"Oh, God, I hate that woman!" Jordan growled through her teeth sotto voce.

"Why?" I asked.

She shot a look of fury at me... not that she was angry with me, but she was very angry.

"She is a *horrible* person," Jordan said. "And she's going to ruin my father and me, I'm sure of it!"

---

 

7. The Nose-Job Theory
 

Jordan asked me, "What was wrong with the nose you had before?"

I sighed. After two days at home I was going stir-crazy, and so, on Thursday night — even though I hadn't gone to school that day — I went back to work at the tea shop.

My very first customer, a nice, smiling, white-haired man, asked, "Did you get your nose done, dear? I'm sure you'll look even more lovely once it's healed." His companion, a woman in her forties, commented, "She's that age, Chuck. Girls in their teens get braces on their teeth, contacts instead of glasses, nose jobs... they start dyeing their hair..."

A middle-aged woman with a tiny nose put her hand on my arm and whispered, "It's worth the pain, believe me. It changed my high-school experience completely." She said the last word as if it was highly suggestive, and for emphasis, she opened her eyes as wide as they could go.

Soon, the whole tea-shop was buzzing with the topic of nose jobs, past and present. I didn't see much point in correcting their mistake. I just nodded and smiled and hoped they understood the funny, stuffed-up way I was talking.

But when Jordan asked me, for some reason I sighed. I guess it was because she was my age, I kind of felt she should have known. Jordan mis-read my face and quickly said, "Sorry! We don't have to talk about it if you don't want."

I'd barely gotten out the words, "I don't mind, it's just that—" when that woman came in... the one who was talking to Jordan's father when I first applied for work. Jordan's expression abruptly fell into a frown of distaste.

"I'll wait on her," I offered, but Jordan shook her head.

"No," she told me. "I have to show this woman that she can't intimidate me." And so saying, she grabbed her pad and marched over.

The woman smiled and chatted away at Jordan. There was no way for me to hear anything over the general buzz of conversation, but at one point the woman tilted her head back quite purposefully, so she could look Jordan directly in the face, and she said something. The woman was smiling, but it wasn't a nice smile. Jordan's jaw set and she flushed red. I saw her hand clench, and her pad and pencil shook, but only for a moment. Then, Jordan stopped, took a breath, and her expression cleared. She looked down at the woman as if nothing had happened... as if she was just any customer... no one in particular, and I'm quite sure she said, "Which tea would you like?" and the woman briefly replied. Jordan prepared the brew and deposited it without ceremony on the woman's table.

"Oh, God, I hate that woman!" Jordan growled through her teeth sotto voce.

"Why?" I asked.

She shot a look of fury at me... not that she was angry with me, but she was very angry. "She is a *horrible* person," Jordan said. "And she's going to ruin my father and me, I'm sure of it!"
 

---

 

When I got home, the first thing I did was to call Maisie. My conversation with Jordan left me very confused, but I had the feeling that Maisie would understand. Maybe she could tell me that Jordan was wrong, completely wrong... and that's what I was hoping to hear.
 

Maisie was very happy and upbeat. Of course I had to explain why I was talking funny ("No, I dodn't hab a code..."), and Maisie was briefly sympathetic. *She* wanted to talk about Chrissie, but I bulldozed her into the real reason I'd called.

By the way, everything I said came out in a very nasal, mouth-breathing way... I'm not going to try to recreate it. A few times she didn't understand me, and I held the mouthpiece away when I wasn't talking (so she wouldn't hear me breathe... or breed as I would have said).

"Maze, you know about money, right?"

I could almost hear her shrug. "It depends," she replied. "Some things I know; some things I don't."

"Okay, I have to tell you some stuff that Jordan told me tonight."

"Is she the girl from the tea shop?"

"Yeah... see, there is this woman that Jordan doesn't like, and this woman — her name is Lee Something-or-other — I can't remember her last name. Anyway, Lee is an investor, and she's taken some of Jordan's father's money."

"Uh-oh," Maisie said.

"Why do you say uh-oh? I haven't even started."

"Does this Lee person have an office? Or does she come to the tea shop to take his money?"

When she asked that, my mind's eye called up my first visit to the tea shop, when I saw Jordan's dad nervously hand an envelope to Lee.

