A Girl Called Fearless (18 page)

I flung the ball across the lawn and she tore into the yard, a white dot bouncing in the dark. I ran toward the pool and Dusty raced back and dropped the ball at my feet. I listened for Ferris and his dog, then I tossed the ball over the low wall that separated the pool from the orchard below. Dusty charged after it, weaving through the fruit trees toward the hedge and iron fence that shielded the yard from the street.

When I caught up, she was crouched by the fence at a spot where the hedge was missing, touching noses with another dog.

Yates clutched the iron bars, waiting for me.

There were cameras all up and down the street, so I approached slowly, trying to remember where they were and to stay out of sight.

“I had to see you,” Yates said. He opened his hands, and I wove my fingers into his.

“You shouldn't be here,” I said. “It's too dangerous. Hawkins hired a perimeter guard and attack dog.”

Yates leaned his forehead against the bars and I rose up on my tiptoes. It was the closest we could get with the bars between us.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Not really. I can't believe Dayla showed up like that. It was almost as if Ho
knew
what we were planning.”

“He doesn't. No one at Exodus would give you away.”

I didn't have Yates' faith in them, but what did I know? “What do we do
now
?”

“We try a different place, different time.”

It wasn't that simple. “I don't know.”

“You can do this.”

“That's not it. Whatever plans Hawkins and Ho have for me the next few days, they're keeping them secret.”

“Think. Is there anyplace you could ask Roik to take you?”

We were both thinking the cemetery, but neither of us said it.

“What about school?” Yates asked. “Aren't there any holiday pageants or service projects? Events where everybody's running around and you could sneak out?”

Yes. Yes, there was. “The
Sound of Music
. It starts Monday and hundreds of families will be on campus. I can tell Dad and Roik I'm doing makeup. I just need someone to unlock the back gate.”

“Would Ms. Alexandra help you?”

“Maybe. Yes.”

“Then it's a plan.” He stretched his fingers and I matched mine with his so our hands lay flat against each other's. I felt the energy flow back and forth between us.

This may be the last time we see each other.

Ask him, the voice in my heart insisted. Don't let him go without knowing. “What were you going to ask me yesterday?” I said.

Yates hung his head. “I shouldn't have said that. It's not fair.”

“Because I'm leaving?”

He nodded and my heart soared.

“What's not fair is leaving me hanging,” I said quietly. “‘Do you think that someday we—' How does that question end?”

“Aves—”

“Don't make me beg. It's humiliating.”

He stroked my face with the tips of his fingers. “All right. Do you think that someday we could be together despite the thousands of impossible obstacles in our paths?”

Yes danced on my lips. “Yes, I do.”

A loud barking came from up near the house. Dusty pawed my leg, whimpering to be picked up. “You've got to get out of here.”

Yates' fingers lingered on my cheek while the barking got closer and angrier. Dusty circled me frantically. “Go, go,” I said.

Yates stepped back from the fence and put his hand over his heart. I did the same. Mine was beating wildly, hearing the guard come toward us.

Yates disappeared into the dark and I kicked Dusty's ball so it rolled between the iron bars out of reach.

A flashlight beam pinned me to the fence. “Identify yourself!” Ferris yelled.

The shepherd snarled at the end of his leash as I swept Dusty up in my arms. She was trembling even worse than I was. It was all I could do not to turn and check to make sure Yates had gone.

“It's me, Avie,” I snapped back. “I live here.”

Ferris silenced his dog with a quick “At ease,” and it dropped to the ground.

“Actually, I could use your help. Dusty's ball went through the fence.”

Ferris loaned me his expandable nightstick since he couldn't fit his arm between the bars. I deliberately knocked the ball too far left, then too far right, so Ferris couldn't resist watching it. Finally, when I was sure Yates was gone, I smacked the ball back to Dusty.

So we're going to try again, I thought as Ferris walked me back to the house. It's not over.

Trust Yates and Father G. It will all work out.

