"Talk to her?" Maisie laughed. "Are you kidding? Are you out of your mind? Her brother tries to kill you, and you want to talk to her? What is there to talk about?"

I had to tell my story over and over, to the police, to my parents, to the press, to people I knew... of course I didn't mention Misty, except when I was talking to my mother and Susan. It wasn't hard to leave the ghostly girl out: I just fudged the story a bit... about the cell phone: I said that it was in an inside coat pocket all along, but I didn't realize it... There's this little pocket I don't usually use... I must have stuck the phone there during the struggle in the van.

Then, about the gun: I said that I skipped forward quickly and quietly and took it from the back of the bad guy's belt. That's what *he* thought happened, anyway, so I just went along with his story. Everybody believed it and said what a brave, foolhardy girl I was.

My parents kept me home from school... it was the last four days before the Christmas holidays, anyway. Each night Susan called and the two of us picked the kidnapping apart. I cried sometimes, and freaked out a few times, but Suze stayed calm and talked me through things in her rational way... But, yes, Susan actually got to use the phone! Her parents gave her that leeway because they very kindly thought I needed the emotional support. And I did. It turned out her grandparents had weighed in heavily on the issue of giving Suze more freedom so she could be with me.

And I did finally get to keep an appointment with my new therapist, too, which helped, but that's a whole 'nother story.

So anyway, Friday, the day of the sleepover, Susan came over in the early afternoon. Mom set up a little campsite in the living room, underneath the Christmas tree. Suze and I giggled and talked in our sleeping bags until my bleary-eyed father came to ask pity on his weary bones.

"Let an old man get his sleep," he told us. "Keep it down to a dull roar."

Misty wasn't there, though, which was strange. We called to her and looked for her all through the house. We didn't find her and she didn't appear.

Maisie was gone as well. When I was kidnapped, it was clear from the ransom request that Maisie was the intended target. Her father came in a private jet and whisked her away to California, saying she'd be safer with him. She was supposed to go there for the Christmas holidays, anyway.

So Maisie hadn't had a chance to tell my secret to anyone.

"Aren't you going to call her?" Susan asked, not knowing. "I can't believe you haven't called her already."

"I have to get my courage up," I said, and told her how Maisie had knocked my books down last Friday.

"Why would she do that?" Susan asked.

"I have no idea," I honestly admitted. It happened before she talked to Miriam Clegg, so she couldn't have known about my boyhood at that point.

Or maybe she didn't know for sure? No, given the venom she spewed when she did know, I think she would have confronted me right away, then and there in the school hallway, for maximum effect. I think she knew there was something behind the "Mark" story, something that I wasn't saying, and she tried to tease it out of me. I'm sure she'd heard the name "Mark Donner" before ... I know it rang a bell for her.

Maisie isn't stupid; she could see there was a secret in my Marky past ... it was probably the reason she called Miriam ... to get some clues, to figure it out ... Although, maybe something clicked for her just before she knocked my books down? I don't know.

"I think it's what we were saying the other day," Susan concluded, "this mom-swap that you guys did, aggravated her whole mother issue."

"Yeah," I agreed, "and now she's with her father-issue. I have to call her."

I did. I really did have to call her. Whatever she knew about me, however she felt about me, I had to call. Yes, she'd been mean ... even vicious. I couldn't pretend that she hadn't hurt me, but I wasn't ready to give up on that bony little devil. As evil as she'd been, a memory kept coming back to me: the memory of the time when she cried in my arms. I could see it, as if it happened yesterday. I can still feel the shock of that moment, when I put my arm around her, of feeling her ribs right there under her skin. She was drowning in her aloneness and clutching me as if I were her only hope.

I don't want to sound melodramatic, but in that moment, I looked into the abyss: the boundless emotional vacuum in that little girl's soul. After seeing that, I couldn't just walk away.

Also, I think I was still a little stunned and shocked from the kidnapping, and that took a lot of the sting out what Maisie had said. It made it seem unreal, from another world, almost as if it hadn't happened. I doubted that I'd feel that way forever, but for right now I could still think about Maisie without getting angry or scared.

If she was still my friend, I couldn't let her down. She could be frightened about the kidnapping, she could be alone and in agony because of her dad... whatever it was, if she needed me, I had to be there.

I had to call to see whether we could still be friends. I had to give her one more chance.

At the same time, friend or not, I wasn't going to let her abuse me any more. If she was going to be nasty to me, or if she was going to tell people about me, I'd have to deal with it, but that would be the end of our friendship ... if it wasn't over already.

The next day, Saturday, after lunch, after Susan gave me a big smiling hug and a "Thanks!" to me and Mom, she left, and I went and stood by the phone, just looking at it.

"Calling Maisie?" Mom asked.

