A Girl Called Fearless

by Catherine Linka

  Sparrow looked like she was about to say something else, but changed her mind. “Do me a favor, will you?”

  Weird. Sparrow never asked me for favors. “Sure. What do you need?”

  “Dad scheduled a dentist appointment tomorrow first period. So tell Ms. A not to worry, okay?”

  “No problem. I’ll let her know.”

  Sparrow pulled me into a hug, and I was so shocked I didn’t let go until she did.

  I watched her leave. I didn’t have a clue how I was going to come up with all that money in three days.

  Three days.

  I didn’t have a secret bank account like Sparrow. Mom’s jewelry was home in Dad’s safe, but I had no way to pawn it, other than Janitor Jake.

  But jewelry wasn’t the only thing in Dad’s safe, I thought, remembering the envelope of emergency cash Dad stashed in there after the riots shut the banks down for a month.

  A crazy thought flitted through my head: I’d have all the money I needed if I broke in.

  Right. Break in and not get caught. How was I going to pull that off?

  Sparrow said she couldn’t help me, but she knew things nobody else did. Tomorrow, I’d make her talk to me.

  32

  I didn’t get to question Sparrow, because Monday morning, she was gone.

  Ms. A made an announcement right after the Pledge of Allegiance, but Portia had the inside scoop. She whispered to Zara and me that while Sparrow’s bodyguard went to Tempe to visit his grandma, Sparrow disabled the alarm system, stole the neighbor’s racing bike and disappeared.

  “She must have been planning this forever,” Zara said. “All the money she got by selling her little inventions online.”

  “You have to admit, the bitch has guts,” Portia said.

  “Don’t call her that,” I said, feeling strangely protective. “She—”

  Zara snorted. “She’s certifiably crazy. You wait. She’s going to show up on the news someday. The Paternalists better watch their backs, because she’s out to take them down.”

  “Girls! Eyes on me.” Ms. Alexandra strode down the aisle, slapping a copy of Romeo and Juliet on each desk.

  No one made a move to touch them. Romantic literature had been banned from the Masterson curriculum for months.

  Ms. A leaned against Sparrow’s desk, her arms folded. “In light of recent events, the administration feels that you girls would be better prepared for Signing by a rigorous analysis of the lies and distortions contained in romantic fiction.” She held up a copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Who knows what this play is about?”

  Sophie raised her hand. “It’s about a boy and a girl who fall in love.”

  “Wrong. It is about two young people who imagine they’re in love. They meet secretly. Ignore their parents’ teachings. Refuse to respect Juliet’s father’s selection of an appropriate spouse. A sentimental nurse and sinful priest help them deceive her parents. And what is the result? Tragedy.”

  Ms. A looked at us like we could make the same mistake. “We will read the play aloud and get a feel for it, and then we will analyze it. Zara, will you begin, please.”

  Halfway through, I realized Juliet was living my life, only four hundred years ago. Her dad arranged for her to marry Paris. Juliet didn’t want to get married because she was so young, but her dad wouldn’t listen.

  And then she met Romeo, the one she shouldn’t and couldn’t help loving.

  My thoughts walked right out of the classroom and climbed on the back of Yates’ motorcycle. We sail up an empty desert road, my body pressed against his back, my arms around his chest. Alone. Free. Yates pulls off the road and we stand overlooking the scrub, sharing a bottle of water. A drop clings to my lower lip and time slows and dies as Yates reaches out his finger and wipes it away.

  Ms. A called my name and I snapped back to reality. Heat like a prickly rash climbed up my neck.

  This was ridiculous. I was out of control, fantasizing about a friend—the one who told me he cared about me.

  I had to stop obsessing about Yates and focus on getting the cash I needed for Canada. Without Sparrow to help me figure it out, I was screwed.

  Up at the front, Ms. A covered the board with sweeping cursive. “Romantic love equals lies, deceit, disrespect. Lies to self—lies to partner—lies to family.”

  Ms. A was only writing down what the administration wanted to hear, but my fist clenched reading it. This was so twisted, what the administration—what society expected us to swallow.