"I think she comes to the tea shop," I said. "But that's doesn't matter. This is the thing: first she took $500 from Jordan's dad, and a week later she gave him back a thousand—"

"Oh, I know what this is about—" Maisie said with a laugh, but I interrupted.

"—wait, wait: I haven't told you anything yet! So then she took a thousand dollars, and a week or two later she gave back $1500... so—"

"Stop, Marcie, stop. It's a Ponzi scheme."

"What's a Ponzi scheme? And how can you know that already?"

"This lady — she's not really investing the money. She's scamming people. And not just Jordan's dad."

"You can't know that—"

"Yes, I *can* know that, so shut up and listen. Seriously. This Lee person has a bunch of people on the hook. It's not just Jordan's dad. She strings them along and gets money from them. The money she gave to Jordan's father... she got that money from another person just like him."

"That doesn't make any sense," I said. "She can't make money that way. She'd be giving money away!"

"No," Maisie said. "It's timing. It's a con. Everybody who gives her money is a sucker. At every step, she makes the sucker give her more and more money. The way she pays the new suckers, like Jordan's dad, is with money she got from old suckers. She makes them all believe that she can guarantee big returns, and after a while they give her whatever she asks. Pretty soon they hand over every penny they have, and at that point she quits paying returns."

"But... but..." I protested. "It can't work. I mean... at some point, it has to fall apart, and then she'll get caught."

"You're half right. At some point it starts to fall apart, but at that point she's gone. And all the suckers have to kiss their money goodbye."

It made no sense to me. It seemed an impossible game. Maisie explained it to me a couple of times but I still couldn't get it.

"How do you know all this?" I asked her.

"Somebody like that Lee person stung my father, but good," she chortled. "I heard him talking to his lawyer about it. God, was he mad!" She laughed at the memory. "And then, when I got my own lawyer, I asked him about it."

"There's one thing I don't get," I said. "Suppose somebody stops?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let's say that she takes my money, and she doubles or triples it. What if I stop there, and don't give her any more money? What if I know it's a Ponzi scheme, and I trick her?"

"That's funny, because that's exactly what my father tried to do. He figured he was so smart that he could con the con man. He thought he could quit while he was ahead."

"So why didn't he?"

"The people who do this stuff, do it because they're good at it. They play people like violins. My dad is greedy and thinks he's smarter than anybody, so the con man — con person, whatever — played off that."

"What did he do?"

"It was a she. She made my dad think that she was new to the scam and that she had messed up. She pretended that he had her over a barrel. Dad threatened that if she didn't pay up, he would call the police. So she acted all afraid and apologetic. He's so vain and greedy, he thought he'd won. But then, she pulled the old switcheroo. She showed up with all the money he wanted, but she left him with a big envelope full of cut-up newspaper. By the time he looked inside, she was gone, baby, gone."

I fell silent, trying to take it all in. I could imagine Maisie's father being cheated, because... after all... he was a jerk, but Jordan's father was a different kind of person.

In any case, Maisie got tired of the subject and wanted to tell me something else.

"Listen, Marce: tomorrow Chrissie is going to ask my Dad to fly you out here for Spring break!"

"Wow!" I exclaimed, "that would be incredible!" but then, inwardly, I kind of fell to earth, and asked her, "So that means you're still going to be out there... that long?"

"I hope so," she said.

"Your mother misses you," I said. I really meant that *I* missed her, but that's what came out, and it sounded very lame. I kicked myself for saying it, but anyway, it was true.

She responded with a raspberry.
 

---

 

After I hung up with Maisie, I called Susan. She also seemed quite well-informed on the subject of Ponzi schemes. "They've been in the news," she said — in a tone that suggested that I should have known. Susan was a lot better at explaining, and pretty soon I felt that I had a grip on it.

"I think Jordan's instinct is right," Susan said. "This woman sounds like a real criminal."

"What if she's not?" I insisted. "What if she really knows ways of making money?"

Susan replied, "I can't pretend to know this, but I can tell you what they said on TV. If Lee was really an investor, she would take a cut of the profits. Otherwise, how is she making money?"

