As we walked away from the school, Mom said, "I think that went very well."

I looked at her in astonishment.

Sister Honoraria said, "Please have a seat." Mom and I sat down. I was watching myself the whole time, trying to move in the right way, smoothing my skirt under me, keeping my knees together and all that.

The nun watched me closely, and then walked around me, correcting pretty much everything. First she told me to put my knees together. They already were together, but I gave them a squeeze. Then: feet directly below knees, ankles together, hands on knees, head up, eyes forward, shoulders back. Throughout the rest of the interview, whenever I relaxed slightly, she was on me again to correct my posture.

"I won't give you detention this time for the short skirt," she told me, "but of course next time I'll be obliged to."

"Thank you, sister."

"I had an interesting talk with your last principal, Mr. Bryant," she said. "Apparently he took a great interest in you." She let that statement hang for a few moments, to see if any implications fell out of it. "Frankly I found his attitude to be overly indulgent. I've also been informed of your various adventures."

She said the last word as if it were dirty. "Most recently, you were fighting in the street with a muscular thief. I must tell you, Marcella, this is not appropriate behavior for a young lady."

"What?" I asked, confused. "Fighting?"

"My brother is a policeman here in town," she explained. "It was he who took your statement. Apparently you gave a rather heavy blow to the man's skull."

My jaw fell open.

"Don't gawk, girl!" she commanded.

"In spite of its size, Flickerbridge is a small town," she continued. "Wherever you go, whatever you do, no matter how you are dressed, people will know that you are a Blessed Yvette student, and they will take you as a representative of our school. If you are a brawler or worse, it will reflect badly on the school, on your classmates, on the teachers and the staff. I will have to take such episodes as disciplinary matters. Do you understand, Marcella?"

"Yes, sister," I said, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Keeping out of trouble is not enough," she said. "That's a negative virtue. You must be a positive model of virtuous and ladylike behavior, always and everywhere. That may not be fashionable, but it is right, and it is our standard here at Blessed Yvette's."

"Yes, sister," I said quietly.

"And one last thing," she said. "We have zero tolerance for gang activities."

My eyebrows went up at that, and when I didn't reply she asked, "Is that clear?"

"Yes, sister," I said.

As we walked away from the school, Mom said, "I think that went very well."

I looked at her in astonishment.

She was smiling. She caught my expression and asked, "Didn't you?"

"I think she wanted to chain me to a wall in the basement and beat me with a cane," I replied.

Mom huffed, irritated. "This is exactly what you need, Marcie," she said. "Virtuous and ladylike behavior. You need to learn that. And if she's a little strict, it won't kill you."

A little strict?

"I hope not," I replied, and Mr. Bryant's warning came to mind: find a way to bend without breaking.

"I could always run away," I mused aloud. I was ONLY KIDDING, I swear.

Mom looked at me, her face filled with pure terror.

"I'm joking!" I cried. Her frightened look shocked me to the core. "It was only a joke! I was joking! It's just a joke, mom! Really!" I hugged her and held her until she believed me. Honestly, I'd only said it to tease her!

"There are things you can not joke about," Mom told me.

"Okay, I'm sorry," I said. "I really am. I didn't think it would upset you!"

"Well, it did!" she replied. "Don't ever say that again. And don't ever run away! It would be so dangerous for you, and your father and I would just... die."

I let go of her and we both wiped the tears from our eyes.

"Oh, what a morning!" I said. "It must be the time change."

She laughed, which made us both feel better.

From the school we went to the bank, so I could open an account. Since I'm a minor, one of my parents has to be on the account as well.

While I was counting how many people were in line ahead of us, I noticed that the man who was first in line was wearing dark glasses and a floppy hat, which made it hard to see his face and hair.

"Hey, Mom," I said, smiling, "Do you think that man is going to rob the bank?" I pointed one hand like a gun, made some goofy faces, and silently giggled.

She glanced at him, then looked at me and pursed her lips. "Remember what Sister Honororia said, Marcie. Virtuous and ladylike behavior."

I sighed and rolled my eyes in the most ladylike way I knew. I didn't really think the man was a bank robber. It was just a joke about the way he was dressed. Still, my eyes followed him as he went to the teller's window, and I saw the teller's eyes widen. She was shocked by something he said.

Then her eyes went down to something that he showed her inside his coat, and she began to shake. He passed her a gray cloth bag, and she, head down, began to load it up with money. Somehow no one saw any of this except me, and I wasn't sure what to do.

"Mom," I hissed, tugging hard on her sleeve. "Mom! This is a real bank robbery!"

She looked where I indicated, but at that moment there was nothing to see.

"Oh, Marcie," she sighed.

Then the teller passed the bag to the crook. As he lifted his arm to take the bag, his gun came clearly into view. Mom's face went white. Another teller saw it, too, and so did the security guard.

The guard came walking up quickly, drawing his gun as he approached. He said, "Sir, put your firearm on the counter and keep your hands were I can see them." The guard was short and overweight, but he didn't show the slightest trace of fear. I, on the other hand, had plenty of fear, and it showed. It prickled like cold electricity all over my arms and legs, and the hair on my neck felt as if it were standing several inches high.

The robber didn't look scared at all. He lifted his gun and coolly aimed at the guard's chest. The guard had his gun in hand, but he wasn't ready to shoot. The robber got there first.

The bad guy's gun didn't waver in any way. In a cold, low voice, he told the guard, "Lay your gun gently on the floor."

