Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does HS 12 By peregrinf

   "Is Peggy home?" I asked when Mrs.  Hughes came to the door, trying to
assess the situation.

   She didn't look good.  She looked tired -- an older, slightly plumper
version of Peggy.  There were dark circles under her eyes, and she had a
vaguely rumpled look that was totally unlike the woman I remembered.  It'd
been a while since I'd actually visited at Peggy's house, but her mom
shouldn't have aged that much.

   God only knew what she'd been going through since last Friday, what she
knew.  Maybe she didn't know any more than I did.  Peggy tended to bottle
things up.  What the hell was I going to say?  What could I possibly do? 
What did I think I was doing here?

   But here I was, and it was too late to back out now.

   "We've missed her at school."

   "Come in, Dee.  She's upstairs, in the bathtub." She gestured wearily up
a short flight of stairs that led to the bedrooms.  "She's been spending a
lot of time there.  She won't talk to me.  Maybe she'll talk to you.  "

   That was scary.  As far as I knew they'd always had a pretty good
relationship.  Peggy had never complained about her mom -- well, not much,
anyway.  Since Peggy had been the first girl in our class into The Program
I'd assumed her mom had volunteered her.  Though, come to think of it, from
the way Peggy had talked about being naked in school the week before it
started, it didn't sound like she'd been consulted.

   Shit!  Sometimes parents do the dumbest things.  Maybe that was the
problem -- suddenly finding herself naked in school had been a shock.

   But that didn't make sense.  Even before that tangle with the Tweedles
and Worthington she'd appeared to handle being naked pretty well.  Even
after that screw up she'd posed willingly, letting some lucky boys touch
her lovely young breasts, even her shy, virginal pussy, and she'd seemed to
enjoy it -- a lot.  She'd come at least once, I know, and she'd seemed fine
right up through lunch the last day.

   No.  Something bad had happened to her Friday afternoon.

   "May I leave my pack here?" I asked.

   "Of course."

   "Thank you."

   Setting it beside the front door, I drew a deep breath, squared my
shoulders and headed upstairs, where I knocked gently on the bathroom door,
then a little louder when there was no answer.  "It's me, Dee.  May I come
in?"

   When there still wasn't an answer, I cracked the door, relieved she
hadn't locked it, expecting I'd find her floating on her back, her ears
underwater so she hadn't heard me.  But what if I found her floating face
down?  That thought stopped my heart.

   Stop it!  The Stick gave me a defib kick, sounding as scared as I was.

   The scent of bubble bath engulfed me -- Mr.  Bubble was her brand of
choice, same as mine -- and I relaxed.  Who'd drown themselves in Mr. 
Bubble, after all?  That'd be positively un-American, or something.  I
peeked around the door.

   She wasn't on face or on her back.  She was sitting in the tub, facing
away from me, her head down on her knees, curled up, hugging her legs,
scrunched up in less than half the tub at the spout and drain end.

   "Hi, can I come in?" I asked softly.

   Her only response was a faint shrug, barely a lift of her shoulders, so
I took that as a "yes" and pushed the door closed behind me before I sat on
the toilet seat.  "'S'up?" I asked.

   <<shrug>>

   Okay, where to I go from here?  "Missed you at school."

   <<shrug>>

   I couldn't see her face.  Her skin was lightly tanned, the line of her
swimsuit bra across her back a fainter, lighter stripe.  She'd never been
one much for sunbathing, wore a modest two-piece suit, a good swimmer, but
mostly just enjoyed splashing round in the pool.

   Now, here, every line of her body said something, and I tried to figure
out what it was.

   Depression?

   Yeah, seemed maybe like that.

   A few inches in front of her the bathtub spigot dripped, the "bloop" of
the drop landing in the tub loud in the room.  She'd been in there long
enough the bubbles were patchy islands bobbing on the ripples.  Her fingers
probably looked like prunes, but I couldn't tell.

   Tension?

   Oh yeah.  She was clutching her arms around her legs.  I could see the
strain in her shoulders and arms.

   Fear?

   "Would you like me to wash your back?"

   <<shrug>> Again, an almost invisible one, barely a twitch of the
shoulders.

   Taking that as a yes, I knelt by the tub and picked up the bar of soap.
Lathering up my hands, I slithered them around the back of her neck, across
her shoulders, but it was awkward to reach her.  One thing I could tell was
that she was really, really, really tense.