  I need that cash. I have to get into that safe.

  I felt for Becca’s silver dolphin at my neck. You’d tell me not to be a wimp, wouldn’t you, Becca? You’d tell me to ignore how scared I am and figure out the passcode.

  Okay, Becca. Okay. I’ll do it.

  33

  All day I imagined possible passcodes for the safe. Dad could never remember birthdays or anniversaries. He liked chemical formulas and patent numbers.

  By the time Roik came to pick me up, I had a list of twenty, and I’d figured out how to keep Roik busy while I tried the safe. All I had to do was to get home before Dad got there.

  But I’d forgotten that Ho had arranged for me to get fitted for my Signing dress. Roik drove me to the designer’s studio on Melrose.

  The walls were hung with life-sized portraits of girls in white dresses, softly focused so they looked like angelic visions. I stared at a spot on the ceiling while the designer and his assistant pinned the fabric over my body. They fussed with the draping and hem, and complained about how the sparkly bracelet locked on my arm caught on the tissue-thin silk.

  I refused to let myself crumple or freak, because that girl in the Signing gown wasn’t me. I was a stand-in playing a part, and I’d be long gone before the Signing invitations went out.

  The designer was so pleased with how cooperative I was, he called Ho and told him the fitting went superbly which meant that Roik was happy to get me a smoothie on the way home.

  Too bad I dropped my mango-papaya-strawberry swirl as we turned into the driveway. The twenty-ounce cup hit the seat and gushed onto Big Black’s carpet.

  “I’m so sorry, it just slipped right out of my hand.”

  He pulled into the garage and leaped out to get his cleaning kit. “You go inside.”

  I set my backpack just inside the front door and slipped off my shoes. Gerard was prepping dinner in the kitchen.

  I sneaked into the library and closed the door. A huge acrylic of a neural synapse hung on the wall behind Dad’s desk. A push of a button, and the painting swung out from the wall.

  I checked my scribbled list of passcodes, hurrying to key in numbers while Gerard pulsed the food processor. The lock gave a loud, indignant beep when I got them wrong.

  I’d run through about twenty when I heard a cough behind me. Gerard.

  “You set off the silent alarm. Entering an invalid code twice sends out an alert.”

  I crumpled the scratch paper, trying to hide the evidence, but it crackled like chips. “Mom’s ring is in there,” I said. “I want to wear it.”

  He raised one eyebrow and eased the picture back against the wall. “Avie, what’s going on?”

  My heart missed a beat. “What do you mean?”

  “The Headmaster sent out a message about Flight Prevention to parents, bodyguards, and domestic managers. When one girl takes off, it can trigger other students to do the same. The letter listed warning signs, and you’ve exhibited half of them.”

  I tried to sound casual. “Oh, really? Like what?”

  “A change in activities or friends. Secretive or distancing behaviors. Sarcasm.”

  “Sarcasm. That’s not new.”

  Gerard sighed. “Avie, I’m trying to warn you.”

  I could make up a story or I could trust him. Gerard had covered for me in the past, tried to protect me, but how far would he go?

  “Whose side are you on, Gerard?”

  He glanced at the door. “I can’t take sides.”


  “But you don’t want me to be with Hawkins.”

  “It’s not my place to comment.”

  “I know you don’t agree with Dad going out and Signing me to him.”

  “Your father had to weigh the welfare of hundreds of employees into his decision.”

  No matter what Gerard said, I didn’t believe he was so cold. “So you’re fine with standing by and watching Dad sell me off?”

  “I can’t interfere.”

  “Okay, I get that you can’t interfere, but if I ask you for something—”

  “What’s going on?”

  I jumped about three feet. Roik stood in the doorway, his gun raised. “What are you doing!” I yelled.

  “Good Lord, put the gun down.” Gerard said. “Avie was trying to get into the safe. She’s convinced the screwdriver for her bracelet is in there.”

  I wanted to applaud Gerard for the perfect lie. It was almost true, making it completely believable. “This stupid bracelet’s so annoying. Everyone wants to look at it and it catches in my hair when I go to wash it.”

