A Girl Called Fearless

by Catherine Linka

“Hi, I heard somebody crying,” I said.

  “Sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll tell Shae to keep it down.” The girl went to close the door, but I put my hand on it.

  “You didn’t disturb me. I just wanted to know if she’s okay.”

  The girl squinted, and looked me up and down. “Are you … Cast?”

  “No, I’m Juliet.”

  Her eyes relaxed. “Shae’ll be fine,” she said, almost friendly. “Her tattoo wipe’s burning and that crappy painkiller they give you is wearing off.”

  “So she had a tattoo removed?”

  “Had to. You know how Magda is about resale value. Bitch.”

  Resale value? “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  The girl threw her hand over her mouth. “Ohmygod, don’t tell her I said that. I didn’t mean it. She’s not a— Promise me you won’t say anything?”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks. See you around.” She shut the door in my face.

  Now everything clicked into place. Magda sold girls. She was a broker.

  And based on that raging party, that wasn’t the only thing she sold.

  I backed away from the door. I was blind, thinking I could trust Exodus. Crazy to have assumed that everyone Underground would be like Yates or Father G or Dr. Prandip. Honest and good and committed to the cause.

  I strode up the hall and grabbed the handle of the emergency exit. I braced for the alarm and then pushed. The door flew open onto a staircase of windowless cinderblock. No alarm.

  Fluorescent lights lit up this floor and the other nineteen below it. I could bolt right now, but I’d end up out on the Strip in my cami and sleep shorts, surrounded by horny, half-wasted men.

  I retreated into the hall.

  Nothing made sense. Father Gabe wouldn’t work with people he couldn’t trust, right? Not unless they had him fooled. Or he was working for them. A priest cozying up to desperate girls, promising them freedom and he gets, what? A cut of the profits when they’re resold? Maybe that was why he was arrested for kidnapping.

  No, Yates would know if Father G was corrupt. He’s known him for years.

  But maybe Yates was fooled, too. He’d basically admitted that he and Father G never spoke again to the girls they helped. Maybe those girls never got to Canada.

  Cold cascaded through my body. “I will not be a casualty. I will not be a casualty,” I whispered.

  Ajax had made me yell that back at him every day at self-defense camp. I saw him with his buzz cut and his oversized biceps, drilling us on how to survive a kidnapping, barking outcomes.

  “Best case: you escape or are ransomed. Worst case: you disappear in the white-slave trade.”

  Had I been kidnapped? I wasn’t sure. Nobody had drugged me. Nobody had locked me up. But they’d set it up so I really couldn’t leave. I needed tools: food, clothing, a phone.

  Ajax barked orders in my head. “You need to have a plan. Observe the surroundings. Know where the exits are. Pay attention to the players and their routines. You need to stay in top condition. Eat, sleep, exercise. You can’t make good decisions if you’re starving or exhausted.”

  Okay. Deep steadying breaths. Slow down. Focus.

  I looked over my shoulder. Ajax always made a big point about how fire inspectors required multiple means of egress. I knew where two were, but there had to be another at the end of the hall.

  Shae was still whimpering when I passed her room. Signs for CARDIO, YOGA, SHOWER, and SPA decorated the hall like this was some twisted luxury resort.

  The hall ended in a wall of beaded glass, but I could tell there was a big, open room behind it. A couple spotlights were still on, and I peeked around the glass.

  Two styling chairs stood in front of a makeup mirror. Blow-dryer cords snaked out of a stand. Fifty bottles of nail polish climbed little acrylic stairs, and the counter had more colors of eyeshadow and blush than Dayla did.

  Even though I couldn’t see the other half of the room, I knew I was alone. I crept across the wood floor.

  There was the other exit; two frosted glass doors lit up from behind. The way the light hit the glass, I could tell they led outside. And right next to them were shelves stacked with folded workout clothes. I pawed through them. Yoga pants and racer tops, sweats and warm-up jackets. All sized for girls like me.

  I tucked a set under my robe. Now if I had to escape, I wouldn’t be in sleep shorts and a skimpy cami.

