When I walked home, I was in a total daze. My mind was still in a whirl from the stake out last night and the chase,
and I hadn't gotten much sleep. Because of all that, and after hearing about Blair, I was so caught up
that I forgot something very important. Luckily, that something — I mean that someone — hadn't forgotten me.

It turned out that Jordan had managed the switcheroo perfectly. When Lee ran off, she thought she had a bag of cash, but all she had was a stack of cut-up newspapers.

"You should have seen her face!" Theresa laughed. "I poured it all out on the table and said, Do you want to count it, Lee? She clenched her jaw so tight, I'm surprised she didn't crack a few teeth!"

"What really made her angry is that she's spent her life fooling people, only to get punked by a group of teenage girls!" she said later.

California filed extradition papers. As the word went out, other states starting lining up to take their prosecuting Lee. And there were civil suits against her as well.

"Even if we can't make her case stick here," Theresa told us, "She'll be going state to state, serving time."

Once Mr. Fisby understood how the whole investment scam worked, he handed over as much of the money he'd "gained" as he could. "It's food off someone else's table," he said.

Jordan was relieved, but a little disgusted as well. "I'd been telling Dad for months, but as soon as an adult said the same thing, he was all Oh, I see!"
 

Blair wasn't in school the next day. In fact, she didn't come back, ever. Susan took me to a quiet corner and explained. "This is what happened with Blair: Miss Overmore came to talk to me one day in the library, when no one was around. At first she talked about this, and talked about that, but in the end she wanted to talk about Blair."

"She did the same thing with me," I said. "Except it wasn't in the library."

"Anyway... afterward, I couldn't stop thinking about the questions she asked me. Some of them were kind of strange. At the time I didn't understand where she was going, but then it hit me: Miss Overmore believed that Blair was being abused."

"What!? Where? By who?"

"By whom," Susan corrected, and then apologized. "I don't know, but it was probably at home. That's where most abuse happens."

"Oh, my God!" I said.

"I think Miss Overmore wanted to intervene, but unless Blair said something, she was nothing she could do. So when you told me that Blair shouldn't be at lunch..."

"... you told her to go talk to Miss Overmore about Mr. Theo."

"Yes!"

"But I don't get it. Theo wasn't abusing her."

"No, he wasn't, but talking about that gave the opening to Miss Overmore. She must have convinced Blair to tell her what was going on at home."

"But Susan — that sounds kind of dangerous! Weren't you afraid that Blair would say something bad about Theo and get *him* in trouble?"

"No, I went and talked to Miss Overmore about it first — before I talked to Blair."

Susan was just amazing sometimes. "So what happens now?"

"Now Child Services and the police are involved. I'm guessing that Blair will go live with someone else, and hopefully whoever was hurting her will end up behind bars."

"Oh, man!" I exclaimed. I felt awful. "Susan — all the mean things I said and thought about her—"

"We all did," Susan agreed. "We have to remember for next time."
 

When I walked home, I was in a total daze. My mind was still in a whirl from the stake out last night and the chase, and I hadn't gotten much sleep. Because of all that, and after hearing about Blair, I was so caught up that I forgot something very important. Luckily, that something — I mean that someone — hadn't forgotten me.

The house was empty when I got home. I shouted "hello" and "halloooo" all over the place, but no one answered. Another thing I'd forgotten: Mom was at the doctor's for yet another prenatal checkup. So I went to the kitchen to make myself a snack, but before I'd even opened the peanut butter, the front doorbell rang.

And there, on the front porch, was Maisie!

She was standing with one hand on her hip, and her head tilted to one side, dressed in tight jeans and an oversized red t-shirt, chewing gum and looking for all the world as if she was posing for a photo. She was standing very still, but her eyes were darting around. She didn't look me in the eye.

Behind her was a tall blond-haired man in a suit. He was tall, wide, and muscular, like an ex-football player. He wasn't bad looking, but he didn't look like a very nice man. Next to him, with her hand on his arm, stood a skinny woman with long, blonde, shining hair and a pair of enormous breasts. She looked and dressed like a model. I mean, like a supermodel. She was amazing, like Barbie come to life.

I opened the door and Maisie strolled inside without a word, giving me a resounding sock on the arm as she passed.

"Ow! Jeeze, Maze!" I exclaimed, and started rubbing my arm. Then to the adults, I said, "Would you like to come in?"

The woman of course was Chrissie, and she oohed and aahed about everything: me, the house, the flight, the fact that Maisie was back in New Jersey... but she was nice. She seemed very sincere and good hearted. I liked her even better in person than on the phone. I'm sure my mother would have dismissed her as a "bimbo," but even if she looked the part, she didn't play the part at all.

Mr. Beale said nothing. He looked me and the house up and down. He looked at everything, as if estimating it, as if he'd already decided that it wasn't worth buying. I didn't like him at all. I couldn't imagine how Ida had ever married him, or how Chrissie could stand him.

Maisie looked good. She was tanned; she'd put on weight. She used to be so bony, people thought she was anorexic. Now she looked healthy and strong: the best I'd ever seen her. But she was pacing up and down my living room in an aggressive way, scowling at me. I didn't know what to say. Should I apologize?

Maisie stopped pacing and looked me in the face. She stuck out her lower lip and tried to frown, but saw she was hiding a smile. It was all an act! She knew that I knew, and she burst out laughing.

