Francie and I are about to leave when the police show up. They ask us to stay behind for a few minutes and make a statement. When we are done, the police are ready to charge the women, not only with theft, but also aggravated assault for forcing us to come here by dragging us, and potentially kidnapping. Once they find out about the ‘history’ we have and what it is all about, they are sure the DA will pursue a hate crime charge. The state has one of the toughest in the country.

Officer Wright, a pretty blonde woman in her thirties also suggests, “You may want to consult a lawyer. I think you have a good chance to get them on slander and maybe a few more things…”

Francie and I thank her and I call Momma to see if she can get in touch with Sheila. She is, of course, mortified at what happened, but is glad that we are OK. After a few more minutes of assuring her, I hang up and Francie and I finish our shopping, then have lunch before we go back home.

When we get back, Sheila is at the house and we have to recount the whole thing again to her. Sheila nods and says, “I have already called and talked to Officer Wright. She said that this whole thing cracked a case wide open—it seems there have been a number of thefts across the area; all at jewelry stores. The only things that have been stolen are red bracelets…”

I look at her stunned and ask, “And they think Mrs. DICK-enson is the one that was behind these thefts?”

Sheila shrugs and says, “Well, there hasn’t been ANY evidence to date—whoever was doing it was obviously MUCH better at it than SHE was today. But, the police think she is absolutely connected. Based on what they could piece together from the video footage out in the mall, she must have seen you and decided to frame you. She then went into Jade’s and pocketed the bracelet…and, well, you know the rest.”

She takes a sip of iced tea and continues, “She will likely get charged with conspiracy on top of everything else. The hate crime charge alone, though, will bury her.”

Francie says, “Well, I HOPE so! What with Misty doing HER crap, and now this—and it all doesn’t even begin to touch on the other big underlying issue of the bracelets to begin with. What a mess!”

Momma comes over and hugs us both and asks, “Did you find some nice things at the mall? Would you like to show them to me while Sheila finishes up?”

We nod and start up the stairs. I nearly fall back down them, though, when Momma asks, “Oh, and would the two of you go with me tomorrow? I have an appointment at the bridal shop to try on dresses… We’ve set a date!”

Francie and I both let out a shriek!

We both say, at the same time, “Of course,” and start asking a million questions.

Momma patiently answers them and then asks, “Oh, and Paige, will you be my maid of honor? I think Angi may plans of her own for you, Francie…”

I hug her and say, “Of course I will! Now, at least all of this time in this corset will finally pay off!”

I am now pretty much fulltime in a training corset—except when cheering or in ballet. Even then, though, I have an exercise corset that I wear when I can. To be honest, I hardly notice it anymore—just when we tighten it down some more. I am already able to easily tighten it down close to 22 inches. My goal is an eighteen-inch waist—don’t ask me why. I just like the way those old actresses looked…

We show Momma our haul and when Mummy comes home and we have filled her in on the ‘excitement’ for the day, we all go out to celebrate the fact that ‘the date’ has been set. Of course, Mummy does ask Francie to be her maid of honor…

Four weeks later, Mrs. DICK-enson and her band of not-so-merry thieves go on trial. While she never admits to being the ringleader of the ‘red bracelet gang’, she does try and make the trial a venue to spread her venom. It only backfires on her and serves to ensure the hate crime conviction the DA is hoping for.

The judge gives her the maximum sentence allowed for all charges. She says, “I have seldom seen such bigotry and disregard for a fellow human or group of humans. On top of that, you were in a position to both influence and inflict harm on innocent children in a public educational institution meant to both protect and nurture those very children. I sentence you to 45 years in the State Penitentiary. Your co-conspirators all are sentenced to 30 years, each. May God have mercy on your souls.”

I look at Sheila and smile—the civil suit for slander will be later. She says, “Well, she won’t even be eligible for parole for twenty years—and it is highly unlikely she will make it. She is going to be a VERY old lady when she gets out, given that she is currently 43. When we win the civil suit—she will be poor on top of that.”

I watch her and the others be escorted out in handcuffs. I still wonder who actually did the stealing—the police are certain that she is covering for someone. The judge MAY have been a bit more lenient if she had cooperated…

I feel better after the first victory in a series of court cases that will define my life for quite some time to come. We all go out to a nice restaurant to celebrate the victory and then I go home to study for midterms—it is hard to believe that half of my junior year is nearly over…and that it is only three weeks until Christmas.

