Where is Lennon Rose? What did they do to her? What if—?

I stop the thought. I won’t imagine that anything terrible has happened to Lennon Rose. I won’t even let that thought into my mind.

We need knowledge; we crave it regularly. And this is my chance to get answers. Even if it’s risky. But it’s not just about me. It’s about us. It’s about the girls.

I lean into the table and motion for the girls to do the same. As quickly and as quietly as I can, I tell them that I plan to get sent to impulse control therapy. We know that we wake up in a separate room where the procedure is administered. So while I’m there with Anton, it’ll be up to the girls to look for information in his office—things about the school, the investors. And when I return from therapy, they have to make sure I don’t take the vitamins. I want them to show me the poems to remind me of why I’m fighting.

“Figure out what the school is doing to us,” I say. “Figure out why. And figure out how to undo it. But . . . don’t let them erase the therapy,” I ask, my eyes tearing up with the possibility. “Don’t make me go through this for nothing.”

“We won’t,” Marcella promises, reaching over to grab my hand. Valentine smiles like it’s all settled, but next to me, Sydney sniffles. I look at her, telling her not to cry.

“I can’t let you do this,” she says. “If they’re really doing these kinds of things, Mena, I can’t—”

“Something else happened,” I whisper. I wasn’t going to tell the girls, afraid of upsetting them. But I see now that secrets can be dangerous. And keeping this from them puts them in danger of being his next victim.

“Guardian Bose came to my room last night,” I say, barely audible.

The girls look at me, sensing there’s more to the story. I take a moment, letting us sit in quiet so it doesn’t look like we’re conspiring, and then I tell them about him drugging me, touching my leg, threatening to kill me.

Marcella’s face is flushed, and I see Annalise grip Brynn’s arm under the edge of the table. We can’t react, holding in our righteous anger.

“So if doing this can stop them from hurting other girls, can stop Bose”—I look at each of them—“it’ll be worth it.”

A second goes by, all of us looking at each other, and then we turn toward the end of the table where Rebecca is sitting obediently. She is pleasant and proper as she eats her tasteless oatmeal.

As she follows the rules.

• • •

I consider the options. I’m capable of doing that, now that the vitamins are most certainly out of my system—no longer clouding my judgment. Despite the sedative making me sleep, it seems to have no other lasting effect.

Sitting on my bed, I open up my palm and look at the tiny scratch left over from my last trip to the woods. I trace it as I think.

If I go straight to Anton, he could instantly put me in impulse control therapy. But . . . I fear it’ll be harder to convince him. He might see through my act. I wouldn’t just volunteer, not out of the blue like this. I need a professor to turn me in. Someone who can tell Anton secondhand about my behavior.

It’s one thing to hear I’ve been misbehaving. It’s another thing to see it firsthand. I worry that if Anton witnesses a meltdown, he could give me a deeper therapy, one I might not be able to come back from.

I have to outsmart the men of Innovations Academy. Press on their weaknesses. Their soft spots.

I glance at the clock and see that it’s time for Modesty and Decorum with Professor Penchant. And I know he’ll be an easy target—he’s already so dismissive of us. Always ready to punish us. Afterward, I’ll tell Anton that perhaps my teacher was a bit . . . overzealous.

After a cleansing breath, I get my book. I meet the other girls in the hallway, Valentine joining us, and we head to class.

Annalise walks into Modesty and Decorum first, tossing her red hair over her shoulder as she passes Professor Penchant. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes follow her all the way to her desk. I notice his predatory stare, and see Brynn’s jaw tighten as she notices it too. To think that we didn’t used to notice this . . . Our eyes are open now.

Rebecca arrives then, but as she walks into class, her notebook slips out of her hand. She drops it, apologizing profusely.

“It’s fine,” I say, picking it up for her. I smile encouragingly, and she thanks me. Her eyes, however, hold a vacancy that wasn’t there before.

“Ah,” Professor Penchant says, making my heart trip. “Philomena.”

Rebecca hurries to her seat, but I turn to the professor. “Good morning,” I tell him.

He smiles, his pointy teeth showing. His gaze drifts over to Rebecca.

“I hope you’ll rethink your choice of friends next time,” he tells me, although he’s admonishing her. “You don’t need to associate with such creatures.”

Rebecca bows her head in embarrassment. Clearly the professor is not willing to forgive her, even if she has nothing to be sorry for. Showing my anger might be a bit easier than I thought it would be.

Professor Penchant continues to watch Rebecca, as if daring her to talk back when he knows she won’t. It’s a show of power against a girl he controls. His eyes travel from the ends of her hair to the tips of her shoes. He huffs out a sound.

“I’m friends with all the girls, sir,” I tell the professor pleasantly, and take my seat in front of Annalise. She chews on her pen, her foot underneath my chair, bobbing her knee with impatience.

“That’s all very well,” Professor Penchant says to me. “But a girl must protect her reputation. Who you surround yourself with says a lot about you.”

“Yes, it does,” I murmur, thinking about him and the other professors sitting together at breakfast.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Professor Penchant announces. “You will listen and behave. No more. No less. You do not need opinions—we’ll tell you what’s good for you. Insubordination will not be tolerated,” he adds. “Remember, while you’re here, you belong to us.”

He nods like he’s made his point and turns back to the board. He uncaps his marker to start writing out the rules for our field trip.

A few girls wilt. He has no right to tell us who we belong to. He has no right to say many of the things that he does.

And a sense of defiance hits me so hard that I nearly swoon with it. My hand shoots up into the air. “Professor Penchant?” I call.

He looks back over his shoulder, annoyed—especially since he thought he was done talking.

“Yes, Philomena,” he asks.

“Where’s Lennon Rose?” I ask. The words are clear and simple. Nothing in them showing the disobedience he just warned about. His expression, however, falters. I feel several girls turn to me.

“That’s none of your business,” Professor Penchant answers, turning around fully. “She’s no longer a student of this academy.”

“But she’s my friend,” I say. “I’d like to know where she is.” Again, I keep my temper under control, careful not to tick the wrong boxes of insubordination.

“And Anton told you she’s with her parents. End of subject.” He goes back to the board, pressing harder on the marker as he writes, darkening the letters.