The teacher paired the children, and they practiced kicking into a pad. Ava caught the teacher’s attention, and he scowled at her. She jerked away as if she’d been slapped and continued on to the Academy.

The Academy’s elaborate stone entrance was marred with graffiti. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of urine and pressed the buzzer.

“Name?” The intercom squawked.

“Ava Vaughn.”

The ornate door clicked open. The depressed inner-city exterior hid a modern fencing studio. Amazed, Ava stared. In the wide open space, students in white fencing gear sparred on long thin red strips. Others practiced lunges and attacks in front of mirrors. The ring of metal, the hum of voices, and the mechanical chug of fitness equipment filled the air.

An instructor carrying a clipboard approached. “Ms. Vaughn?”

She nodded.

He eyed her, clearly not impressed. “Change and warm up. Then we’ll evaluate you.”

Before he could shoo her away, she said, “But Bossemi—”

“Invited you, I know. Doesn’t mean you’ll train with him. You have to impress us first.” He poked his pencil toward the locker rooms in the back.

As Ava changed clothes, she thought about the Three Rivers Regional Competition. She had fought well and won all her bouts, gaining the notice of Sandro Bossemi, a three-time Olympic champion from Italy.

Fencers from around the world re-located just to train at the Accadamia della Spada, which translated to the Academy of the Sword. Admittance to the school was by invitation only. Ava dreamed about being asked to train here.

However, reality proved to be another matter. Even though she had out-fenced all her opponents at the competition, the students at the Academy countered her efforts to spar them with ease. She couldn’t even claim her youth as an excuse. A few fourteen-and fifteen-year-olds trained here, making her feel old at seventeen. After her first night of practice, Ava doubted she would be asked back.