"Anyway," Ms. Tandy continued, "Why are you trying to keep a low profile? You're not on witness protection, are you?"

A student walking by overheard that remark, and his eyebrows shot up.

Wednesday during lunch hour we worked on the routine. Eden found an empty classroom with enough room to move. The dance felt a lot different, and more fun, with the skirt swirling around me, catching my momentum, stopping, and swirling back again.

"You're right," Eden said. "We need to practice and audition in skirts. We have to make sure the swirling's not jerky."

The evening at Jerry's was nice. After dinner, we popped in the Princess Diaries DVD. Jerry, Nina, and I sat on the couch together. Mr. Auburn disappeared, but Mrs. Auburn sat in an armchair near us. She knitted the whole time, but I was sure she had a weather eye on her son.

At first, I was sandwiched between Nina and Jerry. Then Nina climbed into my lap. After a hour I asked them to pause the movie because I was being cooked alive. Nina was as hot as an electric blanket, and since I was leaning into Jerry, the heat had nowhere to go.

I stood and shook my clothes to cool off a little. Then Jerry and I went to the kitchen to get drinks.

"You like the movie, don't you?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah, it's fun," I replied. "Don't you?"

He peeked to make sure Nina wouldn't hear, and then said, "It's a chick flick, Marcie. No — it's not even a chick flick, it's a movie for little girls. The only reason I'm watching is so I can be with you."

"That's sweet," I said. He rolled his eyes comically, and spread his arms, as if to say, What else I can do? I put my hands on his chest and popped my foot, like the girl in the movie.

Nina peeked in the door and said, "Quit the mushy stuff! Let's watch the movie!"

We sat back down arranged in the opposite direction, with Jerry on my left and Nina on my right. This time it wasn't as hot because Nina started fading, and lay on the sofa with her head on my lap and her legs dangling over the arm. Mrs. Auburn cleared her throat, and Jerry and I moved apart a little bit. I don't know how she communicated it, but we got the message.

As he walked me home, Jerry said, "No offense, but I can't watch another movie like that. It's way too much girly sweetness. I can't take it." I laughed and made a vague silent promise.

On Thursday morning, when I got to school, something was going on. It was still early, so not every one was there. It was a good thing, because the few students who were there were all looking at me. At first I thought I imagined it, but pretty soon it was too obvious to ignore. I began to feel quite uncomfortable, and I heard the soft sound of whispers everywhere I went.

By the time I reached the Principal's Office, I was almost jumping out of my skin from paranoia.

"Ah, Ms. Donner," Mr. Bryant said. "Am I safe in assuming that you haven't seen this yet?" He was holding the school newspaper.

"No, I haven't," I admitted.

"Why don't you have a seat and take a look at page five," he said, handing me the paper.

I'm glad he asked me to sit down. When I opened to page five, my jaw fell. A cartoon took up almost a quarter of the page. It was a very fanciful depiction of the incident on the Little Train. It showed me, swinging on a rope, in the act of catching (with one hand!) a round, fat baby in midair. Far above was the train. You could see the frightened mother's face, the shocked passengers, and the crying children. The whole thing looked like the cover of a comic book. It showed me wearing a very short skirt that rippled in the wind.

"Do I really look like that?" I asked, hardly knowing what I said.

"It is a speaking likeness of your face. The rest is fairly idealized... I won't comment on the legs," he said, clearing his throat.

"It makes you look like a superhero," Denise said.

I was speechless. Mr. Bryant handed me a glass of water.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't censor the paper. I have already lodged a complaint. If your parents or your aunt would like to come in, I can arrange to have the paper's moderator–"

"No, never mind," I interrupted. "It's probably better just to let it blow over."

"Fine," he said. "However, if you change your mind about that, or if you need, ah, sanctuary, feel free to come back here. Understood? Will you be alright?"

"Yes," I said. "After the shock wears off."

The day was a little weird, but really wasn't that bad. I guess people either didn't see the paper, or if they did, they didn't connect the cartoon with me. A few people openly stared at me, and a few others pointed me out to their friends as "the one in the cartoon." Only two people actually teased me about it, and one yelled "Hey, Legs!" But that was about it.

Except that at lunch time, Ms. Tandy came and sat down with Carla, Eden, and me. She gestured with the school paper and said, "So much for the low profile, eh, Marcie?"

"I guess," I said. "But I think it's going to blow over."

"I don't know the boy who drew this," she said, "but he got your face perfectly. It's almost photographic."

"The legs are pretty exact, too," Carla added. We all looked at her in surprise. "What?" she demanded. "I've seen you in gym class."

