Calling Maggie May by Anonymous

to keep police away. I studied and used my head. One day all the other girls worked for me.
    â€œYou’re like me, I think. A smart girl and hardworking. Keep your head, study what the clients want, and give them their fantasy.” She leaned forward and patted my knee. “You will do better than the others.”
    I didn’t know how to respond. I admit, I didn’t feel totally comfortable with her suggestions. Miss Irma was so different from my mom, but in some ways they were remarkably similar. Always full of directions of how I should act and behave to be pleasing to anyone but myself.
    Luckily, Irma didn’t seem to expect me to say much of anything. When she had said her bit, she simply handed me a plain white envelope. I was surprised when I saw it and didn’t reach for it immediately. Strangely enough, I had almost forgotten why I had come in the first place—not to receive lessons in making myself appealing to men, but to pick up my payment.
    I was embarrassed to look through the envelope in front of Irma. It seemed rude, so I let her show me out her front door before I stopped and checked it. And as I flipped through the bills inside, I suddenly felt a lot better about our conversation and my new vocation. Living up to the images my mom and Miss Irma expected felt like being stuck in a cage, but havingan envelope full of cash that I earned through my own work . . . that felt like freedom.

Sun, Dec 21
    I got a text from Ada today just as I was helping clear the table from lunch. It couldn’t have come at a better time. Mom was hassling me again about why she didn’t see me working on my homework so much anymore, what’s going on with my grades, and why am I so disobedient, blah, blah, blah. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, so when Ada texted to see if I wanted to go shopping with her, I texted right back that I would meet her downtown.
    Of course Mom the busybody wanted to know who I was talking to and why. Out of instinct, a lie rose to my lips about how it was someone from my English class, and we’re working on a group project, and I have to go meet them at the Starbucks a few blocks away. But the words died in my throat. I just thought, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do it. I am sick of leading a double life.
    So I just told her. I mean, I didn’t say, “It’s my hooker friend and she’s helping me pick out clothes I can wear while turning tricks.” But I did say, “It’s a friend. I’m meeting her to go shopping.” Which, as far as Mom is concerned, might as well be the same thing. She nearly hit the roof when I said that. It stunned her silent for a second or two at first, and I couldread on her face the internal battle she was waging between telling me off for disrespecting her and telling me off for doing something fun with my weekend when my grades were so disappointing. And maybe also joining the battle was the nosy part of her who couldn’t bear to imagine I might have a friend she didn’t know about.
    But that was only a moment or two before she burst forth with her battle cry. The approach she went with was the grades—how I wasn’t going anywhere until I had done all my homework and brought my grades up, etc., etc. Which almost made me laugh. As if there was ever really an “until.” In my whole life, even when I was doing really well, my grades have never been good enough for me to deserve going off and doing something fun by myself. There would always be another task for me to complete, another thing I’m just not doing quite well enough at.
    Well, I’m tired of living in her prison. If she wants me to stick around a minute longer, she’s going to have to chain me to the radiator. And until she does that, I will go where I please. Her guilt trips can’t affect me anymore.

Sun, Dec 21, later
    Back from my shopping trip with Ada. After the scene