  “Hawkins has the screwdriver,” Roik said. “So there’s no point in fooling with the safe.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Gerard folded his arms. “You really should get that bracelet off her, Roik. Once People magazine comes out tomorrow, everyone will see it on her. She’s enough of a target as it is.”

  Roik frowned. “It’s not my say.”

  Gerard flicked his hand and strode to the door. “Well, you’re the one who has to pay the price if anything happens to her.”

  I smiled to myself, seeing Roik squirm. Gerard always had a special way of getting Roik to rethink things.

  “She can ask Hawkins herself when she sees him on Saturday.”

  “Fine, I’ll do that,” I said, and stalked out.

  I grabbed my backpack, ran upstairs, and flung myself down on my bed. I was screwed. I didn’t have the cash I needed, and Gerard wouldn’t help me. Thursday was three days away and if Dayla didn’t show up before that, it would be a miracle.

  I reached for my secret phone and checked the inmate locator. Yates Anton Sandell. No release date.

  When would they let him go?

  34

  I knew I needed to make up with Gerard for putting him on the spot with Roik, but the first thing I saw when I came down to breakfast was a copy of People on the kitchen counter. Ice water trickled through my veins. The cover was Hawkins locking the Love Bracelet around my wrist.

  I picked up the magazine. “Nice. Looks like I’ve just been given a life sentence. Where did this come from?” I asked Gerard.

  “Ho sent it over. He thought you’d like to see it.”

  Ho wants me to know I can never disappear. “Great. Now I’m famous in grocery stores and 7-Elevens across the country.”

  Gerard didn’t laugh. Obviously, he was still unhappy about yesterday. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m not trying to get you in trouble.”

  He slid a power smoothie in front of me. “I’m not angry, but I can’t help you. I have a husband and son who depend on me.”

  “It’s okay. Really, I understand.”

  I tossed the People in the trash, never imagining that when I got to school copies would be stacked in the lobby for everyone to take. Someone had framed the cover and stuck it in the school trophy case, because overnight I’d become Masterson Academy’s Most Successful Alumna Placement.

  Seventh-graders shoved magazines at me in the hall, pleading with me to autograph the covers and squealing at the bracelet peeking out of my blazer.

  Ms. A stood sentry at her door to keep them from following me in. “All right,” she said, closing the door. “Excitement’s over.”

  Zara passed me a note as I walked to my seat. “My brother’s friend got back last night,” she said. “He gave me this to give to you.”

  I unfolded the scrap of orange paper. At first I thought it was a mistake, because nothing was on it except rules about visiting inmates, but then I saw a few words penciled between the lines.

  “Miss you. Be back soon.”

  I closed my eyes. Thank you, thank you, thank you, I said to the universe. Yates was okay. He was coming home.

  And he misses me. He misses me!

  “Class, let’s take up where we left off yesterday with Romeo and Juliet,” Ms. A said.

  We opened our books. Things had only gotten worse for Juliet. Her dad was pissed because she wouldn’t marry Paris, so he told her she was worthless and could go live on the streets. Jules went half crazy when Romeo was banished. She was ready to kill herself, because she didn’t know if she’d ever see him again.

  So when the friar cooked up this plan for her to fake her death so she and Romeo could run off to Mantua and live under an assumed name, she jumped on it. It was Exodus, Shakespeare style.

  I envied how Juliet was crazy reckless brave with all Romeo’s love fueling her, because unlike her, I wasn’t a fictional character.

  I was a plain old girl, trying to escape marriage to a heartless, controlling man, and my version of Romeo was hundreds of miles away. And instead of a sympathetic nurse helping me, my best friend was ready to rat me out. Even if my extract went perfectly two days from now, I could end up stuck in the middle of nowhere, because I couldn’t get my hands on any cash.

  But I guess a part of me had to be crazy reckless brave, because despite the odds, I was going for it. There was one more thing I had to do today before I left and that was say good-bye to Mom.