  I pushed through the glass doors into a rooftop garden with a spotlit pool, cabanas, a glass railing around the whole thing. A band rocked the penthouse bar on the casino next door. My hair whipped in the wind as I scanned the roof. There was no way off. This place might be a lush escape, but it wasn’t an exit.

  Once back inside, I spied what I’d missed before: a dozen racks of clothes—like the costume racks backstage at a theater. Curiosity lured me over. Each rack was labeled with a girl’s name. Amanda, Sirocco, Persephone. And the dresses hanging on them were all baby soft or shiny tight and cut so they’d hug and reveal a girl’s breasts or legs.

  All the hairs on my arms stood up. I’m in a— I couldn’t say the word.

  Who hides a runaway with a broker? Or worse, a—madam?

  I tore back to my room, pulled on the yoga pants and zipped the jacket up to my chin. I pulled the comforter over me and sat with my back to the wall, tugging my sleeves over my hands.

  I hooked my hands under my knees, fighting off the spinning in my head. Clearly, the effect of a precipitous drop in blood sugar, Dad would say. He’d tell me to eat, but I knew if I tried to, I’d spew.

  55

  Neon lights flickered on the ceiling as I lay with the comforter around me. Time seemed endless, even though I’d only been here a couple hours.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Yates. Roik wasn’t stupid. He probably guessed Yates was involved the minute I took off. And Roik knew Hawkins would be pissed he let me get away. I could see Roik showing up at Yates’ apartment so he could beat the crap out of Yates without any witnesses.

  Roik wouldn’t care how badly he hurt Yates, and Yates’ dad wouldn’t press charges, not when Hawkins owned so much of the company.

  Please, Yates. Please be okay.

  I closed my eyes and saw him cradling my hand, heard him say, “Love wields the scissors.”

  “Love is the escape,” I whispered back.

  I have to believe everything will work out. That’s the only way I can do this.

  It was two thousand miles to Toronto and at least a year or two until we could be together, but right now it felt like infinity.

  Out in the hall, girls were laughing. I pulled the comforter over my face as the door swung open.

  “Could you believe that guy?” a girl squealed.

  “He would not give up!” another one said.

  “Shh. There’s somebody in here,” a third said.

  My new roommates gathered around my bed. “Oh, she has no idea what she’s gotten into.”

  They tried to smother their laughs. “What’s her name?” one whispered.

  “Who knows.”

  They giggled about a party trick with a candle and a glass of wine. Shoes clunked on the floor, and someone pulled the curtains shut. The room went black, and I lay there, listening as they fell asleep.

  They didn’t act like they were being forced to do horrible things. So why were they here? Why was I here?

  My spinning thoughts kept waking me up, and I finally stopped trying to go back to sleep when I was too hungry to lie there any longer. I squinted as I entered the brilliantly lit kitchen. Sunshine coated the buildings and the mountains in the distance. Someone had set up coffee, so I took a cup and some cereal and headed for the rooftop.

  As I stepped into the sunlight, cool morning air flowed over my face. The sky stretched blue-white in all directions. It was huge, and for a second, I felt completely free.

  I lounged beside the perfect turquoise pool and dug into my cereal. Obv
iously, I let myself get out of control last night. How genius to hide a runaway with a broker. Nobody’d ever guess, right?

  Magda was probably planning on moving me this morning. By tonight I’d be in Utah or Colorado.

  But then I realized that she hadn’t said anything like, “Get some rest. Big day tomorrow.” She asked what name I wanted to use, and promised me a phone, but didn’t say when I’d get it.

  I put my bowl down and got up. Stop pretending this is perfectly fine.

  I paced the edge of the rooftop. For all I knew Magda was waiting for Hawkins’ Retrievers to show up so she could turn me over for ransom.

  And that’s when I saw the guy staring at me. Outdoor bar, top floor of the next hotel over. His eyes trained on me like I fit the description of the person he was looking for.

  Retriever! I tore across the deck for the frosted-glass doors. I’d almost reached them when one swung open and Billy stepped out and caught me in his arms.

  “Let go of me!”

