I start to leave, but at the last second, I turn around. “Mr. Marsh?” I call.

He sighs, good-naturedly, holding a stack of papers. “Yes, Philomena?”

“Is that why Jonah Grant was in here?” I ask.

“Excuse me?” he asks, as if he misheard.

“Jonah Grant,” I say. “He was talking to you before I came in.”

“Oh, yes.” Mr. Marsh begins to tap the papers on his desk, straightening them. “Jonah’s in my seventh-hour class. It had nothing to do with you, but if he’s a problem …”

“No,” I say, wondering why he’s lying. Adrian told me they mentioned my name. So what is Marsh hiding? “It’s fine,” I say. “And thanks again for the books.”

I hold them up and walk out of class. Once in the hallway, I stand there a moment, reading the back of the books. I realize pretty quickly that they won’t be helpful for my purpose. Unless that purpose is to get even angrier.

* * *

“It’s too bad your books weren’t sharper,” Sydney says when I tell her about bumping into Jonah Grant before class. We smile, sitting together at lunch, and the room buzzes with activity around us.

“And why would Mr. Marsh lie?” I ask. “Unless you think Adrian was mistaken?”

“I find that girls are rarely wrong in these cases,” she says. “She has no reason to make it up. Does Marsh?”

“I have no idea.”

We both think it over, but no clear answer comes to mind.

“There has to be a better way,” I say, unwrapping my sandwich. “After what Garrett did at the game, I don’t want to fake nice with these boys anymore. I just want answers. Can’t we just break into Jonah Grant’s house or something?”

“Yes,” she says like it’s the obvious answer. “We can. And I think we—”

“Hey,” Lyle says, startling us.

Sydney clicks her mouth shut, and we both smile and turn to find Lyle standing at the end of our table, holding a lunch tray.

“Yes?” Sydney asks in controlled politeness.

“Hi, uh … Do you mind if I sit with you again?” he asks.

We kind of do, but he sounds hopeful and a bit embarrassed. I check with Sydney, and when she nods, I tell him he can join us.

Lyle sits down, apologetic and nervous, and opens his chocolate milk. We don’t say anything at first, waiting instead to see if he offers a topic. When he doesn’t, I lean my elbow on the table, watching him. He looks up with a hamburger at his lips.

“What?” he asks around his food.

“Can I ask you something?” I start.

“Sure,” he mumbles, and takes a bite.

“You said your mother marched to protest the laws a few years ago,” I say. He flinches, and I wonder if he’s gotten harassment from Garrett and his friends over his admission in class the other day.

“That’s right,” Lyle says with little enthusiasm.

“Did she have … Does she have any books about it?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Lyle responds.

“It’s just … I was going to do a paper for Mr. Marsh,” I lie, “and I wanted to write about the Essential Women’s Act. But I couldn’t find much literature on it.”

Lyle hums out a sound, taking another bite of food. “Out of print,” he says. “The catalogs were scrubbed not too long ago.”

“Scrubbed?” Sydney asks.

“Yeah. Books pulled from the shelves. Big bucks paid to a PR firm to remove content from the internet.” He shrugs. “People think they have freedom now,” he says. “And as long as they think it, they don’t notice the little pieces being chipped away.”

“And how do you know this?” I ask.

“I’m going to be a political science major next year,” Lyle says. “If I survive high school.” He says the last part lightly, but I’m suddenly very worried. Why would books about history be pulled or altered? What purpose does it serve?

“In fact,” Lyle says, picking up a wilted French fry to examine it before tossing it back down, “there’s going to be a new book published soon—I’ve seen it advertised. It’s basically asking for the Essential Women’s Act to be reinstated, claiming that without it, our species will die.”

“Why would you die out?” Sydney asks. I quickly look at her and she gulps. She meant “we.” Why would we die out?

“Not enough babies,” Lyle says. “Although a few years back, they were all complaining about overpopulation. Now all of a sudden, we’re dying out? Whatever works to feed into their sexism and racism, I guess. Anyway …” He exhales heavily and takes a sip from his chocolate milk. “To get back to your original question: No. My mother doesn’t have any books. I doubt many people do. They didn’t want to be reminded of how horrible things were. And now they’re losing the proof that it even happened.”

Sydney and I sit quietly for the next few moments, considering Lyle’s words. And it finally clicks, finally starts to make sense.

Innovations Academy was never meant to just be for the rich. It started with the rich. Once they got enough investors, enough supporters, they would have used us to get new laws passed.

They would have shown what a beautiful, obedient girl looked like, never mentioning that we weren’t girls at all. Maybe this was always political. Or maybe those ambitions grew from their success. But it’s clear that the girls and I were pawns in a much bigger experiment.

“Oh, shit,” Lyle says under his breath, drawing my attention.

“What?” I ask, and then follow his line of sight. My body spikes with fear when I see Garrett crossing the cafeteria. He must have come late to school or skipped history class. When he glances in my direction, a sneer on his lips, panic shoots through my veins.

Even though the scratches on my neck are mostly gone, they begin to burn again. And all at once, it’s like I can feel his hands on my shirt, his breath in my face. I hate him, I decide. And it’s such a negative thought that it shocks me. The way I wish him harm is violent and counterproductive, but it’s there nonetheless. I think about the book of poetry in my backpack.

Garrett chuckles to himself as if satisfied with my reaction, and he continues to walk across the cafeteria. My stomach seizes when I realize where he’s going.

Adrian is at her usual cafeteria table, oblivious, until Garrett slides onto the bench next to her. She jumps, and before she can move away, he puts his arm over her shoulders and says something to her friends. They quickly gather up their food and leave, even as Adrian looks after them helplessly.

Garrett turns to Adrian, and she pushes his arm off her. Garrett smiles as he talks, but I get the sense that whatever he’s saying is vicious. I watch as Adrian begins to fold in on herself. She tries to stand up, but Garrett grabs her by the wrist, yanking her back down to sit. He doesn’t let go even as she struggles.

And then he pulls her hand into his lap, mimicking a sexual act. Adrian cries, fighting to get free. I jump up, my face on fire with rage, and Sydney and I rush toward the table. Lyle stays behind.

The entire cafeteria is witnessing this attack, but no one is stopping Garrett.