"She's making investments on her own," I offered.

"If she is making money on her own investments, why does she need Jordan's father's money?"

"Uhhh.... she's sharing?"

"Another thing they said is that no one can guarantee any investment. Even investments that seem very safe can go very wrong. It's like gambling. No one should invest money that they can't afford to lose."

That made some sense.

"The last thing I remember is that investments don't usually pay off like that. It's very rare for people to get high, consistent, quick returns like that. It would be like winning the lottery over and over and over. It doesn't happen. Remember, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is."

I still wanted to believe that it was possible, but the fact that Maisie and Susan both said the same thing meant a lot. I had to tell Jordan. Maybe she could talk to her father. Beyond that, I didn't know what else I could do.
 

---

 

Mom told me I could stay home Friday if I wanted. "You've already missed two days, Marcie. If you stay home one more you'll have a good five days of recovery." But I had to get out. I couldn't stand to sit around home any more. I was missing too much; school had only just begun.
 

Friday was just a regular school day up until the end, which was gym class with the seniors.

I didn't bother changing clothes. I figured I'd spend that period in the library doing homework. All I had to do was give the coach my doctor's note and I'd be free.

But I was far from free. When I walked in, coach wasn't there; just the seniors, shooting baskets.

"I don't believe it!" Lace cried. "Will you look at this girl?"

"Dream on, Donner," another girl called, in a voice filled with scorn.

The other girls began crowing and laughing.

"What?" I asked, puzzled and offended.

They echoed my what?, mincing and walking around all la-di-dah — which I had not done at all.

Mara stepped up and poked me in the shoulder. "Getting a nose job is NOT going to make you Miss BYHS!" she declared.

"I didn't!" I shouted, and the blood rushing to my head gave me a spasm of pain. I took a step back and tried to calm down. In a quieter voice I said, "I didn't get a nose job."

"You didn't? What a liar! Everybody can SEE you got a nose job, you idiot! One day you enter the pageant, the next day you get a nose job!" Mara shook her head in disgust.

I felt my anger rising, but I didn't respond. I had to keep a grip on myself or I was in for a lot of pain. Every time I got excited, or angry, or laughed too much... any kind of strong emotion, brought the blood to my head. More blood meant more pressure, and more pressure meant pain around my eyes, to the place where I was hit.

I half-closed my eyes and made my way to a bench, where I sat down. I ignored the taunts and accusations. I had to calm down and stay calm.

"I still don't understand why they let babies enter the pageant!" Lace was saying.

"I know, right?" Mara seconded her.

All I had to do was wait for coach and then I could leave.

In fact, why didn't I leave this class all together? I didn't belong here with these older girls. They didn't want me, and I didn't want to be with them. They were always hassling me. I went through all this trouble just for the sake of no one seeing me in the shower! I wondered for a moment whether it was worth all the grief. I might be better off if everyone knew I was transgendered!

But no, that was no solution. That wouldn't work either. I didn't think so, anyway.

Still, I had to talk with Miss Overmore. Maybe there was a better solution for me... some other way to avoid the shower issue.

In any case, once I sat down, the seniors seemed to forget about me. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe... simply breathe... slowly, deeply... The fact that I was breathing through my mouth didn't help, but I was calming down. The gymnasium sounds faded into the background. A pretty loud background, for sure, but because I was tired, the noise blended into a curtain or a blanket... it melted into a kind of soundtrack, far off, nothing at all to do with me. The basketballs bounced, sneakers squeaked, the players called to each other and softly grunted to themselves, and every so often a ball would pound the backboard and swish through the net.

In the midst of all that another sound came, that did have something to do with me: I heard the coach's voice when she walked in, away on the other side of the gymnasium. She was talking to the players, correcting their form, telling them to hustle... I didn't open my eyes yet. I heard her sneakered steps approaching, but I waited until they came a little closer...

When I opened my eyes, my vision was filled by an orange ball flying toward me, zooming through the air like bullet, in the space to the left of the coach. It was behind her, so she didn't see it. It was silent, so she didn't hear it.

"Donner," she said, by way of greeting.

