The police officer looked me up and down for a few moments, and then exhaled. “Your painting of Natasha has had the hotline ringing off the hook. We’ve gotten some good leads.”

“I hope you find her,” I said softly and then waited a while. But when she stayed silent, I couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore. “So . . . what’s happening to me? Am I going to be a-a-arrested?” The word stuck in my throat.

She shook her head. “No. But there’s going to be a fine, and you’re going to have to do some community service, and you’re going to have to stop, unless you apply for the proper permits.”

I nodded. Relief washed over me in bucket loads. Despite my courage, I really didn’t want to go to jail for three months.

I turned to the principal and Xander. “May I go back to the dance now?”

The principal shook his head. “No. I’m afraid we’re going to have to suspend you over this. I can’t have pupils committing crimes, especially while wearing school clothing.”

I hung my head. “I understand.”

“And we’ll have to ask you to leave now,” the principal said, rising from his chair.

“I’m sorry,” Xander added quickly from the sidelines. I looked at him and he gave me a small, encouraging smile, as if he was trying to communicate that he was on my side here, in my corner.

“Look how much trouble you’ve caused, Lori,” my mother moaned from behind me. “When did you become such a troublemaker? You were always such a good girl.” My mom turned to the principal and Xander now. “I didn’t raise her to be like this, I didn’t . . .”

“Raise me?” I turned and glared at her. “Raise me?” I repeated, letting the question hang in the air. The tension in the room was palpable now, and the question hung in it like the smell of sulfur after a fireworks display, catching in your throat and making your eyes sting. And when my mom said nothing in response, when she didn’t even open her mouth to attempt anything, I felt something happening inside me. Something big that was just fighting to get out. I took a stride toward her and in the calmest tone I could muster, I found my voice and spoke my truth.

“Mom, you haven’t ‘raised me’ for years. Not since the divorce. You haven’t been a real parent to me, or Zac, and I think it’s time you acknowledge that.”

Her face and lips went white and she looked around the room, shaking her head and forcing a smile as if desperately trying to keep up appearances, even though they were slipping fast with every word I spoke.