The Supergirls Universe — A Universe from the Mind of Megumi Kashuahara

When fifteen-year-old Melissa Johnson submits a question card at Princeton's Public Math Night, professor Samuel Patterson doesn't just ignore it — he rips it apart in front of eight hundred people and calls her a project girl who wandered in off the street. She doesn't sit down. What follows is the story of a girl from Newark who taught herself calculus from library books, learned German to read a two-hundred-year-old manuscript, and found the door that sixty brilliant mathematicians couldn't / (Reviews)

When tech billionaire Malcom Forbes is abandoned by his attorney mid-trial, facing a murder conviction built on impossible evidence, the courtroom falls silent for three seconds. Then an eight-year-old girl from Ten Pines stands up. Camika Foster has been watching. Taking notes. Asking questions nobody thought to ask. And she's about to prove that the most dangerous person in a room full of powerful liars isn't the one with the best lawyer. It's the one paying attention. I Can Defend Him.

5,712 Indigenous women reported missing. 116 actually counted. Aiyana Begay is twelve years old and she wants to know why. So she decides to make everyone answer for it. A Diné warrior's granddaughter. A missing mother's daughter. A girl who walked into the United States Senate and made them write it down. Flight of the Eagle. Some voices cannot be silenced.

Jamal Wilkes was walking home by nine o'clock. Following his mother's rules. Doing everything right. Then a cop made a decision. And the cover up began. Camika Foster is nine years old. She has a notebook, a duct tape backpack, and a mind that sees what everyone else misses. She also has a problem with evidence that doesn't add up. In Ten Pines, the truth has a price. This time it's higher than anything she's faced before.

Park Soo Yee is eleven years old, has an IQ of 150, and just watched her brilliant sister get rejected from every Ivy League school she applied to. The reason wasn't her grades. It wasn't her record. It was a number — assigned by a stranger who never met her, in a column with no criteria and no appeal. The truth was hiding in a federal court database that anyone could access. Nobody had bothered to look. Soo Yee looked.