   I wondered if I should risk it.  "Mind if I join you in the tub?" I
asked softly.

   Bloop!

   <<shrug>>

   Moving slowly and softly, I stripped, and stepped carefully into the tub
behind her.  The water was lukewarm.  She generally liked real hot baths,
so it confirmed she'd been in there a while.  I managed to awkwardly fold
my long legs.  Scrunching myself behind her so I didn't touch her with
anything but my hands, I began soaping her shoulders and back, working my
way down to water level.  I felt somewhat akin to a grasshopper, my knees
sticking way up on the sides so I was working between them.

   Her skin was soft and slick, warm, but I could feel the rigid muscles in
her shoulders and neck.  I let my hands slide down her arms, back up to the
sides of her neck where I gently massaged her knotted muscles with my
fingertips, slipped my fingers forward, sensed the tension in her jaw
muscles before gently tracing the curl of her ears.  She'd pinned her hair
up, but a few stray, sodden tendrils had escaped to trail around my
fingers.

   I returned to her shoulders and back, sliding my fingers along the sides
of her spine, tracing the outlines of her angel-bones before slipping more
out to the her sides, back up again to her shoulders, putting more pressure
on her poor, strained muscles.

   She was so miserable I felt like crying.

   After a few minutes my legs were cramping up, so I shifted my feet,
slipping them cautiously on either side of her butt.  When they brushed her
hips she didn't react, so I slid them further along beside her,
straightening them, sighing softly with relief as I resumed gently washing
her back.  I could sense her ever so hesitantly relaxing, and got a little
bolder, letting my fingers stroke her ribs along her sides.

   One time, in day care, we'd gone to a petting zoo.  While other kids
were fascinated by lambs or bunnies, I'd been taken by an armadillo, of all
things, which had, for some reason, roused from its usual daytime sleep. 
Probably the din we were raising right outside his door had something to do
with it.

   He had reacted to my boisterousness in the way of armadillos and I,
being a kid, rolled him around like a ball, laughing.  One of the keepers
gently stopped me, showed me how to treat it more gently.  Explaining what
it was, explaining what "nocturnal" meant she said it probably needed a
nap. As I held it quietly in my lap it slowly relaxed and unrolled, its
sharp claws scratching my bare legs, his long, sticky tongue tasting me
before the keeper convinced me to let it slip into its deep burrow so it
could go back to sleep.

   Peggy was like that armadillo, slowly accepting my touch, the tensions
slipping away.  Finally I was able to take her shoulders, uncoil her and
draw her back against me, her back against my chest as I leaned back
against the end of the tub, extending my legs full length, her hips between
my thighs, her legs almost straight out in front of her.  I gently cuddled
her, my cheek on the side of her head, and she began to cry.  I put my arms
around her and just held her and held her and held her, my hands resting on
her soft, silky tummy over her innie belly button, on the little cushion of
her little bit of remaining baby fat, while she cried and cried and cried,
until my heart was breaking, until she ran down.

   Once she'd cried it out she let me use my toes to turn on the spigot to
add hot water to the tub until it had warmed up some, and then we talked --
well, she talked, barely a whisper.  I listened.  It was really, really
hard for me, but I managed to stay relaxed and calm as she told me what had
happened.

   But if Worthington had been within reach I would have been at his
throat. I would have flushed his head down the toilet -- after I'd crapped
in it -- the toilet, not his head, I mean, though that's not a bad idea
either.

   She made me promise never to tell anyone about what happened in his
office Friday afternoon, and the details don't matter.  It was easy for him
to get her down there.  He'd sent a note that she'd been accused of a
program violation.  It was the last school day of her week in The Program,
and I wasn't there to go with her.  Why hadn't I been there?  Why?  I felt
like shit.

   I don't know how long Peggy and I were in the tub, but the water was
getting cool again, so it must have been a while.  Finally, Peggy's mom
knocked gently on the door and asked how we were.

   Peggy flinched.

   "We're okay," I assured her mom, "but could you call my mom and tell her
I may be a little late getting home?" I was probably already late, but I'd
taken my watch off.

   "Would you like to stay for supper?"

   "I really can't, I do have to get home, but thank you.  Just call my
mom, please?"

   "Will you be out soon?"

   "It'll be a while.  Tell Mom I'll be home in about an hour, but not to
worry if it's longer."