"Anyway," Ms. Tandy continued, "Why are you trying to keep a low profile? You're not on witness protection, are you?"

A student walking by overheard that remark, and his eyebrows shot up.

"What's witness protection?" I asked. "Whatever it is, I'm not on it."

"I guess I shouldn't joke about things like that," Ms. Tandy said. "It's actually pretty serious. Let's say you know something about organized crime — maybe you witness a mob murder — I don't know. So you go to the police, and you testify against the crooks. Because of that, your life could be in danger, so the FBI gives you a new identity and moves you to a new city. In that way, you're safe, because you have a new name, a new life. The crooks don't know how to find you."

"Wow," I said. "Does that really happen?"

"Yes, it does," she said. "But if your cover is blown — for instance, you run into someone who knew you before, or you tell someone — then the FBI has to move you again."

"Oh, there's a movie like that! Kate whats-her-name's mother is in it and Mel Gibson — Oh! What is it called?" Eden babbled.

Ms. Tandy stood up. "I better go. You girls have fun. And you, keep a low profile!" Laughing, she left.

Carla frowned. "Why are you trying to keep a low profile?" she asked me. "And BY THE WAY, did you notice it's not working?"

Eden went wild with giggles. I let out a big sigh.

"Oh!" Eden exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "Are we going to rehearse our dance tonight? We really need to get it down."

"No," I replied. "I told you, tonight my aunt's taking me out to dinner."

"Mmm," Eden mumbled, obviously disappointed.

Aunt Jane and I arrived home at the same moment. She was trying to unlock the door. It was a little tricky because she was holding two bags and had half a dozen copies of my school newspaper under her arm.

"Where did you get those?" I asked.

"Denise dropped them off at lunchtime." Smiling, she shook her head at me. "You're really going all out, aren't you?"

"What did I do?" I asked. "And why do you have so many of those?"

"Oh, memories, scrapbooks," she said vaguely. "I thought your parents might want a couple copies."

"My parents!?" I squeaked fearfully.

"Wow, that got a rise out of you," she said, laughing, as she dropped the papers on the coffee table. "Calm down, girl."

I did calm down, remembering that she would get into a lot worse trouble than I ever would if my parents found out.

"Let's see what you're going to wear to the restaurant tonight," she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

I never thought of my aunt as feminine. She always seemed very — what's the word? — I don't want to say "tomboy" because I've grown to hate the word... and "plain" doesn't quite do it, either. She definitely wasn't mannish, but... What I'm getting at is that I've never seen her wear makeup, and only seen her in a dress two or three times at most. Her hair has always been the same short, functional cut.

Because of all that, I was pretty surprised when she helped me get ready. She picked out my prettiest outfit, and she brushed and styled my hair way better than I ever could.

Then, to top it off, she did my makeup — the first I'd ever worn. It was very light, but it made a big difference.

"Too bad you didn't pierce your ears. I don't have any clip-ons," she commented.

Next she inspected my nails. "They look okay," she said. "I don't feel like fooling with nail polish, and I don't think you know how to do it, so let's stop there."

"Okay," I said, admiring myself in the mirror. "Thanks. It's really nice... I mean, I look nice."

"See?" she smiled. "Your old aunt knows a trick or two."

"So what's the occasion?" I asked. "Why are we getting so dressed up?"

"It's nice to get out once in a while," she said. "Let's say that you've inspired me."

Forty minutes later, she emerged wearing a nice but simple dark blue dress. She'd done her own makeup, and was wearing a pearl necklace and matching earrings.

"Wow!" I exclaimed.

"I clean up pretty good, don't I?" she said, posing this way and that.

At the restaurant, a valet took our car. The moment we entered, I felt intimidated — it seemed you'd have to be rich just to look in the window. We were ushered to a very separate and quiet table. I was so impressed, I didn't dare talk above a whisper. "I've never been in a restaurant this nice before!" I hissed to my aunt. "I've never been anywhere this elegant!"

In a low voice, she replied, "I don't think I have, either. We're getting a very special treat tonight."

That confused me. She said "we" as though she was being treated, too. I also noticed that the waiter hadn't removed the two extra place settings.

"Aunt Jane," I whispered, "Is someone else coming?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Who?"

"I'll tell you," she said. "If you promise not to faint, scream, or run away." She took my hands firmly in hers and asked, "Do you trust me?"

"I don't know," I replied, nervously.

"Okay then: no more suspense. Your parents are coming to have dinner with us."

© 2006,2007 by Kaleigh Way