  35

  At the cemetery, a Hispanic family had spread blankets across four graves so they could picnic. The son bounced a soccer ball on his knees like he was showing his mamma his skills. Not far away, a man held the hand of a little girl, clutching a big red paper heart to her jacket.

  Mom’s corner was empty. After Roik checked out the area, I carried my blanket up the hill.

  My heart was heavy, knowing this was the last time I’d ever see Mom, and it felt like I was losing her all over again.

  A few rows over, a man kneeled beside a grave. He pulled out a trowel and started to dig. It looked oddly sweet, a big bald man with tattoos on his scalp, planting sunny yellow flowers.

  I sat back against Mom’s headstone. “I need to tell you that I’m going away. Father Gabriel’s helping me make a run for Canada.”

  I glanced at the car. Roik was completely immersed in whatever was on his phone.

  “Yates was supposed to help me, too, but he’s in jail. You would have been so proud of him. He got arrested for—”

  A hand clamped over my mouth. Cold and callused and smelling of dirt.

  I froze as a face pushed up against mine. The guy from a few rows over. “Hi, gorgeous. Let’s go for a ride.”

  He jerked me to my feet, and pulled me behind the tree. Down the other side of the hill, a blue van idled on the service road.

  I tore at his fingers, trying to peel them off my mouth as he wrestled me toward the van.

  Finally, I shoved my elbows into his stomach. His hand flew off my mouth. “Roik!” I screamed. I thrashed out of the man’s grasp, but he reached out and grabbed me around the neck and flattened me against him.

  A shot split a branch above us. Roik was flying up the hill.

  I struggled to get away, but the hand tightened around my throat. The man fired a shot at Roik, while I dangled in his grip.

  The cold mouth of a gun kissed my forehead.

  Roik held his fire, poised to shoot. “Drop her NOW!”

  “Like hell I will.” The guy held me like a shield and my brain emptied of everything I knew about self-defense. Roik and I had trained together at a security camp, but at this moment the only thing in the world was the gun beside my eye.

  “Let her go!” Roik yelled.

  I tripped on the uneven grass as the guy began to walk me backward down the hill.

  “Look at me, Avie. Look at me!” Roik yelled from above us.

  I focused on his face, and his lips fo
rmed a command. Claw him.

  I couldn’t.

  “Avie!”

  I threw my hands back and blindly tore at the man’s eyes.

  “Bitch.” His hand fell off my throat. I dropped to the ground as a shot smacked by me.

  Then Roik charged past. “Get in the car!”

  Below us, the blue van hurtled down the service road.

  I crawled to my feet. Blood blackened the man’s shirt from a wound below his collarbone. I rushed for the car, the ground heaving beneath my feet. I threw myself inside and slammed down the lock.

  Bulletproof glass and armored panels couldn’t keep me from shaking. Sirens screamed and cops swarmed the hill. An ambulance braked behind me.

  If Roik hadn’t stopped that guy, I’d be in that van right now. Handcuffed? Duct-taped? Ready to be someone’s— Stop it. Don’t go there.

  Roik climbed in beside me. “The police want you to come down to the station. Your father’s talking to them right now, trying to convince them to interview you at the house.”

  “Okay.”

  A cop knocked on the window. Roik stepped out and I watched him bum a smoke and light up. He hadn’t had a cigarette in two years.

  Roik could have been killed.

  His phone buzzed next to me on the seat. “Dad?”

  “Avie. Thank God, you’re safe.”

  For a second, he sounded like old Dad, the one I had before everything fell apart, and all I wanted was to go home and feel his arms around me. “The police have agreed to interview you at the house, but first, Roik’s taking you to Huntington,” he said. “We need to get you checked out.”

  “I don’t want to go to a hospital.” A news copter rattled the air.

  “Roik said he saw bruises and scratches. That man who grabbed you, he didn’t do … anything else … did he?”

  Dad’s face sagged like a bad day on the stock market. His big investment threatened. He wasn’t old Dad at all.

  “No. I’m in one piece. No broken anything.”

  “Still, Jessop wants you to be examined.”

  “You told him what happened?”

  “I had to. It’s part of your Contract: I have to inform him of any significant life event.”