   "What would you like for supper, sweetie?"

   "I'm not hungry," Peggy answered, her voice rusty from crying.

   "Maybe some soup?" I suggested softly.

   "Alphabet?" Peggy asked in a whisper.  "I'd like alphabet soup."

   The ultimate comfort food.  I relayed the message.

   "What am I going to do?" Peggy moaned.  "I feel so filthy, the things he
said to me, the things I did...."

   "You didn't do them,"' I answered firmly.  "He did them to you."

   "But I let him ...."

   "It was not your fault," I informed her firmly, trying not to let my
anger show.  Anger?  I was furious to the point of homicide.  "He did
it..."

   "But I let...."

   "Repeat after me, 'It is not my fault.'"

   "But...."

   "Say it, please, for me, for yourself."

   "It's not my fault," she whispered.

   "Say it like you mean it, again, and again, and again."

   She did, over and over, until it became a mantra as I repeated it with
her, changing the "my" to "your."

   With every repetition I could feel her relaxing a little bit more,
sounding a little bit more confident, stronger, angrier.  I took her hands
and slapped the water with them with every "not," with every "fault," over,
and over, and over, harder and harder and harder as we chanted it, until we
were splashing water all over the place and she was doing the swinging, not
me.  I could only hope her mom was downstairs and couldn't hear us, or
she'd think we were both nuts.

   I don't know why I did what I did, but it seemed to help.  She began to
slow down, finally stopped, probably exhausted, and I was cradling her,
enjoying the feel of her body against mine until at last I managed to help
her up and opened the drain, her misery draining away with the bath-water.
After we got out she stood there while I tenderly dried her off, and
wrapped her in a robe that was hanging there, her mom's robe, I guess, it
was so big.

   She looked so tired, drained, that I just had to hug her again, before I
dried myself and dressed.

   "Now, will you come to school tomorrow?"

   She looked scared.

   "I'll protect you.  We'll protect you," I assured her.  "Our whole lunch
bunch will."

   "But everyone will know...."

   "Nobody will know anything," I insisted.  "I'm sure not going to tell
anyone, and he doesn't dare tell anyone.  They'll just think you've been
sick."

   "But he'll be there." She was near tears again, and I held her close,
her hair cool and wet against my cheek.  She barely came above my shoulder.


   "He's been hiding in his office ever since he got stuck in The Program
for the week."

   Neither of us used his name.

   "He's in The Program?" It actually seemed to cheer her up a little.

   I nodded, still holding her.  "New policy.  Faculty and staff, one at a
time, have to be in The Program for a week, and he got the short straw this
week.  The only time I've seen him was Monday morning, when he first came
out of the school office, naked, and he scurried off to hide under his
rock. I guess since then he's sneaked in early, and slipped out late.  As
far as I know, no one has seen him."

   I risked kissing her head.  "You're not in the program anymore.  He
doesn't have any power over you, you won't have to go near his office.  I
promise you, you won't see him, and no one will know what happened.  No
one. Please come back, we miss you.  I miss you so much!"

   "But eventually...."

   "There's no 'eventually' about it when it comes to him," I promised
ominously.  "I'll make sure he's history."

   "But what'll you do?  He warned me it'd be my word against his, and
who'd believe a <<choke>> slut!"

   I gave her a squeeze.  "You are not a slut!"

   "But what...?"

   "I don't know yet, but I'll think of something.  It may take a while."

   "How long?"

   "A week?  Maybe two.  Give me two weeks." I was thinking of the
committee.  That would meet formally next week, but it wouldn't be much
help, probably.  "Two weeks, I promise."

   I wanted to stamp that worm into the pavement.  He was going to regret
he'd ever messed with one of my friends, that he'd ever heard of me.

   "Welll...."

   "Two weeks he'll be gone," I vowed, "sooner, if possible, and we'll
watch your back every minute until he's gone, and even after.  I promise
you."

   "Welllll...."

   "Please?" I pleaded.  I had the feeling if she didn't come back now she
never would, and where could she go?  "How about I come by here tomorrow
and I'll walk with you to school, and one of us will be with you, every
moment.  Please?  We need you.  Lunch is just not the same without you."

   "I'll try," she agreed reluctantly.

   "I'll be here tomorrow, bright and early.  Now come on, let's get some
of that soup into you."

   "But what's going to happen to ...  well, later?"

