A Girl Called Fearless Read Free

“I’m telling the truth, Mr. Singer,” I said. “I don’t know where she is.”
    I wasn’t lying. Sure, I’d heard about Underground safe houses where they’d hide you if you were running for the border, but I had no idea how to find one.
    Mr. Singer banged his fist on the counter. For a second I felt sorry for him. “You’ll tell me if she contacts you?” he said.
    Dayla wasn’t going to contact me until she made it across. “I promise.”
    Mr. Singer’s phone rang, and he turned away to answer it. “Yes? Yes!”
    â€œYou’d better be telling the truth,” Dad whispered in my ear.
    â€œI am. I swear.”
    Mr. Singer shook his head as he pocketed his phone. “My people tracked the car to Visalia. No sign of Dayla or Seth.” He locked his eyes on me. “This isn’t a game, Avie. We’ve got to get her back.”
    I nodded, but inside I cheered. Day and Seth were still out there, free.

5
    Dad didn’t let me out all weekend and Roik made me hand over my Princess phone like running away was contagious. So when I walked into class on Monday, it was like being let out of jail.
    But then I felt the skin on my arms prick up. It took me a minute, but I realized the posters for MIT and UCLA were gone, and a recipe conversion chart was stuck up in their place.
    Ms. Alexandra stood like a model, her hair swept up in a chignon, her lipstick perfect. She had one hand on her hip and the other on the back of Dayla’s chair, but only her lips were smiling.
    Ms. A had handpicked our class when we were twelve, back when the Headmaster still listened to her, because she was the only female teacher left. Ms. A told him we had the most “potential.” Put us all together, and we were a color wheel of smart rich girls who’d racked up enough detentions to catch her eye.
    But we were more than a mission. Ms. A called us the daughters she could never have.
    There wasn’t an upperclassman at Masterson Academy who hadn’t heard that Dayla Singer had run off with her bodyguard, but Ms. A addressed our class in the ridiculously chipper voice she used for the security camera. “Dayla’s father called. Her cold is improving, and she should be back soon.”
    We all clapped, and Ms. A smiled at Sparrow. Two seconds later, the security camera buzzed like it was in pain. Ms. A nodded a thank-you, and Sparrow slid the scrambler she’d engineered back in her pocket.
    â€œI know you’re worried about Dayla,” Ms. A said quietly, “but my sources haven’t heard a thing. Keep in mind that’s good news.” She frowned. “I’m sure you’re wondering why the posters were taken down. Last night, the American Association of College Presidents announced they were suspending enrollments for women.”
    Sparrow was the first one to figure out what Ms. A just said. “You mean we can’t go to college?”
    â€œBut they just let girls back in last year,” Sophie Park cried. “What’s going on?”
    â€œThe reason they cited was their inability to provide adequate security for women on campus. They stated that until they can ensure the safety of female students, they cannot house or provide instruction for them.”
    We all sat stunned as if someone had lined up our dreams and shot them. No NYU theater for Portia. No biology lab for Sophie. No MIT engineering for Sparrow.
    No psych classes at Oxy for me. No escaping home for the freedom of a dorm. The no s hammered me and I pressed my fingers to my forehead to stop the pounding.
    â€œBut they’re going to figure this out, right?” Zara asked. “I mean, they’ll find a way to let us back in, right?”
    â€œYeah,” Sophie said. “Like, couldn’t we take classes online for now?”
    â€œGet real,” Sparrow snapped. “How’s Portia going to learn acting if she can’t