  His hands flew off me. “What’s going on, Juliet?”

  He seemed sincere as if he actually cared, so I said, “A Retriever found me,” and pointed to the rooftop bar.

  Billy rolled his eyes. “Lowlifes.” He walked over to the wall and pushed a button, and the glass around the rooftop fogged up. “That’s no Retriever. Just some dude with nothing else to do. He can’t bother you now.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He toured the deck, straightened a few cushions, and headed for the door.

  “Billy, am I leaving today?”

  “I’m not in charge of that. You gotta ask Magda.”

  “Okay. So when can I see her?”

  Billy checked his watch. “She won’t be up before noon, but I’ll let her know you want to talk.” The door closed behind him with a whoosh.

  They weren’t in a rush to move me. They weren’t even thinking about getting me out of here. I could feel my pulse start to race.

  They stick you in this place, and it’s so nice and pretty you think you’re perfectly safe.

  Why’d I let Yates talk me into this? Why’d I think I could do this?

  I dropped into the pool in my yoga pants and started running. The cold water slapped my chest as I pushed through it. Two laps. Four. Eight. Twelve. Twenty.

  You never thought you could run a mile, but Ms. A made you run five. You never thought you could mastermind your escape or Tase Roik, but you did. You can do this. You can make it to the border. But you can’t let your fears take over.

  I flopped onto the deck and caught my breath.

  I didn’t know how Anne Frank made it two years in hiding. I’d been Underground less than twenty-four hours, and I was already fighting off the crazies.

  56

  Backstage came alive at noon: treadmills and ellipticals whirred and blow-dryers were going all out. The kitchen was full of girls in exercise gear scarfing down salads and protein shakes. They were lining up at the window like a show was going on outside. I stole glances at them as I poured a glass of juice.

  They were all different. Black, white, brown, Asian, and they didn’t look like—call girls, my mind whispered. They looked normal with their hair pulled back and no makeup on. From the way they acted, laughing and joking with each other, not one of them seemed drugged or hungover.

  So why don’t they leave here? What’s stopping them?

  I helped myself to the grilled chicken and salad bar set up on the island. Shae and her roommate from the night before were outcasts at a table in the corner, a five-foot perimeter around them. Shae’s eyes were puffy, but she’d stopped crying. She hunched over her plate like she had a secret she was dying to tell.

  I heaped carrots on my salad, listening, but pretending not to.

  “Magda says I’m meeting someone very special today,” Shae said to her roommate.

  “She used those exact words? Very special?”

  “Yes!”

  “So he’s prequalified. Wow.” The wow was an I Wish It Was Me Not You Wow.

  “I know!” Shae said.

  My brain crackled and I quieted so I could hear better. They were talking about a Contract.

  “Did you see a photo?”

  “He’s okay-looking. I mean, he’s not that much older than me. I wish he didn’t—”

  A blender tore through what Shae was saying, but I didn’t need to hear the rest. It was like being back at Masterson, listening to one of those sheep from the other class of juniors, the girls who’d rather get Signed than graduate.

  I took my salad over to the window. Men were installing a megagraphic on the next casino over announcing, TABITHA!!! Twenty stories of long tan legs, full breasts, and a thick sweep of golden-coppery hair.

  “Wish I had a body like that,” somebody said.

  The Asian girl with perfect bangs snorted. “I was her roommate. Believe me, it’s airbrushed.”

  Shae spoke up from the corner. “Tabitha lived here?”

  The other girls looked at her as a group, stoning her with silence.

  Finally, a tall Latina stuffed into an exercise bra separated from the group. She smirked at Shae. “Tabitha was here all summer. Magda set up that deal for her.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Shae said. “I’d never do anything like that.”

  “You already are.”

  Shae whipped her lunch off the table and shot out of her chair. “Slut.”

  “Cow!” Latina shot back.

  “Come on, stop it, Sirocco,” someone said. “Magda’ll be pissed if she hears you talking like that.”

  Shae and her roommate squeezed by me, their eyes trained on Sirocco. “She won’t hear about it unless somebody tells her,” Sirocco threw at them.