"Yeah," I said. "How did you know?"

She shrugged. "I don't know ... just guessing. I'm surprised that she hasn't call you ... but I suppose she couldn't get through, the way the phone's been ringing off the hook."

"I guess," I said. "Hey, Mom. Have you seen Misty since ... since I got back?"

"No, not at all. Have you?"

"Nope. I'd like to see her, and thank her."

"I would too. I'm so glad and grateful that she was there for you. She's a real friend, and a brave girl, just like you."

With that, Mom turned and left. I heard her sniff and saw her wipe her cheek with the back of her hand. Oh, Mom!

Now that I was finally by myself, I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Then, before I had a chance for second thoughts, before I lost my nerve, I pulled out the number Ida had given me, picked up the handset, and started punching numbers. Inside, part of me was protesting, screaming, ''Don't call her! You don't even know what to say! She's not going to talk to you! Hang up! She'll be nasty and negative..."

I ignored it and listened as the call connected.

Her phone rang three times before she picked up. She didn't say anything, not even hello.

"Maisie?" I asked, in an uncertain voice. "Hello?" Had I dialed the right number? "Are you there, Maisie?"

"Mar-ceeee?" she cried, in a long, piercing screech. I froze. What did that screech mean? Was it a good screech or a bad screech? "I can't believe you called me!" she wailed, and began sobbing uncontrollably. "After what I said to you!"

"Maisie, are you alright?"

"No, no, I'm not alright! I'm here with my horrible father and his horrible girlfriend with her fake blonde hair, her fake tan, her fake smile, and her huge fake tits! I'm in hell!" she gasped a few breaths, then, just as I was about to speak, she went on.

"I was so horrible to you, and I'm sorry! I said I wanted to kill you, and then you almost DIED! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so so so sorry!"

"Oh, Maisie," I said, tears coming to my own eyes, "It wasn't your fault. It was Sister Honororia's stupid brother who did it."

"He did it?" she asked, with genuine surprise.

"Yes," I said. "Didn't you see the newspapers or the TV?"

"No," she said, calming down a bit. "It was too scary. And my stupid father wouldn't let me. But then, oh, yeah, the police here told me his name — they showed me his picture — but it didn't mean anything to me. I didn't realize it was him! Because he never really had a name, you know? He was always just Sister Honoraria's brother. You know what I mean. And I don't think I ever saw him, except that one time, from the back. And they didn't tell me he was a cop. How weird!" She sniffed a bit. "What about the nun? Is she going to jail too?"

"No," I scoffed. "She had nothing to do with it!"

"How do you know?"

"She would never do something like that!"

"Huh," Maisie said. "Could of fooled me."

I took a deep breath and blew it all out. Looked like there was something else I had to do. Resigned, I said, "I guess I should go talk to her."

"Talk to her?" Maisie laughed. "Are you kidding? Are you out of your mind? Her brother tries to kill you, and you want to talk to her? What is there to talk about?

"I know you, Marcie, you're not going to go to tell her off, which is what you *should* do. You should tell her ... you should tell her ..." Maisie floundered for a bit, trying to find a negative message I could give to the nun.

"Maisie–" I began, but she interrupted.

"So why are you going? What are you going to do? What are you going to say? Are you going to ask her if she's alright? After *her* ordeal?" She barked a few short laughs. "Oh, that would be rich." She laughed alone for a bit, but then she got it: "Oh, wait a minute! That is why you want to see her, isn't it! You want to go and see whether Sister Honoraria is okay!"

"Yes," I said. It didn't seem strange to me at all. I couldn't explain my reasons. I just knew I had to do it.

Maisie was silent for a few moments as the dots connected in her own mind. Then she saw it. "Oh," she said softly. "That's why you called me, too."

"Well, yeah, Maisie, you're my friend."

"Even after what I said to you? What I did to you?"

"Well, yeah, it was mean, what you did," I answered. "but I care about what happens to you."

"Oh, man!" she groaned. "Listen. I didn't tell anybody. About you. About Mark. Not even Miriam Clegg. I just asked her if she knew you."

"Oh," I said. It was nice to know, but somehow it didn't seem important. (At that moment, anyway. Afterward, I was pretty glad.)

"So," she said, with an air of settling back for a long conversation. "Do you want to tell me the story? Do you trust me? I mean, not the kidnapping, but the Mark story."

Oh, Maisie, I thought, I don't trust you, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

"Hey!" she cried out. "Is *that* why you see a therapist? I knew it was the Mark thing! Didn't I say so?"

"I guess," I conceded.

"So, spill!" she commanded.

I let out a big gust of air. "Okay, it all started last September. I missed the first two days of school..."

"Why?"

© 2007 Kaleigh Way