The old story of the scorpion and the frog came to mind. Maisie would be the scorpion... striking out at people is part of her nature. Maybe someday she could heal and change. Maybe. In a way, it didn't matter, because I knew that from now on, at least a part of me would always have an eye on her, ever vigilant. I'd been stung already, and I wasn't going to get stung again.

I didn't tell Maisie every single thing, but I gave her the big picture of how Mark became Marcie.

We talked and talked. It brought me back to when we'd first met in the railroad-station restaurant, when the two of us went off by ourselves and got to know each other. Back then, it was easy. There was no teasing. It was just two girls getting to know each other.

It was that way again, but different. There'd been a crisis, a cataclysm, a meltdown, and we weren't the same two people any more. We knew each other before everything happened, but "before" was gone, now. It would never come back.

How was I different? I guess I had a bit more backbone. And Maisie? Maisie was — what's the word? — not shy... subdued, maybe?

Then the word came to me: tentative. We were both being tentative with each other. Why? In my case, it was simple: she'd hurt me and I knew she might hurt me again.

For Maisie, it was something else. No, I take that back: it was practically everything. Once again, someone had been out to hurt her. Specifically her. Only her. The kidnappers didn't want me, they wanted Maisie. Just for money. And once they got their money, she would have been killed. From the very beginning, that was the idea: she was meant to die, along with the two brothers.

Maisie got that. She understood the intention. No one needed to spell it out: Once again, just for her, the world was not a safe place.

It wasn't as though someone was trying to kill Maisie. It was worse than that. It was that she didn't matter. Maisie knew that her death was just incidental to the plan. She was expendable.

Yes, she was lucky: she wasn't hurt — not physically anyway. And yet, even though the blow missed her, it struck her anyway.

And in the midst of all that, she'd lashed out and hurt me. Me, one of the few people who puts up with her, who for some insane reason wants to be with her, to be her friend.

Maisie was vulnerable and afraid. Someone had tried to kidnap and kill her. She became a virtual prisoner in her father's house, and she had no one she could call. She knew she'd hurt me, she knew she'd given me enough reason to hate her forever. And she knew she might hurt me again if she wasn't careful.

It's like the old story of the scorpion and the frog, with Maisie as the scorpion. Striking out at people is part of her nature. Maybe someday she'll heal and change. Maybe. In a way, it doesn't matter, because I know that from now on, at least a part of me will always have an eye on her, ever vigilant. I've been stung already, and I won't be stung again.

She didn't tease me, not even a little. I think she finally realized what she stood to lose. I'm glad she didn't start, because I would have had to finally put my foot down. I had a little speech prepared for her, about how easily her teasing had turned mean, and how destructive it can be to a friendship.

I had a couple speeches ready, depending on which direction the conversation took, but thankfully I didn't get to use any of them. I didn't need to.

The fact that she'd wished me dead, and then I'd almost died... it was too much for her.

It was almost too much for me, too, but the thing is... I'm better equipped to handle the hurt than she is. I can't forget what she did — and I won't forget. I know that Maisie is capable of that, and much, much worse. If I shut her out of my life for good, I'd be perfectly justified.

But I won't. Not now, anyway.

And not because she needs me, and not because I should. And not because she's alone and I feel sorry for her, or because I'm such a good person. I do feel sorry for her, but that's not the reason.

It's because Maisie is my friend.

Mrs. Earshon had said that Maisie's heart is broken, and she was right. More than that, I think Maisie had her soul ripped out of her. I don't know if she'll ever get over the things that happen to her.

What I do know is that I'm not Maisie. I have a good life, and a good family, and I *can* get over it. For as long as I can be friends with Maisie, I *will* be friends with Maisie.
 

After we talked out my story, I listened to hers. She told me about her father. Even when I filtered out Maisie's exaggerations, he still sounded like a complete and very pompous jerk.

But, oddly — and this was SO not Maisie — she didn't linger on the subject. Usually, she loved to heap abuse on someone she despised. This time, she didn't.

Instead, she switched over to tell me about her father's new girlfriend, Chrissie, who seemed to spend a lot of time with Maisie. In spite of what Maisie said at the beginning of the call, this woman didn't sound half bad, and I said as much to Maisie.

"Yeah, I guess she's okay," Maisie admitted. "I shouldn't have said that stuff before, about her being all fake. She's not. At least, I think she's not. Aside from those gigantic breasts, she's okay. She actually listens to me when I talk. She's only the second — I mean, the third adult to do that."

"Who were the other two?"

"The first was a lawyer, but he got paid for it, so I don't know if that counts. The second was your mother... will you tell her I said hello? And the third is Chrissie. She's going to take me shopping for clothes later. When my father scooped me up, he didn't let me pack my bags, so I don't have anything to wear out here, except the stuff I brought to your house and my stupid school uniform."

"Wow, clothes shopping!" I laughed. "That'll be new for you!"

"Yeah," she admitted. "And Chrissie knows how to put things together in a way that I like."

"I'm glad," I told her.

"You're glad she knows how to put clothes together?"

"No," I said. "That's not what I meant, but it doesn't matter."