   "He will be gone."

   "But what about me?  What should I do?  I'm scared.  I'll always be
scared."

   My own mind was already wrestling with that.  "Well, one thing I want
you to do.  You know Ms.  Andrews?"

   "Sure, everyone knows her."

   "I want you to talk with her."

   "But she's middle school!"

   "It won't matter," I assured her, crossing my fingers.  "Trust me,
talking to her will help."

   The high school counselor was a man.  Peggy would never open up to a
man. It had to be Ms.  Andrews.

   "What do I tell my mom?" she asked as we were about to go downstairs.

   "Right now I'll tell her it's boy trouble, that there's this boy you
really, really like, and he was really nice to you last week, but that he
likes another girl, and then you did something really embarrassing in front
of him, and you don't want to talk about it."

   She nodded seriously as I guided her into the dining room.  I could
smell soup heating in the kitchen.

   "Now, you sit at the table, I'll help your mom with the soup," I alibied
quickly, leaving her wrapped in that big robe, looking small, and
vulnerable, and worried at her place at the dining room table.

   "How's the soup?" I managed to ask as calm as could be.

   "How is she?  What's wrong?  Is it something to do with The Program?  I
should have told her I'd put her name in."

   I grasped at that straw.  "Well, she was surprised when she got called
up, but she handled it.  I assumed she'd told you she was in it when she
got home."

   "Oh, she did, once she was, but she didn't say much about it.  It's ...
well, I'm kind of uncomfortable talking with her about sex and stuff.  I
thought that thing you did last year had pretty much covered -- the birds
and the bees and stuff."

   "Oh, it did, and she did fine last week from what I could see." If Peggy
hadn't mentioned the Tweedles I wasn't about to.  And, truthfully, I hadn't
seen what had happened Friday.

   Oh powers of persuasion, don't leave me now, I pleaded, and I could feel
The Stick bolstering me.

   I'd already rejected the idea of telling Mrs.  Hughes her daughter had
been molested.  No way was I capable of dealing with a hysterical Mom and
daughter.  I'd leave that to a trained professional, but Ms.  Andrews
wasn't available right then.

   So I gave the woman a real song and dance about this neat boy and a
monster crush, and she'd thought he really liked her, only it turned out he
liked another girl, and yada yada yada.

   "But I'm her mother!"

   "And that's why she can't tell you about it right now.  She's really,
really embarrassed.  She'll tell you when she's ready.  Just be here for
her..." I don't know where this bullshit was coming from, but it just kept
flowing.  "I'm going to take care of things at school.  I'll come by and
we'll walk together tomorrow, but right now she needs you here just holding
her when she asks.  Okay?"

   I was doing my best to sound calm, cool and collected, trying to keep
her calm.

   She looked at me.  "Why am I listening to you?  You're a fourteen year
old, and I'm her mother!"

   I didn't tell her I was still only thirteen, feeling like I was three
hundred.

   "Mrs.  Hughes, please, trust me.  If you try to get her to talk it will
only make things worse." Yeah, like if the truth comes out before
Worthington was properly dealt with, she or her husband would probably take
a shotgun down to the school to solve the problem.  Or they'd just come
into the office screaming and before we knew it the whole fucking town
would know what had happened to their daughter, and that would destroy her.
For the moment they were better off not knowing.

   "Please, believe me, in a couple of weeks this will all blow over, but
right now all she needs is to know that you love her, and her dad loves
her, too."

   "He's -- not around -- right now," Mrs.  Hughes stammered.

   "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

   "We're trying to work things out."

   Oh great!  Peggy was going to need Ms.  Andrews more than ever, but if I
mentioned "counseling" that would really set off alarms.  Well, I'd cross
that bridge when I came to it.  Shit!  I felt so fucking alone in all this!
And where was Missy when I needed her?  I could always trust her to ....

   Missy!  Oh shit!  She was in The Program this week.  Sure as anything,
that worm would try to get his filthy hands on her next!  I tried not to be
paranoid, but couldn't avoid the thought he was trying to get at me through
my friends, not just satisfying his twisted desires.

   "Please, Mrs.  Hughes, trust me.  Don't pry, not right now.  Please,
promise me!"

   She looked at me for a long time, until the soup started to boil and she
grabbed the pot off the burner.  Some of the soup splashed on her and
without thinking I grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand under the tap and
turned on the cold water, not too hard.