The guard hesitated, just for a moment, so the robber shouted, "DO IT!" All of us in line flinched, and the guard did as he was told.

Then, in a loud, clear voice, the robber ordered, "Everybody stay calm. Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt." He told the guard to lie face down on the floor, and once the man was down, the robber used his foot to shove the guard's gun well out of reach.

Then he took a step toward the front door, gun still trained on the guard, when a police car pulled up outside, directly in front of the door. The siren was silent, but the lights were going, and they flashed and circled all through the bank.

The robber swore. Then he looked at the tellers, then at the people in line. My blood turned to ice when his eyes rested on me. "Come here, girl," he said. I didn't move. He pointed the gun at my mother and said, "Come here now or mommy gets it."

I quickly moved toward him. I heard my mother's barely suppressed whimper behind me. My heart was pounding. He grabbed me roughly, held me close, and pressed his gun against my head. He gripped me so tightly that my feet left the ground for an instant. Then he set me down, but his grip was desperate, and the gun was pressed so hard against my head that it hurt.

He was strong. His muscles were hard, as hard as bone. His heart was pounding through his chest — or was that my heart? — but his grip never loosened: it was steady and unwavering.

Two policemen had come inside, but they stopped just inside the door. Each of the cops held his gun with two hands, arms straight out, and the guns were directed at me and the bad guy. This does not look good, I thought. But there's no way that this is the end for me. I'm not going to die like this, wearing this silly uniform.

"I'm taking the girl with me," he said. "Nobody follows, nobody tries anything, or I shoot her. UNDERSTAND?" The policemen didn't respond, and they didn't put their guns down. I wondered what they had in mind. Were they going to shoot him as he held me? Wasn't that dangerous?

We moved slowly toward the door, just past the guard, who was still lying on the floor. I could see my mother crying, and it made me angry. He made my mother cry! How dare he! At that moment, something inside me said, I'm not going anywhere with this jerk!

It struck me that, however bad things were right now, it would be much worse if he took me away. Here at least there were two policemen and the guard, and all the other people. Out that door, it would be me, alone.

I had to make sure he didn't take me through the door.

If I was going to try something — anything — I had to do it now.

An idea came to me. I pictured the movement a couple of times to be sure I'd do it right, and then I let loose. I picked up my right leg and slammed the side of my foot as hard as I could against his shin. Then, with all my might, I brought it down, the hard sole of my school shoe, scraping his shin all the way, and planted my heel deep and hard in his foot. At the same time I pushed his gun as high as I could, straight up in the air.

The security guard must have seen it coming, because he was the first to react. As round as he was, he was on his feet in a flash, and quickly disarmed the robber as I gave him a fierce kick and a scrape down his other shin.

The police ran over. One of them grabbed me (and with unnecessary force, I'm sure) almost threw me out of the way. I ran to my mother, who wrapped her arms around me, crying and telling me all sorts of incoherent things.

Once the crook was safely stowed in the police car, the guard came over and said, "You're a very brave young lady. I'm glad you had the presence of mind to do what you did."

"Don't tell her that!" the tall policeman contradicted. "It was foolhardy! She could have been killed!"

Then I recognized him. He was Sister Honororia's brother. "I told you just yesterday not to brawl with the bad boys! That's what policemen are for!"

Behind him, the other policeman, his partner, gave me a shrug and a grin, to tell me he didn't agree, even if he couldn't say so.

I didn't answer. What could I say? I just hugged my mother. My mind was a wide empty blank.

After the police left, the bank manager wanted to talk to me. He brought Mom and me into his office and offered some water to drink. "I'm sorry I don't have anything better," he told us. "But honestly! I have to tell you that it was disgraceful, what that policeman said to you. It was rude and unfeeling! He spoke to you as if — as if — well, as if *you* were the criminal!" He was quite agitated, so he made an effort to calm himself. Then he continued. "If that man had dragged you out of the bank, who knows what would have happened to you? I have a daughter of my own, and I hope she'd have the pluck to fight the way you did."

Then he personally helped me open my account, and told me that he would deposit the reward money into my account as soon as some paperwork was done. Reward money? "It won't be much," he said apologetically. "It depends on the amount stolen, so I'm afraid that it will be only be something like $200."

My jaw dropped. "That's a lot of money to me!" I told him.

He laughed. "I'm glad you're pleased! I hope you'll always be our customer, in spite of what happened today." He stood and shook my hand. "And if there is ever anything I can do for you — I mean for either of you, of course — please don't hestitate to ask. Whatever I can do, I will."

I was walking on air when we left the place, but not for long. Mom and I fought all the way home, as though what happened was in some way *my* fault.

"It's because you were looking at him," she said. "You were watching him from the moment we got in line. He knew, and that's why he grabbed you. Do you understand?"

"Mom, I was the youngest person in line! He thought I'd be the easiest to handle!"

We went back and forth, getting hotter and hotter. "What was I supposed to do?" I demanded. "What would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have been there in the first place," she said, illogically.

"But you were there!" I shouted back.

I don't think we ever had such a horrible fight. When we got back to the apartment, I took off the stupid uniform as quickly as I could. Then I looked around for a door to slam or someplace to be alone. But the apartment's too small; there isn't even a closet to hide in. And it was too cold to go outside. What could I do?

While Mom was in the bathroom, I grabbed the phone. I called Maisie and asked whether I could come over.

"Hell, yeah!" she said. "Mom can pick you up. Are you ready now?"

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way