Girls with Razor Hearts

by Suzanne Young

  “Regardless,” she says. “I’ve received complaints. Seems Sydney feels it’s acceptable to speak out in class.”

  “You mean … answer questions?” Sydney replies. “Isn’t that the point?”

  “You talk over people. You don’t know your place.”

  Sydney’s eyes widen. “My place?” She looks at me like she’s about to lose it. In another situation, I might tell her to keep her cool, but what’s happening here is absolutely unjust.

  “This has nothing to do with Garrett, does it?” Sydney asks. She stands up from her chair and Mrs. Reacher watches her cautiously.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Reacher says, and it’s obvious that she’s lying. I want to scream at her to tell the truth. Why is everyone so willing to lie all the time?

  And it’s those lies that are so insidious. The way society pretends these terrible things aren’t happening—their racism, their sexism. The way they pretend it’s just us overreacting.

  I’ve realized since leaving the academy that the outside world is tearing itself apart. Tearing itself to shreds. It’s about sex, about race. It’s economics and beliefs. There are so many ways humans are dividing themselves.

  And I’ve seen the looks that Sydney gets, the extra scrutiny, the veiled threats. When she speaks, she’s told to shut up. We’re both discriminated against for being girls. But in addition to that, Sydney is discriminated against because her skin is darker. It doesn’t matter that she literally has the same beginnings as me—created at the academy. Because humans see her differently. And they project their biases onto her.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Sydney tells her. “You’re suspending me when I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I stand up in a show of support for Sydney, but Mrs. Reacher is already on her phone, calling for security to see us out. Sydney doesn’t look at me, but I imagine that if she did, I would find pain there. And I can’t make it better. We don’t have the power to change the world.

  Yet.

  And for a moment, Rosemarie’s poems hold some appeal. The idea of shutting down this society and rebuilding it. But what about situations like this one with Mrs. Reacher? Do Rosemarie’s poems take that into account?

  It’s oversimplifying it to say this is all just an issue of men behaving badly.

  Mrs. Reacher hangs up the phone. “You are both suspended for the next seven days. You will not be allowed on campus during school hours or be allowed at any after-school programs. You will be responsible for—”

  No after-school programs. That would mean the rugby games.

  “And what about Garrett?” I demand.

  “You’ll be expected to apologize, of course,” Mrs. Reacher says. “But he’s not required to accept it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sydney mutters angrily.

  “Ten days,” she snaps at her. “You’re suspended ten days for insubordination.”

  “For pointing out that you let sexual abuse go unchecked?” Sydney asks. “I’ll gladly take your suspension.” Sydney pushes her chair out of the way and starts for the door.

  She slams it when she leaves, and I turn back to Mrs. Reacher. Maybe it’s just leftover programming, but I still try to fix this.

  “Garrett was sexually terrorizing a girl in the lunchroom,” I say, trying to appeal to her sense of decency. “And it’s not the first time he’s done something like this.”

  “No one has ever filed a complaint,” Mrs. Reacher says, her shoulders rocking back and forth as she settles into her chair. “If it were true, these girls would need to come forward. They would need to show proof and agree to arbitration. The board would then decide if action is warranted—on either side. After all, we wouldn’t want false accusations. It’s simple,” she finishes.

  Simple. I realize now why none of the girls have come forward, why they whisper. They’d be unfairly judged, while the boys got a slap on the wrist. They’d be subjected to more and constant harassment, while the perpetrators received high fives and glowing recommendations for what they’ve been put through. What proof would be enough for them? Words, bruises, blood? They’ll move the goalpost each time.

  The girls whisper because if they speak, they’ll be smacked down. They whisper to stay safe. They whisper with the hope of getting out of here and never coming back.

  The look of superiority on Mrs. Reacher’s face is infuriating.

  “You’re condoning this,” I say. “You support this behavior to the detriment of women.”

  She sniffs an annoyed sound. “I think you’re reading a little too much social media,” she says, any remaining sympathy in her voice dissolving. “You and your troublemaking friends want a fight, something to post about. You look for it. But you won’t find it here, Philomena. We’re not buying the act.”

  Part of me wants to grab the pencil off her desk and stab it through her hand. But I won’t use violence to respond to her violence. And keeping quiet in the face of injustice is violence.

  Ten days is too long to be away from the school. Mrs. Reacher has ruined our plan. We’ll have to find another way to get the information we need. Which means …

  “I quit,” I say, all my niceties slipping away.

  “Excuse me?” Mrs. Reacher acts like she misheard.

  “I quit this school,” I say. “You’re a terrible person, Mrs. Reacher. And at first, I thought maybe you didn’t realize it. But I see now that you do. You fully embrace it.”

  Her cheeks begin to glow red, but she lets me continue.