43

I went to school early the next morning hoping to get Ms. Alexandra alone, but she didn't appear until after the last bell. She stood at her desk for a moment, drumming a finger on the wood. “Mmm … let's convene in the Tea Garden.”

We trotted behind her. “Your assignment is to write a love poem from the point of view of either Romeo or Juliet,” she said. “Try to capture their emotions, and we'll return inside and critique.”

We scattered, each of us picking a bench or a spot among the camellias. I lay on my stomach on the grass and stared up through the branches.

I knew exactly how Juliet felt: cornered, desperate, sold. Delusional. Juliet thought she had a chance at a happily-ever-after in Mantua. That she could elude her sword-wielding kinsmen, the Renaissance equivalent of ex-military, field-reconnaissance-trained Retrievers.

I tapped my pen on my notebook. I couldn't blame her for risking it all. Romeo loved her. He
loved
her.

I thought back to last night, Yates and I reaching for each other through the bars of the fence, and at that instant I totally got how Juliet knew that loving Romeo was impossible, but love made her crazy, gave her courage, sent hope through her veins.

The poem flowed like my heart was pumping out the words.

Says Juliet

love wields the scissors

love is the escape

love blows through pinholes

love refuses to die

love holds its breath in the absence of oxygen

love defies the weight of the pillow

slips free of the knot

love builds a fire out of hope

love climbs a rope of maybe

love trusts the grappling hook to hold

let the world

tell us no

love is the rusted fire escape

that shouldn't support our weight

but does

When I finished, I read it over and realized that I'd never written anything so true or so real, and I shouldn't show it to anyone. Except Yates.

A shadow fell over the paper, and when I looked up it was Ms. A. “Show me your work,” she said, reaching for my notebook.

“I'm not done.”

“Show me what you have.”

Her brows arched as she read it through. “Oh, dear.” She scanned the branches above us. “Get up.”

She steered me out from beneath the trees to an open space in the rose garden. “You're in love,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “but not with Jessop Hawkins.”

I gulped. “It's that obvious?”

“This is extremely dangerous.” She seemed to be keeping an eye on the path behind me. “Do you need my help?” she said slowly.

I didn't want to drag her into this, but I had no choice. “Yes, I'm sorry, but I do.”

“All right,” she said. “Tell me what you want me to do, and nothing more. The less I know, the better.”

First, I told her about Dayla's plan to shadow me at school, and she said she'd try and stop her. Then I asked Ms. A if she would open the back gate Monday night during the play.

She cupped my chin in her hand and sighed. “I so wish it hadn't come to this, but yes, count on me.”

As she walked over to Zara, I tore my poem out of the notebook and folded it up into a triangle, and tucked it in my bra. I did it, I thought. I'm set to go. Now, I just had to keep Dayla and Roik from finding out.

44

Hawkins's garage was packed with cars when Dad and I got there on Saturday, and right up front was the red Ferrari that belonged to Yates' dad.

Please tell me Yates is not here
.

I breathed in, trying to center myself as Dad and I went through the double doors and stepped onto the landing. The living room below was packed with men milling around with drinks in their hands. A few wives huddled to the side.

Mr. Sandell was holding court by the Simcha painting of slaughtered chickens, but I didn't see Yates.

I ducked behind Dad as Hawkins jogged up the steps to greet us. He shook Dad's hand, then reached over and pulled me to him, locking his lips on mine. I couldn't breathe and I couldn't get away, and even with my lips shut, I tasted his mouthwash and red wine.

When he stopped, I eased out of his arms. “Why don't you introduce me to your guests?”

“I'd love to.” Hawkins grabbed the railing. “Everyone! Let me present the future Mrs. Jessop Hawkins.”

The entire room turned and started clapping. And that's when I saw Yates, standing by the windows.

I tried to keep my face a blank as Hawkins gripped my elbow and steered me down the stairs. He guided me through the room, talking golf and international markets with the men, and making me show off my bracelet to the four wives who'd come.

