Girls with Razor Hearts

“Really?” I ask. I check quickly with Sydney, and she nods to tell me it’s a good idea.

“Wait,” I say, furrowing my brow. “Who else will be there? I’m not exactly on good terms with Garrett.”

“Oh, God,” Lyle says. “He’s not coming. He’s not invited. No, it’ll be me, Jonah, and a few guys from the team. Jonah’s dad is out of town while their house is being renovated, so he asked if he could stay over. Said he’s sick of tasting plaster in his Corn Flakes.” He smiles.

“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” I say, surprised.

“I’m not,” Lyle replies. “I mean, I wasn’t before. But since my brother knows him, he’s been cooler to me. And he’s not terrible. Not like Garrett.”

Things seem to be falling into place. A party where I can get books about the protests and talk with a boy I’ve been trying to get closer to … It’s almost too perfect.

“Why are you inviting us?” I ask. Sydney crosses her arms over her chest like she’s been thinking the exact same thing.

Lyle’s cheeks glow red. “Because … Because you’re the only girls who talk to me. And I thought it’d be nice to have girls there.”

My lips part at his honesty. We’re a status symbol—pretty girls—but at least he’s admitting his intentions.

“We have to check in at home first,” I tell him. “But thanks for the invite.”

Lyle says he understands. He gives us his address in case we can make it. He can barely contain the smile on his face; his hands are shaking. It’s almost endearing.

Just as we finish, the security guard appears and tells us we’re not allowed on campus. Sydney mutters that we don’t want to be here anyway. We say goodbye to Lyle and we leave, glad that we’ll never, ever have to come back to Ridgeview Prep.

 

* * *

 



There’s an unfamiliar car parked outside our apartment—a black BMW with a man in the driver’s seat, taking a photo of the house with his phone. I try to see who he is through the back window, but before we get close enough, he sets his phone aside and pulls away. Sydney glances sideways at me.

“Probably something to do with Winston Weeks,” I murmur. Sydney groans, saying she’s sick of hearing about him, and we head up the walkway.

When I get to our apartment door, I hear Raven’s voice carrying out from the living room. I rush inside to find her and the other girls settled around her computer.

I’m so relieved that she’s here. Although none of us has had another incident of hearing Anton’s voice, or any voice for that matter, we know we need to protect ourselves.

“Hey,” I call and set my backpack on the table.

Raven smiles at me. She’s not wearing red lipstick today, and the effect is a bit startling. She looks raw, vulnerable. Worried.

“How’s it going?” I ask quickly.

“Well, the good news is I read over the paperwork about the shutdown program,” Raven says. “There was no indication that the initiative was ever taken. I saw no evidence in Annalise’s system either. I’m guessing your friend didn’t know what he was talking about.”

She sounds a bit hostile when referencing Jackson, and I see Brynn shift uncomfortably. She may have overshared my business with Raven.

“That … That is good news,” I agree, wondering why everyone is looking so somber. “And the voice we heard?”

Raven bites her lip and looks back at me. “That is less-good news,” she says. “I evaluated Annalise’s programing to check for changes and … there was a small anomaly. It’s not dangerous, nothing active. But it sends out a remote signal when receiving messages. Sort of like when a phone pings a cell tower. I’m not sure it’s strong enough to track across the country, but we need to shut it off. Just in case.”

My heart catches, and I look over at Sydney.

“So they are looking for us?” she asks.

“I’m sorry,” Raven says, sympathetically. “But … yeah. It appears so. I combed the internet and didn’t see any news associated with the academy. Nothing beyond an obituary from a couple weeks ago. They’re keeping a low profile.”

Sydney and I round the couch to sit with the others.

“Annalise mentioned that you don’t plan to stick around after you find the investor,” Raven says. “That’s a good idea.”

“How much time do you think we have?” Sydney asks. “Until they find us?”

“I’m still not sure they can track you,” Raven says. “But on the off chance, I’d guess a few days. Maybe less.”

“So we have to wrap this up,” I say, looking around at the girls. They nod. It’s almost a bit of a relief. It means this is nearly over.

“We need a plan,” I say. “Who’s got an idea?”

Behind us, there’s a knock at the front door.

 

 

22



Marcella goes to the door and looks out the peephole. She only pauses a moment before turning the lock and pulling it open. I sit up straighter to see who it is.

“Come on in,” Marcella says.

Jackson gets inside, still a bit off balance on his crutches. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by,” he says. “I … I brought pizza. It’s still in the car. I tried for, like, ten minutes to bring it in myself, but …” He holds up one crutch as an excuse.

“I’ll get it!” Brynn says, and jogs over to the door. She exchanges a smile with Jackson before heading outside.

“You almost have perfect timing,” Annalise tells Jackson. “You’re like the forever-five-minutes-late guy. Always showing up just past the time we need you most. I was hungry fifteen minutes ago. Now I’m ravenous.”

She winks at him, and Jackson snorts a laugh. Annalise gets up from the couch, saying she’ll grab some paper plates. Jackson nods hello to me as he follows behind her to the kitchen.

Brynn comes back inside with the pizza box and sets it on the coffee table. She drops onto the couch next to me, elbowing my arm in case I didn’t catch that Jackson was here. I tell her to be quiet, but pinch my smile closed with my fingers.

I notice Raven watching me, and when I do, she motions toward the kitchen.

“He with you?” she asks.

“Not exclusively.”

“Yes, definitely,” Sydney says at the same time.

Brynn leans in. “He misses her,” she adds unhelpfully.

Raven turns to examine Jackson as he says something to make Annalise laugh in the kitchen. I’m not imagining Raven’s confused expression; her brows are pulled in, her eyes narrowed. But when she turns back to me, she flashes a smile.

“He’s cute,” she says.

“He’s kind,” I say instead.

“And he’s the one who brought the paperwork about the expiration date?” Raven asks.

“He is,” I say. “It was in his mother’s things. She used to work for Innovations.”

Raven leans back in the seat, crossing her leg to rest her heavy boot on her knee. The way she’s studying me is a bit unsettling.