle licks his chapped lips. “She said he could never really change.”

Sydney knocks her knee into mine. I glance sideways at her, and I think we both realize … Lyle’s dad could be the investor. He supported the subjugation of human women—is it that far off that he’d put that malice toward artificial ones?

“Is your dad still around?” Sydney asks. Lyle grimaces, put out by the question. Sydney flashes an apologetic smile. “My dad left too,” she lies. “I get it.”

“My dad’s around,” Lyle says, lowering his eyes. “But I never talk to him. He kind of hates us all. He has a new wife. New family. He told me he upgraded.”

Wow. Lyle’s dad sounds like absolute garbage, and it gives him a high “punch potential,” as Annalise would say. Now we just need to figure out if he might be laundering money through the school. I make a mental note to see if Marcella can find out who he is.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Sydney says to Lyle. When he looks at her again, he’s softened. I think he likes her attention, and that’s something we can use to get information.

“Do you have siblings?” I ask, leaning toward him.

“I have two brothers and two sisters,” he says.

I gasp. “That many?”

He laughs. “Yeah. They’re all younger, but yeah. There’s a lot of us.”

“That’s awesome,” I say.

“Only child?” Lyle asks.

I nod, disappointed. I realize that disappointment is left over from when I thought I was a regular girl at the academy. Now I know why I don’t have any biological brothers and sisters.

“But Sydney’s like my sister,” I say. She reaches her fingers out to me and I quickly take them. But there’s a flash in her eyes—she can feel it too. We’re getting somewhere with this conversation.

“Do your siblings attend Ridgeview Prep?” Sydney asks, letting my hand fall away.

“My little brother,” he says. “The others are still too young.”

I’m trying to think of what else to ask about his family when the bell sounds, signaling the end of lunch. Sydney and I exchange a disappointed look. We didn’t even get to ask him about the other boys yet.