Marcy loved to run a little wild. They talked about her all over town. Old women would whisper in little huddles as she passed by with looks of derision. So cutting were those looks of disapproval, a lesser courageous soul would have been cut and bled out long ago. But Marcy didn't bother, she saw it as "you ain't no-one if nobody is talkin' bout ya." She was brash, carefree and the happiest spirit you ever did see. Her young teenage life was unpredictable and fun, she didn't let killjoy things like school and parents get her down. She'd found boys and what beauty really gets you... a whole lot of trouble, and she liked that. Plenty of time to be old and grown up and worry about stuff later.

Now Marcy was a looker sure, but she wasn't a natural beauty. It was Miss Maybelline Willis who taught her that a real lady embellishes the truth a little. Miss Maybelline ran the local beauty parlour that her Ma made her work in on weekends and two nights after school. She said having her own money and having to earn it would teach her things don't come cheap, everything has a price. Marcy liked it there from day one, but she was apt to be a little forward thinking for a small provincial town like Camen Springs. She once dealt Old widow Frank a mighty big shock when she gave her red streaks in her blue rinse. She said she'd seen it in a magazine on a pop singer named Pink, and as that was Mrs Frank's favourite colour it seemed kind of fitting to be doing something new for her. Sadly the old girl went into mild hysterics and demanded a do-over and Marcy had to sweep the store for a week. She was always doing crazy stuff like that, but the owner and clientele warmed quickly to the girl and her adventurous spirit. She made them laugh about her exploits at school, and tidbits of gossip from a young perspective. But the one thing Marcy was evidently not appreciative of was her baby brother Mikey.

"Why do I have to look after him, he's not my responsibility."
"He cramps my style, I don't want him taggin' along with me and my friends."
Oh it's just not fair, he's too young and I can't take him anywhere..."

The list of excuses was endless. Mikey was eight years old and a real bookworm. His bottle lens glasses looked ridiculous and he could always be relied upon to do the right thing.
"He's a fibber and a good two shoes," she'd say...