  She was two feet away from me, so I ducked my head, hoping to get out of there before I turned into Sirocco’s next target. But no such luck.

  “You, new girl.”

  I turned around.

  She speared a radicchio leaf and held it up to her mouth. Her eyes narrowed like a cat. “Cast or Consignment?”

  It was the second time somebody’d asked if I was Cast. Cast wasn’t a who. Cast was a what. “I have no idea.”

  Splendor, the girl whose picture was on the bureau, piped up, “She’s in our room.”

  “So you’re Cast.”

  “I guess.” I had no intention of being Cast, whatever that was, but I definitely wasn’t Consignment. Obviously Consignment meant girls who were here to be sold. Or maybe resold like a previously owned Mercedes.

  “What’s your name?” Sirocco said.

  “Juliet.”

  “Ooo, romantic.” I could see why Sirocco chose her name. A hot wind that tears up the desert?

  But I wasn’t about to let her tear me up. “I like it.”

  Billy’s voice came over a speaker. “Debriefing. Ten minutes.”

  Sirocco relaxed her gaze on me. “Nice to meet you, chica. See you around.” Sirocco and her friends scurried about, scarfing down their lunches while I sipped my drink.

  It was 12:30. I wanted to see Magda and I wanted some answers.

  57

  I lasted about forty minutes before I couldn’t stand it anymore, and marched into the foyer. Madga’s office door was closed, but before I could even knock, Billy intercepted me.

  “You do not want to interrupt Magda’s meeting,” he said.

  “But I need to talk to her.”

  “I understand, but you got to wait. Take a seat on this bench. I’ll tell her you’re out here.”

  “Thanks, Billy.”

  I plopped down on the gold-upholstered bench. Vacuum cleaners roared nearby. Last night’s party must have left an industrial-sized mess.

  There wasn’t much to look at around the room besides the big gold bowl on the table in the center and four wall hangings some decorator had hung up. The abstract desert landscapes were embroidered in gold and silver. I glanced at the one right across from me and the name Fletcher jumped out fr
om the pattern, then disappeared.

  The head of the Paternalist party? My eyes had to be playing tricks on me.

  I stood and examined the hanging behind me. The silk dashes, dots, and curlicues transformed into names and dates. The stitch-code was the same one Ms. A taught us.

  The names were clearly in English, but there were other words that didn’t make sense when I decoded them. Acronyms? Or maybe a different language? And there were amounts of money stitched in, too.

  Secrets. Recorded in silk. It was daring to leave them in plain sight, but maybe it was genius, too.

  Sirocco and the other Cast members filed out of Magda’s office, followed by Billy. The girls looked me over like I’d annoyed them. “Go ahead,” Billy said. “She’ll see you now.”

  Magda was curled on the couch in expertly tailored pants and a sweater that bared her perfect shoulders. She waved me in with her teacup, and kept right on talking into her phone. “I assure you, we’re known for our discretion.”

  A long strip of sage green silk, a needle barely visible in one corner hung over her head. I perched on my chair and stole glances at the cryptic story coded into the pattern of blossoming cherry branches. Names. Dates. Money. Magda was collecting this information for a reason. Blackmail? Maybe a little insurance policy if she ever got arrested for sheltering runaways.

  Magda snapped her phone shut. “Billy said you insisted on seeing me.”

  Suddenly I felt rude and ungrateful, and then just as quickly I got ticked she made me feel that way. “I thought I was leaving today.”

  Magda blew on her tea. “Umm. Let’s discuss that.”

  Adult-speak for “you’re getting screwed.”

  “What do we need to discuss?” I said.

  “We’re having to reconfigure your arrangements in light of recent events in Los Angeles. Everyone’s safety depends on it. We won’t pass you on until we are sure we aren’t endangering you or the volunteers helping you.”

  I should have known Father Gabe’s arrest would affect a lot more people than me. What Magda told me sounded reasonable, like there was no question that I was leaving, it was just a matter of when. “Sorry for asking, I didn’t understand.”

  “Yes, I’m delighted we could clear that up, but Juliet, we should talk about your Contract.”