My mouth, which was already open, fell open a bit more, stupidly gaping, and my eyes widened at the approaching missile. I had my doctor's note in one hand and my backback in the other, and both hands clenched and unclenched slightly. What I should have done was bring my arms up fast to shield my face, but I was far too slow. I was still thinking about it. It must have been the pain killers...

The coach read the alarm on my face, shot a glance over her shoulder, and did a quick quarter-turn on her heel. She reacted in an instant, and snatched the ball out of the air with both hands. In a fury, she raised her arms overhead and hurled the ball across the width of the room, where it struck the wall loudly and went bouncing off at an angle, down toward the empty end of the basketball court.

Oh, hell, I thought. Somehow *I* will get detention for this.

Instead, coach turned on the seniors and shouted, "Who threw that ball? Who threw it?"

The seniors shuffled their feet but said nothing.

"I want to know who threw that ball, and I want to know NOW!" she demanded, still shouting.

"Nobody threw it, coach..." Mara mumbled.

"What's that? I can't hear you!"

Mara cleared her throat and spoke more loudly. "Nobody threw it, coach. The ball just got away. You know."

"No, I don't know," the coach replied. "I don't know. You girls listen to me, and listen up good: this girl's got an injury–" she gestured to me "–and NOBODY is going to injure her further. If I see... or hear... of ANY of you messing with her, hurting her, or giving her grief, you will be suspended from the team for THREE GAMES. THREE GAMES! Do you hear me? Do you understand me?"

Mara licked her lips. "But, coach...," she protested.

"No," the coach replied. "No buts. It's final. And I don't care what three games they are."

One of the other girls pulled a face. "You would lose a game for her?"

"Yes, I would," the coach replied. "And if you don't believe me, just try me." She scowled at them, looking in turn at each girl. "Anybody want to try me?"

There were some sighs and groans from the class, and someone muttered, "That's what we get for having a baby in the class."

"What was that?" the coach asked in a challenging tone. There was no answer, so she said, "I thought so." Then she blew her whistle and gave some instructions. The girls began to do sprinting drills on the other side of the gym. The coach sat down next to me.

After asking how I was felt, if I'd been hurt (I hadn't), she accepted my note. Then the coach dropped into confidential tone. "Donner, listen: that boy–" she looked over to see if any of the girls could hear "–that boy who was getting beaten up... the one you got your nose busted for... He's my nephew." She squinted a little and her eyes began to glisten.

Oh, lord, I thought nervously, she's not going to start crying, is she? But she didn't. Still, I was afraid she could start any moment.

She continued, "I know that the common wisdom about bullying is that the boy should stand up for himself... that if he's being bullied, it's somehow his fault. But he tried and tried and tried. I know he did. He tried, but it didn't work." She squeezed her thighs with her hands and bent forward, her eyes continuing to glisten. "He asked for help, and you know what help he got?"

I shrugged. I had no idea.

"He got nothing. Nada. Zip. His parents, his school, nobody gave a —" here she started to swear. Then she broke off an apologized. "Sorry, Donner. But it's true. Nobody gave a damn or lifted a finger. Nobody. Nobody but you." Then she broke off and turned away so I couldn't see her face. She blew her nose for a while. I looked on in envy and kept breathing through my mouth.

Then she turned back to me and said, "What you did took guts, Donner. Real guts. And I'll tell you something: you made a friend that day. You've got a friend in me. Anything I can do for you... anybody gives you grief, you tell me." She gave an awkward grin and squeezed my thigh so hard that it hurt a bit. "Okay?" she asked, and gave me a poke with her elbow that nearly made me tip over.

"Yeah, coach, thanks," I replied, feeling a little embarrassed. It was an weird moment for both of us. I waited for her to somehow put a cap on it.

"Okay," she said and turned to watch the seniors. I waited for a bit, wondering if I could go, but she didn't say anything.

At last I tentatively said, "Uh, coach?"

"Yeah, Donner?"

"Could I go study in the library? I think I'd be a little more... uh... safer there. No basketballs flying around."

"Oh, the library!" she said. She began waving her arms as she spoke, and I realized that she felt quite as awkward as I did. "Yeah, yeah! Sure! Yeah, take off, Donner. And thanks again! You got guts, girl!"

© 2011 by Kaleigh Way

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