   "That's what my mom does when I burn myself," I explained, holding her
hand under the cold stream, which was true, at least, and it works, too.

   "You're sure it's nothing?" she asked, letting the water run over her
hand before she turned the water off and grabbed a dish-towel to blot it
dry.  I knew she wasn't asking about her hand.  I suspected she wanted to
believe me rather than to have to face the truth.

   I wondered fleetingly how the hell my mom had managed to hold it all
together without a husband to support her.

   "Boys and hormones," I answered.  "I've been there myself.  Now, go
share some soup with her.  I told her I'd be here to walk her to school in
the morning.  She's afraid her friends will make fun of her.  I'll make
sure they don't."

   She tittered nervously, and I wondered how close she was to hysterics.
"I hear you got a little wild on Sunday."

   "Yeah," I admitted as she dished out two bowls of soup, while I found
the crackers and put some on a plate.  "It was an experiment that went
wrong, part of outreach for The Program and I got a little carried away. 
In a way it's good.  People are so busy ragging on me they won't bother
her."

   "You're awfully brave!"

   I shrugged.  "Well...."

   "Mom, I'm hungry," Peggy complained from the doorway.  Bless her!  It
looked like she'd pulled herself together enough for now, I hoped.

   Cripes, what time was it!  Shit!  I had to warn Missy!  After repeating
my promise to be there to walk Peggy to school, and giving her another big
hug, I shouldered my backpack and trotted out the door, praying that I'd
doused that brushfire, at least for the moment.

   Damn, it was already getting dark.  I set a new personal best for the
mile with full backpack and banged through the front door.  "Sorry I'm
late," I called as I took the stairs to my room two at a time.  "I gotta
call Missy, and then we need to talk."

   I couldn't leave Mom out of this!  No way, no how!  I could trust her to
keep her mouth shut, but she had to know what was going on.

   "Missy, it's Dee," I announced when I got her on the line.

   "I was gonna call you, it's nothing about me, but...."

   "It has to wait a minute," I interrupted.

   "Why...?'

   "Just listen, please.  Whatever you do, do NOT go down to Worthington's
office alone!  If you have to go, take someone with you.  Take Mike with
you if you can, or someone else, but don't let him get you alone! 
Understand?"

   "Yeah," she answered slowly.  "But I thought you ought to know something
funny is going on with him."

   I felt a chill.  "Like what?"

   "Madge -- she's the sophomore girl in The Program this week -- Madge got
a note from him at lunchtime today accusing her of a program violation,
ordering her to come to his office at the end of the day."

   "Shit!  Did she go?"

   "No.  She had a dentist appointment and her mom picked her up from her
last period.  She told me he could wait 'til tomorrow, that it had to be a
mistake.  I know Madge.  She'd never screw up."

   "You call her right now and tell her what I just told you -- if she
goes, take someone along, preferably her partner in the program, that's
what they're for.  And don't stop with her.  Get the word out, quietly, to
everyone in The Program.  No one goes to see Worthington alone.  No one!"

   "What's going on?"

   "I can't tell you, but, well, cross your heart promise that you won't go
there alone, and pass the word.  Okay?"

   "Okay." That was the Missy I knew.  She trusted me.  I heaved a sigh of
relief.

   "Thanks.  I'm sorry, but I gotta go." I hung up -- well, punched the
"end call" button -- before I put down the cordless phone.  I wonder where
that "hung up" expression came from?

   "Supper's waiting," Mom announced from my door.  I didn't know how much
she'd heard.  "Is everything okay?"

   "No, it's not, but it's better now.  We can talk while we eat."

   "If I have any appetite," she responded dryly.  "I can hardly wait. 
What kind of a mess have you gotten yourself into now?"

   I knew Mom was smiling that wry, loving smile she had only for me.  "Is
Elaine here?" I asked as I followed her down the stairs, my legs shaky.

   "She's got two women in labor, and a third is probably going to be doing
the same thing any day now.  We won't see her for at least three days, I
suspect."

   "Good." Then I realized how that sounded.  "I mean, well, what I've got
to talk about, well, it's got to stay between just the two of us."

   "This sounds serious."

   "It is."

   When she heard me out as we ate -- grilled cheese sandwiches -- she
agreed.  For a moment she sat there, and I wasn't sure if she was stunned
or just thinking.