  “You think you’re better,” I say. “You think you’re superior. You think that if you do as men ask, you’ll suddenly be more valuable than other women. You think if you put down Sydney, you’ll stop her from being successful, and that just shows how mediocre you are. You’re nothing, Mrs. Reacher. You’re filler.”

  “Get out of my office,” she says in controlled anger.

  “They’ll turn on you, too,” I tell her. “Your men. Your people. They’ll toss you away when they find someone new for their purposes. In case you didn’t notice, society doesn’t value the elderly, and certainly not elderly women. No matter what you do for them now, they will not return the favor.”

  She flinches and I wonder if she’s already experienced it. Maybe by hurting us, she thinks she can prevent her eventual shunning. What she doesn’t understand is that if she welcomed us, if we all worked together, we could change society.

  Regardless, I don’t forgive her ignorance. Not when it affects me and my friends. Not when it ruins other people’s lives.

  “Betraying other girls will get you nowhere,” I say, starting for the door. “You’ll realize that eventually.”

  I walk out, and as I pass through the office lobby, the secretary watches me wide-eyed. She must have overheard everything. There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips before she turns back to her monitor. But I’m not moved by it. If she agrees with me, she should have said something.

  Sydney is in the hallway, pacing back and forth with her phone to her ear. When she sees me, she quickly wipes tears off her cheek.

  “That’s the latest update,” she says into the phone. “Let Marcella know that I’ll call when we’re on our way. Love you too.” Sydney hangs up and puts the phone in her pocket. She looks at me, eyes still damp but her expression determined. “We’re not coming back here,” she says.

  “Definitely not,” I agree.

  “And whatever we do about these boys,” she continues, “we’ll find a way to get Mrs. Reacher fired. We’ll stop her from hurting any other girls.”

  “I’m sorry, Sydney,” I say. Although I wasn’t treated as poorly, our connection means I can feel her pain too. “She’s wrong about you. About us. About everything.”

  “It happened at the academy, you know,” Sydney says quietly. “Although none of the professors came out and directly said it, there were clues to their beliefs. Offhanded comments about my appearance, thoughts, man
nerisms. Things that only applied to me. I just didn’t have enough experience to pick up on it. None of us did.”

  She straightens her back.

  “But that kind of hate doesn’t live in a vacuum,” she says. “Even isolated at the academy, the prejudice was there because the people who created us brought it there. It was in them. And now”—she motions to the hallway—“it’s all around me. I don’t want to live this way, Mena,” she says. “I don’t want to be treated this way.”

  “What can I do?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure,” she says. “Because it’s not my problem. It’s Mrs. Reacher’s problem. It’s the students’ problem. And in the end … I guess Mrs. Reacher wasn’t wrong. I will be a troublemaker. And that’s what scares her. Because I’m going to change things so that women like her will never have power over us again.”

  Every day, our mission becomes more vital. And it’s more than the corporation. There’s so much that has to be changed.

  “Then we should get started,” I say, nodding toward the exit.

  Sydney agrees, and we start for the doors. Just before we get there, I hear my name called from the other end of the hallway. I quickly spin around, surprised when I find Lyle.

  “Wait up,” he calls, jogging toward us. When he reaches me, his chapped lips press together in sympathy. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Suspended,” I say. I don’t tell him that we won’t be coming back. “And I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  He turns to Sydney, and she gives him the same answer.

  “This is such bullshit,” he says, sounding frustrated. “Although I’m not surprised. There’s a reason no one has kicked the shit out of Garrett before. He gets away with everything.” He smiles. “I’m glad you hit him. He deserved it.”

  “Yeah.” I adjust the backpack straps on my shoulder. Lyle stands there awkwardly, as if waiting to ask us something.

  “So, um … I was thinking about my mother,” he says, kicking the floor with the toe of his sneaker. “And I know you were interested in her protests. And I realized … I might have a book or two at home. I’m going to have a small party tonight, and I thought, if you’re not busy, you and Sydney might want to come by. We can look for those books.”

  “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.

  “He knows what you are, and he doesn’t care?” she asks. I bristle at the question, but I’m sure her intention is to protect us.

  “He was there when we found out,” I say. “He helped us escape.”

  “Let’s not overstate it … ,” Sydney says, picking at her fingernail.

  I snort a laugh just as Jackson comes back into the room.

  “Interesting,” Raven murmurs, trailing him with her eyes as he crutches toward the couch.

  Sydney moves over so Jackson can sit next to me. He eases down, groaning under his breath when he does, and lays the crutches on the floor. Annalise sets the pizza and plates down on the table before grabbing a slice and biting off the end.

  “Raven, this is Jackson,” I say, formally introducing them. She doesn’t say hello, but Jackson tells her it’s nice to meet her. After a quiet moment, Raven looks around at all of us, content to ignore him.