When she finally finished telling me about things she'd done with Chrissie, things Chrissie had said, things Chrissie had worn, we hung up. It had gone much better than I expected. I didn't have to be hard with Maisie, not this time anyway. And I was glad she had a friend out in California, or at least someone who seemed to be looking out for her.
 

I took a little bathroom break, and then I called the school. I expected to get a message machine that would give me another number to call, but instead Sister Honororia herself answered the phone. She told me that she was in her office "cleaning up" and that she was at my disposal, so after checking with Mom, I told her I'd be right over.

"Sister, do you mind if I don't wear my uniform?" I asked.

She gave a humorless bark. "Marcie, at this point, you could come in your bathrobe. Don't worry about the uniform."
 

Mom was silent on the drive over. While we were stopped at a traffic light, she turned and looked into my eyes. I don't know what she thought I was going to do when I saw the nun, but she didn't ask. She just smiled and said, "I hope you know how proud of you I am."

I fumbled for a tissue. She handed me one.
 

When we pulled up in front of the school, I said, "Mom, do you mind if I go in there alone?"

"No," she said, "If you're sure."

"I can call you when I'm done."

"I'd rather wait out here," she said. "I'll listen to the radio and think for a bit." She reached over and squeezed my hand.

I got out of the car and walked toward the school building. When I was halfway to the front door, Sister herself opened it, and ushered me in.

"I'm so glad you're alright," she said. "You are alright, aren't you?"

"Yes, sister," I replied, and we went into her office.

Another nun served us tea and cookies, and then left.

Sister Honororia spoke first. "Marcie, I can't tell you how mortified I am by my brother's behavior. I'd long suspected, and sometimes known, that he was... not always honest or faithful in his duties... but... he is my older brother, and in spite of the fact that he and I are adults... grown up... he was always... dominant. I should have known better and resisted. If I'd followed my instincts and spoken to him, dealt with him, long ago, perhaps even when he and I were children, none of what happened to you would have occurred."

"It isn't your fault, sister," I said.

She ignored my remark and went on. "I won't bore you with the history of my life with my brother, except to tell you that one of the reasons I became a nun was to escape his influence. That's not to say that I don't have a true vocation, but my brother was always a bully and a totalitarian.

"When he became a policeman, I hoped that his profession would channel and discipline his harmful and controlling tendencies. Instead, I think, he made it a playground for his vices.

"Selfishly, I hoped and expected that when I took my vows, I'd be sent far away, as a missionary nun. I wanted to go to Africa, to Gambia or Somalia. I thought I could help the poor. But that didn't happen. I didn't see how a willingness to take the worst job could have been denied, but it was. Apparently my skills, whatever they are, were more in demand right here in Flickerbridge.

"I should have realized, when I couldn't run away, when the one thing I wanted most was denied me... I should have looked for a reason. All these years I've resented the fact that I couldn't escape from my brother, but now I finally see–" her voice broke a little here, and she set down her teacup "–I see, with painful clarity, that God kept me here for a reason."

She took a few difficult breaths and calmed herself. Then she went on. "God kept me here because I, and no one else, should have stood in my brother's way. I should have drawn a line. I should have told him when he was wrong. There were times when I could — when I should have spoken to his superiors. I should have made it clear when he overstepped his bounds, and forced him to face the consequences."

She put her hands in her lap and looked at me. "However... I didn't do my job. I didn't do any of that. Not even once. Not even a little. I failed at the one thing, the only thing, that God has ever asked of me." Tears rolled down her face. "And so it fell on you. I'm sorry, Marcie. I'm sorry with all my heart."

"But sister," I protested, "it's really not your fault. You didn't do anything."

"No, Marcie. It is my fault. It's my fault for exactly that reason: I didn't do anything."

She looked at me in silence for a moment, then said, "And now, I can't help but think back to our first meeting. I asked you whether you were clever or good."

I smiled.

She continued, "And you said you might be both. How right you were. How right you were."

She sighed and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "So! Are you coming back in January?"

"To school, you mean?"

"Yes, will you still be a BYHS student?"

"Oh," I said thoughtfully. I hadn't considered. When I first came here, I couldn't wait to leave, to go to public school, but now I felt... a part of the place. The thought of leaving never crossed my mind. "I'll be here, sister. I couldn't leave my friends."

"Yes, your friends. Susan... and Maisie, for whom you almost died. At my brother's hand..." The nun's face wrinkled up into a small, tight ball, and she began to cry. But only for a moment. "I'm sorry."

She took a quick breath and composed herself. Then she sipped some tea to steady herself before she spoke again.

"Well, Marcie, there is one more thing I want to tell you, and then I should let you go. It's a bit of news that I'm glad I'll be able to tell you myself. It's fitting that you should be the first student to hear. I'm leaving BYHS. In January, you'll have a new principal. I've already resigned from my post. After what's happened, in good conscience I couldn't possibly stay on."

"Oh, no!" I cried.

Her head jerked up at my sudden outburst, and slowly a half-smile appeared on her face.

"My, my," she said. "I certainly didn't expect that! Genuine dismay? Well, Marcie, that's a moment I'll treasure."

© 2007 Kaleigh Way