   "Something's got to be done about that ...  that ...  monster!" I
growled.

   "I'm trying to figure out what," Mom responded, "and how."

   God I hope I can respond to an emergency as calmly she does, but I guess
I've given her lots of practice over the years.  I let her think.

   "Who is there at school that you can trust?" she asked.

   "Mrs.  Devers." That was a no-brainer.

   "But this can't wait until morning," she mused.  "How can we reach her?"


   I remembered.  "I've got her private phone number!" I dashed for my
backpack.

   "Ask her if she can come here," Mom asked as I punched the number in. 
"Tonight.  Right now.  I'll make some coffee.  I think it'll be a long
night."

   Twenty minutes later the Vice Principal was at the table with us.  After
I'd filled Devers in -- well, I'd never seen her eyes turn that shade
before, talk about storm clouds!  She reached for the phone and made some
calls.

   An hour later a full war council was convened around our dining room
table.  Besides me and Mom and Mrs.  Devers there were two plain-clothes
cops, an Assistant District Attorney, and a woman from Child Protective
Services, and I was arguing passionately that Peggy had to be kept out of
this.  The cops didn't think my promise to Peggy meant much, but since I'd
refused to give out her name they were stymied, and Mom, Mrs.  Devers and
CPS took my side.

   The Assistant DA was thinking, then she came down on my side.

   "Whoever she is, it would be her word against his," she pointed out to
the cops.  "We'd never get a conviction, and the whole thing would come out
in the open.  It would be a circus, devastating for the girl."

   "Quit wasting time, I'm not going to tell you who it is anyway," I
growled, and Mom patted my hand to calm me down.  "We need to trap him, get
him to give us enough rope and then you can hang him with it!  Put me in
The Program next week.  "

   "No!" Mom snapped, a mama bear protecting her cub.

   "We need to move fast." Mrs.  Devers was deadly calm.

   "We need to protect the young ladies, not just the one who's already
suffered," CPS said.  "It has to be handled quickly." She was quiet and
calm, a plump, conservatively dressed woman even at this hour.  Framed with
graying hair, her dark face was as ominous as Mrs.  Devers's.

   "It's got to be done quietly," Mrs.  Devers pointed out.

   "It's got to be done in a way that he can't worm out of it," the
Assistant DA explained.  "The evidence has to be rock solid, so strong that
he'll be glad to accept a plea bargain...."

   I exploded.  "A plea bargain?  You want that ...  that ...." Well, I
totally lost my couth and put myself in debt to the curse jar to the tune
of about fifty bucks before Mom got me settled down.

   Even the Assistant DA was impressed by my eloquence.  "Believe me, if we
get the evidence we need, it'll never go to trial.  We will put him behind
bars for a long time.  I guarantee he'll do hard time and once he comes out
-- if he survives jail, even convicts don't take to his type, since many of
them suffered abuse as kids -- he'll be labeled a sex offender.  He won't
be able to even drive an ice cream truck anywhere in the country.

   "The only question is, how to we get it the evidence, fast?"

   The head cop shook his head.  "No way we can slip an undercover cop into
the school, into The Program.  It's got to be someone already in the
school."

   "Me!" I wanted him so bad!

   "Not you, Dee," Mrs.  Devers told me, waving a calming hand at my mom.
"You've already crossed swords with him, so he'd be suspicious.  Besides,
we can't just shove you in The Program before next week and we need to move
fast.  What we need is someone already in The Program this week."

   I was fuming, and wanted to ask why I couldn't be put in the program,
but held my tongue for a change.

   "From the little you've told us, Dee, he seems to be picking on the
underclass girls," CPS observed.

   "Yes'm," I agreed.  After putting out my warning Missy had called back
to tell me that the sophomore girl in The Program last week had also been
called down by Worthington, but he'd creeped her out so much she'd split
before anything happened.  She'd been too afraid to say anything, dammit.
If she had it might have saved Peggy.

   "Who do you have in the program this week?  Is there a good candidate?"
the senior cop asked.

   "That's asking an awful lot of a high school freshman or sophomore!" CPS
protested.

   "Missy." The name sort of fell out of my mouth by accident.

   "Who?" the cops and the Assistant DA asked in unison.

   "Millicent Wilson," Mrs.  Devers answered thoughtfully.
   Oh shit, I thought.  Missy, what have I just done to you?