I tried not to look at Yates, afraid my face would give away my feelings. But Hawkins led me over to him.

My heart beat rapid-fire.

“Avie, how's it going?” Yates smiled, his blue eyes telling me to relax.

“Yates. It's great to see you.”

Yates thrust his hand at Jes. “We haven't met. I'm Yates, Cyrus' son. Avie and I grew up together.”

Hawkins shook his hand. “Yes, I've been eager to meet you.”

I felt dizzy, this was surreal.

Hawkins squeezed my hand hard. The clink of our Love bracelets rattled in my ears. He gave us a cold, hard smile. “Walk with me,” he told us.

“Lead the way,” Yates answered.

I wanted to grab him and run for the stairs. My heart jackhammered as Hawkins led us to an empty alcove off the living room, as if to show us a painting there. We were just out of sight of the party.

I stared ahead, even when Yates' hand brushed mine, setting off electric sparks. If I didn't know what Hawkins was capable of, I'd have thought he was casually chatting Yates up. But I knew differently.

“You're at Occidental, studying social justice, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Yates answered.

Hawkins squinted at him. “Social work. An admirable choice, but not one that pays well.”

Yates held his eyes. “Actually, I'm more into political activism.”

“Yes, that's right. You helped lead the protest in Sacramento.”

Hawkins turned to me suddenly, and I couldn't breathe. I was looking a cobra in the eyes.

“I know about you two,” he said, his voice low, casual.

“Mr. Hawkins, excuse me,” Yates tried. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

Hawkins looked at Yates, his voice almost bored. “I know about the messages and the rendezvous at the church. I've been patient. Even helpful.” He looked at me. “I bailed your friend here out of jail.”

My knees began to buckle. I wanted to reach for Yates, but I forced myself not to.

Yates cleared his throat. “Thank you for bailing me out, Mr. Hawkins, but I assure you—”

Hawkins held up his hand for Yates to stop. “You know why I got you out? Because I can. I have the lawyers and the money and the connections to shape the world any way I want. Bailing you out was a gift for my lovely bride. Now you are in my debt—both of you.”

Yates tried again. “Sir—”

Hawkins cut him off. “No. You do not appreciate the situation. Your sneaking around will stop. Now. You will not see or text or talk to each other. It's over. Aveline is under Contract to me. She
belongs
to me. Do you understand?”

The silence sucked the air out of the room. There was only one answer. I nodded.

“Yates, go rejoin the party.”

Yates' fists were clenched. “If you hurt her—”

“
You
are the one hurting her with your righteous folly and foolish bravado.”

I winced. I wanted to pick up the huge glass bowl on the pedestal near us and heave it at Hawkins.

Yates stood up straighter. His hands were shaking. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked back into the crowd.

I shrank back as Hawkins closed in on me. “I know where your boyfriend works.” He slipped his hand inside the collar of my dress and stroked my skin with his thumb. “I know where he lives. What kind of motorcycle he rides. If I chose to, I could have him arrested. Or worse. I don't think you want that.”

I stared at the wall, not saying a word.

“In a few weeks, you will become my wife. If you haven't read your Contract, I suggest you go home and do so.”

My body went cold. I hadn't read my Contract.

“Are we clear?” Hawkins said.

I refused to answer.

“Are. We. Clear?”

“Yes. Yes!” I tore his hand off me and rushed around the corner.

You will never NEVER own me.

I didn't care how dangerous it was, I was getting away from Hawkins even if it killed me.

45

Hawkins made Yates and me sit across from each other at a late lunch that lasted hours. He eyed us like prey while he listened to men report on how the opiate trade had exploded in Eastern Europe and Biocure's profits from the new drug could surpass all expectations.

Despite the happy news, those guys rushed to get out of there, the minute the meal was over. Hawkins made me stand beside him at the door as he said good-bye to each of them, but when Yates came up to us, I clasped my hands behind my back, not knowing what to do.