Maisie ran at me and clutched me in a tight, tight hug with her bony little arms. Hmm... well, bony with muscle. There was a little more substance to her now. I guess she'd gotten wiry, which is a good step up from bony.

And then of course she wouldn't be Maisie if she didn't say something insulting: "What a little pig you are, Marcie! Look at how fat you've gotten!"

"Maisie!" Chrissie exclaimed, shocked, but Maisie and I just laughed. Maisie didn't mean it. It was her weird way of showing affection. Don't ask me to explain. And — just for the record — I'm not fat at all.

"Marcie," Mr Beale said, interrupting and extending his hand, "I'm Aiden Beale, Maisie's father," (as if that wasn't obvious) "and I have to thank you. And, not to sound melodramatic, but if it weren't for you, Maisie would likely have died. We all know that; we're all grateful." Then he looked at Chrissie, who smiled and nodded. I guessed that she was the real audience for that.

Then Mr. Beale asked, "Is your father home? No? He used to work for me, you know. But it looks as though he's landed on his feet here. I'm glad."

"Um... I'll tell him that," I said.

Chrissie had been studying my face, and now she stepped a little closer. She turned her head to different angles, and then she asked, "Marcie, did you have a nose job recently?"

Mr. Beale scoffed. "She didn't have a nose job! Anyone can see that!"

I blinked. Was Maisie's father going to be the first and only person to see — to know that I didn't get a nose job? That went beyond strange!

"No," he said, stepping forward and taking my chin in his hand. He tilted my head in one direction and another. "It's obvious! You can see plain as day that somebody hit you."

Chrissie frowned in disagreement, so I told her that he was right.

"I'm guessing you got an elbow in the face," he went on.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, then added, "but it was an accident. Both times."

His eyebrows went up at both times. He let go of my face and said, "Whether it was accidental or on purpose, the same damage is done."

"Er... I guess so."

"I have something for you," Mr. Beale said, and he fished a small wallet-like thing out of his pocket. It was full of business cards. He flipped through them quickly, selected one and, smiling, handed to me. It was the business card of a lawyer.

"He is my personal-injury lawyer," Mr. Beale told me, "and you don't pay him; he only works on contingency. Marcie, let me tell you: nothing makes you feel better than suing someone. You'll see. And this man is the best. He's in California, but his practice *does* extend to New Jersey; he's done a few things for me here."

With that, he smiled and walked out of the house without another word.

"That's how Dad says goodbye," Maisie explained, rolling her eyes.

"Your father shows his feelings in other ways," Chrissie said.

"If you say so," Maisie laughed.

"He does," Chrissie insisted. "Now come here, you!" And she opened her arms. Maisie ran over and they hugged each other.

"I'll miss you!" Maisie told her.

Chrissie cooed, "I'll miss you too, but you know who else has been missing you?"

Maisie sighed. "My stupid mother."

Chrissie bit her lip, then told her, "I never knew my mother, Maisie, and I've always been sorry. You need to know her. So try to get along. You can always call me." She gave Maisie a kiss, said goodbye to me, and left.

We listened to her heels click down the porch steps and away. Then, "Wow," I said. "You're back."

"Yeah," Maisie agreed. "My front, too."
 

So... what else do you need to know?

Lace the Face won Miss BYHS, to no one's surprise. Once that happened, the seniors quit bothering me. The pageant was a lot of fun. I liked being dressed up, on the stage, answering questions and walking around waving. What surprised me most was how wound-up and nervous Lacey was, the entire time. Everyone knew she had it in the bag from the very start. Watching her made me see how relaxed and happy *I* was, by contrast. I guess that knowing full well that I couldn't win made it fun.

I don't think I'll ever do a pageant again, but I'm glad I had the experience. I crossed it off my list of girly things to do.
 

What else? Oh! Finally, after weeks of searching, Mr. Theo found his Madonna of the Future. Weeks of wandering around the school finally paid off. With Jordan at his side, he considered one girl and another. Then, just when he was about to give up and go elsewhere, he turned and looked at the one who'd been at his side all along. The only girl who had that enigmatic, unreadable beauty was... Jordan Fisby. It was one of those cute ironies that he'd gone high and low, asking questions, looking at faces... and the face he was looking for was helping him look.

He painted a lovely, striking picture of her in a knee-length dress. She was sitting at a desk, her eyes directed toward a small, high window. Her face, her expression were amazing. She had this unearthly beauty, but above all, you had no idea of what was in her mind, or what she was doing a moment ago, or what she'd do after.

And that was exactly what Theo Grenadilla was aiming at: you could look at her and wonder, but never, ever know.

Unfortunately, the picture didn't stay in the cathedral very long. People complained that Jordan was too pretty (!), and that people were coming to look at the girl, and not at what she represented.

The picture went into a private collection, and was replaced with an old-looking thing that interested no one.
 

The rest of freshman year was pretty quiet. Susan, Maisie, Mallory, and I shared the lunch table and got to be pretty good friends. We were an odd bunch, but I guess that's how it goes with people.

A few people called us the "M&M&M's" like the candy, and Susan repeated her old joke about changing her name to "something with an M."

At last I began to think that my life had finally settled down, and that nothing crazy was ever going to happen to me again. So many times since I changed from Mark to Marcie, I'd said I was going to keep a low profile, and now it seemed that it had finally come true.

Little did I know what summer vacation would bring! But that is another story...
 

© 2012 by Kaleigh Way