“Really?” she asks. “Where did you see a poem?” I tell her to keep it down, not wanting the other girls to know yet.

“It’s called ‘Girls with Sharp Sticks,’ ” I say. “And . . . it’s about girls fighting back. They killed the men who—”

Sydney comes to an abrupt halt, making me jog a few paces past her. She stares at me, alarmed.

“What are you talking about, Mena? Why would you read something like that?”

I come back to her, nodding politely to the other girls as they jog past. “I found it,” I say. “And the girls were—”

“Stop,” Sydney says, holding up her hand. “Do you hear yourself? You just said . . .” She can’t say the words. “Men are here to give us guidance,” she says, lowering her voice. “Why would you be so disrespectful?”

I stare at her, seeing how worried she is about me. And it’s like I can predict what she’s going to say next. That she’ll say the men have our—

“—best interests at heart,” she finishes.

There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. I wonder what was in last night’s vitamin.

I beckon for Sydney to jog with me again, smiling sweetly. She does, returning the expression just as easily.

“I miss Lennon Rose,” I say, testing her.

“I know,” Sydney says with exaggerated sympathy. “It’s too bad about her parents’ financial problems. Innovations is very exclusive. Not everyone can afford it.”

I swallow hard and quietly agree. We continue jogging, and I’m horrified at the idea that Sydney doesn’t remember being upset about Lennon Rose. Just like she didn’t remember Rebecca and Mr. Wolfe.

I decide not to tell her any more about the poems, not yet. I’m scared of how she’ll respond. And when she doesn’t bring them up again, I’m grateful. Even if I hate keeping this secret from her.

It occurs to me that maybe this is why Lennon Rose didn’t tell us about the poems. She was worried we wouldn’t understand. Or worse, that we’d tell the analyst about it.

I have a peculiar feeling—like there are two narratives in my head. I have no idea how to explain that to Sydney.

“Sorry if I was rude,” Sydney says as we finish the run. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble for defiance. Think about what Anton would say.”

“But what if Anton’s not always right?” I ask quietly.

Sydney stands silently, thinking it over, before the metal door swings opens. Guardian Bose reappears, and we quickly go back to smiling.

The Guardian searches our faces and motions us inside. He looks angry, and I wonder why he was out here earlier. He must be looking for someone.

I hurry past him, relieved when I’m not the reason for his darkened temperament. But when I turn around, I see him grab Rebecca’s elbow, making her stagger to a stop.

“Anton’s looking for you,” he says, staring down at her in a way that lets her know she needs to go there immediately. She recoils from him but doesn’t pull from his grasp.

“Why?” Rebecca asks in a small voice.

“I think you know,” Guardian Bose replies with a sneer. “Now shut up and do as you’re told.”

His tone has sent a spark of anger through my bloodstream. I want to snap at him and tell him not to talk to her like that. I’m starting to see how unusual our lives are here. And the more I recognize it . . . the more I want to change it.

I just don’t know how.

So I watch silently as the Guardian leads Rebecca away.

• • •

Sydney and I walk to the main hall to see if anyone knows why the Guardian was so upset. I’m surprised to see that nearly the entire class is here, crowded around each other. Whispering behind their hands. I know something has happened.

I lead Sydney over to Ida Welch—who’s on her own, looking bored. She never goes to running class (good genes, she says). She sits in one of the oversized chairs, filing her nails.

“Hey,” I call, drawing her attention. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Wolfe is on campus, and he doesn’t look happy,” she says. “I think Dr. Groger had the sheriff fetch him.” She pauses her filing. “Him and you know who.”

“You know who?” Sydney asks.

Ida grins. “Winston Weeks,” she says like we should already know. “He came in before Mr. Wolfe and demanded to speak to Mr. Petrov about an urgent matter.” Ida deepens her voice in a pretty dead-on impression. “He wouldn’t leave until he spoke to him. Annalise had to fetch the Head of School and his wife from their residence.”

My lips part. What is Mr. Weeks doing here? He’s never been on campus before, not unless it was for an open house. For a moment, I wonder if he asked about me, but if he did, Ida would have told me straightaway.

Ida starts filing her nails again. “The girls were kind of smitten with the investor, especially Annalise. They brought him food and drinks while he waited, charming him. He told them they were very nice girls, indeed. And then Mr. Petrov showed up, and they left to talk.”

“And what about Mr. Wolfe?” I ask.

“I assume Mr. Wolfe’s presence has to do with Rebecca. He is her lawyer, right? Although when the police car showed up and dropped him off at the front door, Mr. Wolfe was beside himself,” Ida says, exaggerating her expression to show fury. “He stomped in, brushing right past us, and headed to Dr. Groger’s office. One of the girls heard it’s a problem with Rebecca’s . . . with her certification.” Ida lowers her eyes then, the fun gone from the conversation. In fact, it sucks the air out of the room.

Every girl must be certified to graduate. If there’s a problem, Rebecca might be delayed. Or dismissed.

But it wouldn’t be her fault. Mr. Wolfe has been manipulating her. Anton promised she would just get impulse control therapy. He didn’t mention they might kick her out.

I look toward the stairs to Dr. Groger’s office, worried that Mr. Wolfe is here to call Rebecca a liar. What if they take Mr. Wolfe’s side? I can corroborate Rebecca’s story.

“I have to see Dr. Groger,” I say, and abruptly turn and start that way. Sydney chases after me.

“Wait up,” she says. “Isn’t Rebecca with Anton?”

“Yes,” I say. “But Ida said Mr. Wolfe went to the doctor—I want to know why. He can’t get away with it,” I add under my breath.

“What’s going on, Mena?” Sydney asks, walking with me. “Why would Rebecca get certified so early? And what kind of ‘problem’ could she have?”

“No idea,” I say, not elaborating.

Sydney keeps talking, and we turn down the hallway to Dr. Groger’s office. She doesn’t remember the incident between Rebecca and Mr. Wolfe, and I’m not sure if I should tell her again after the way she reacted to the poem.

Just as Sydney and I approach the doctor’s office, elevated male voices carry into the hallway.

Sydney pulls me to the side of the door so that Dr. Groger won’t see our silhouettes through the glass. She bends down to tie and untie her sneakers, trying to provide cover in case we’re caught eavesdropping.

“She’s a liability, Harold,” Mr. Wolfe says loudly from inside the room. I realize that I never knew Dr. Groger’s first name before, and it’s suddenly intimate to have that personal detail about him. “You’ve known me for years,” the lawyer continues. “I need you to take care of this.”