After I finish my review for the day, I pull out my diary and open it. I take a moment to leaf back through it. I had started it right after camp—mostly to practice writing as a girl. I needed to get into the habit of expressing myself in a more feminine way—and my handwriting used to be atrocious. As I look through the entries over the last several months, it is clear that my handwriting has become a thing of feminine beauty. My vocabulary and expressive style has become overtly feminine, as well.

I smile as I read back through some of the entries—the trials and tribulations of getting the cheer team to accept the challenge of trying out for State in the spring. I am proud of that achievement—I am also certain we will make it.

My ballet entries also become more flowery, even if the pain has not. Madame Pratt is certainly putting me through the paces and I am actually dancing at a high pre-professional level. She says that I am better than Francie, even—but that she will never tell HER that!

I tear up a little as I read through the entry from a few weeks ago—the one where we went with Momma to try on wedding dresses. OMG! She was SO beautiful in so many of them! And the one she finally picked out—a DREAM! She looks like a Victorian pixie in it. I know Mummy will be so proud when she sees it.

Of course, Mummy’s is just as pretty—if in a much different way. Francie and I had gone with her the following weekend to help pick out HER’s.

I smile at the memories—then I sigh and start writing down the day’s events—the emotions, thoughts, and feelings that went through my head as the trial progressed. The flirtation with my own hate as she tries to portray me as an abomination and some kind of freak that should not be allowed to even exist. I never actually gave in to the hate—but trust me; it was close. I finish with the satisfaction that her punishment was just and well-deserved…and legal.

I close my diary and start getting ready for bed. As I clean the makeup off of my face, I can’t help but wonder what life would be like if I was still Vick—if none of this had ever happened. I shrug and throw away the soiled makeup remover pad and the question along with it. There is no sense in dwelling on it—that won’t change anything. Even with all of the crap going on around me—I have so much love CLOSE to me. How could I ever really ask for more or complain about what I DO have?

I put down the last period and hand in my last midterm paper—and I am done! It is Christmas break—the pressure is off for three weeks!

I almost skip out of the classroom—two things stop me. One, my stiletto heels would click too loudly on the hard floor and disturb those that aren’t done yet. Two, I still have to meet with Ronnie for one final time this term half.

She had worked really hard on getting things worked out with all involved in and around school. Mrs. DICK-enson’s arrest had caused a stir—but not the one that she had hoped for, I am sure. It actually paved the way for Ronnie to start some of the reforms that Momma, Mummy, and I had been working on, as well. As part of EVERYONE’s midterms, they are taking ‘the test’—the profile that Mummy had worked out.

When we come back, it will be to the results of those tests and an assigned house. Legally, students can’t be forced into the house they are assigned to, at least not in a public school, but, my idea of extra-credit took off. Ronnie figured out a series of extra-credits that students can earn for participation in the program. Some are good towards grades—for those that need a little boost in that arena. Some are extra-curricular. Some are social. All in all, there should be an incentive for most everyone to at least give it a try.

I smile at Ginger and she waves me in. I go into Ronnie’s office and say, “Wow! Break at last!”

She giggles and says, “I know what you mean! Of course, you, your Moms, and I are going to still be busy getting ready for ‘the reform’. I will get the completed ‘tests’ to Angi by the end of the day. We lucked out and got EVERYONE—no illnesses to make up for.”

She hands me a thumb drive and says, “The spreadsheet is on here for assignment to the houses. I appreciate you filling it out—I have to remind you, AGAIN, though, that you can’t talk about it to anyone. Normally students would not have access to this type of information, but given that you are ALREADY classified as pink…”

She smiles and I say good-naturedly, “And I say, AGAIN, that I understand and appreciate the trust.”

Ronnie looks at me and says, “This was a brilliant idea, Paige—and you get all the credit.”

I shake my head and say, “No, it is Mummy’s model—my life circumstances just put me in a place to find a way to advance it.”

Ronnie says, “And you chose to put those life circumstances to good use—and not to wallow in self-pity. I don’t know how *I* would have reacted had I been in your shoes.”

I shake my head and say, “Don’t make me out to be some saint, please! I’m not, I assure you! I have my dark days—I just have a wonderful support structure.”

I give her a hug and say, “Merry Christmas! Sorry, I’m not one of those ‘Happy Holiday’ types. If Christmas isn’t your thing, I hope you have a good ‘whatever you want to have good’ one!”

She laughs and says, “Christmas is fine… You have a wonderful one, too, Paige!”

This time I actually DO skip down the hall and out the front door. I smile as I see the pink Porsche waiting for me. I pull my winter coat tighter closed, breathe out and watch my breath, smile, and walk in a much more sophisticated and elegant way to meet my Mummy for my ride home.