A/N: An anonymous guest reviewer said that I was incorrect in the way a high school soccer game is played, and therefore, the story is ruined. First off, my goddaughter is an accomplished high school socceer player, playing on the JV team as an eighter grader. She played two games on Varsity this year, as an eighth grader. She plays four 20-minute quarters. In addition, after going to several websites, which is a really easy search, I found this from the website theclassroom dot com about the length of a high school soccer game. So, before you decided to leave a rude remark anonymously, make sure you have the facts. "Girl's high school soccer game is 80 minutes in duration. The game can be divided into two 40-minute halves or four 20-minute quarters. There is a 10-minute break between the first and second half or between the second and third quarters."

Sorry to the rest of my wonderful readers and reviewers, but I work hard to research as much as I can to have as accurate of a story as possible. Now, while I do occassionally make mistakes, I will own up to them and correct them when possible. However, when I am correct, I need to be able to explain myself. You want to make a claim, provide evidence to support it. That is what I teach my students, and it is what I live by. Thank you for your wonderful support.

Mrs. Plum POV

I can't believe that I was forced to fly down to Miami. That good-for-nothing Caterina Ventimiglia suggested that we were hiding Stephanie because she was pregnant. Well, that is such a preposterous idea. If she were pregnant, the Rizzi's would have sent her home, and she'd be married to that nice, respectable Joe Morelli before the end of the year. So now, to prove that she isn't pregnant, I need to fly down to Miami. The plane lands, and I step into the airport to find it filled with undesirables. I must hold my purse close to my body. I quickly walk to the baggage claim, obtaining my small suitcase from the belt when it arrives. I take my suitcase, then practically run to the rental car operators. I manage to get a nice Buick to rent, along with directions to the house where Stephanie is living. I have hotel reservations at a large hotel in South Beach. From what I understand, South Beach isn't far from the house where Stephanie is staying.

It took me two hours, but I finally managed to find the dwelling. As I saw it, I cringed. I can't believe the colors that these people use! I see pink, turquoise, lime green, yellow, and purple houses. It's crazy. I pull up in front of a white house, thank goodness, and park the car. When I exit, I only see people who look like Mrs. Rizzi and her family around. My goodness, my daughter, is living amid these low-lives. I shudder at that thought. I finally make my way to the door and ring the bell.

A kind-looking elderly Hispanic woman opens the door. I can tell that she was stunningly beautiful in her youth, as she is very attractive for her age. I'm guessing that she must be in her sixties.

"Hola, me llamo es Rosa. ʖCuál es su nombre?" She asks. I just stare. How could this woman not speak English?

"I'm Ellen Plum. I want to see my daughter Stephanie."

"Ah, Estefanía. Estefanía no está aquí. Ella esta escuela. Espero su casa en aproximadamente media hora. Adelante. Tomemos un café."

At that moment, a handsome young man walks over to the door. It takes me a moment to recognize Lester Santos.

"Mrs. Plum, how nice to see you. Abuela invited you inside for coffee. Follow me. Does Stephanie know you were coming down?"

"No, I have to leave tomorrow morning, as we have a flight to Italy tomorrow at two out of Newark."

"I see," Lester replies. We walk to the kitchen, sitting around a table. The walls of the kitchen are mint green and yellow, with a few Cuban inspired pictures. Way too loud for my taste. We make pleasant conversation, with Lester translating between Mrs. Manoso and me. Soon, I start to hear voices from the other room. The first is a low, rumbling voice. The second is that of my wayward daughter.

"Babe, come on, what does your dress look like? Why won't you tell me?"

"Carlos, you know I want it to be a surprise. You'll see it next Friday."

The swinging door to the kitchen opens, and my daughter stops dead in her tracks, staring at me. A boy, I'm guessing Carlos, almost walks into her. I see her stumble, and he catches her before she can fall.

"Mom, what are you doing here?"

"Estefanía, esa no es la forma de saludar a tu madre. Dale un abrazo y un beso. Ella se asegura de que no estés embarazada."

I have no idea what the woman said, but Stephanie obviously does. She walks over to me, kissing me on the cheek and hugging me.

"Can we go someplace to talk?" I ask her, clearly seeing that there is no way she's pregnant. She would be four months, and I'd see a rounded belly. With the short shirt she's wearing, I can clearly see that her stomach is flat."

"Yeah, we can sit in the living room. Let me just grab some water." I watch as my daughter goes to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. She then walks to the counter, picking up the lid of a pot, inhaling the scent. She then turns to Mrs. Manoso. "Abuela, la cena huele deliciosa. No puedo esperar para comer."

"Gracias, mi hija."

We walk together into the living room. Stephanie sits on the couch, and I take a straight back chair.

"I'm taking you home with me. You are leaving this house tonight. Tomorrow morning, we fly home to New Jersey. You have one hour to pack your stuff up. You will be staying with Grandma and Grandpa Mazur until your father, and I return a month before Valerie's wedding."

"Why? I'm happy here with Abuela Rosa. I'm doing well in school. I'm on the Varsity soccer team, and I will most like make the All-County team. Mom, I don't want to go back to Trenton. I like Miami."

"But this is not your family. You know, everyone in the Burg thinks you are pregnant, and that is why I sent you away. I will not have these rumors sully our good name. I will not have all the nice Burg boys shunning you. You will come home, and you will marry a good Burg man, like Valerie."

"No. I'm not going with you. My home is here. I'm staying here with Abuela Rosa, Lester, and Carlos. They understand me here, they allow me to be me. I am learning how to cook. I help clean the house, and I have a great group of friends. I have a 97.5 average. Please don't make me leave."

"You cook? What do you cook? I'm sure it's not lasagna, pot roast, or cabbage rolls."

"No, Mom, I cook the dishes Abuela teaches me, Cuban food, and I love it."

"Here you go again. What Burg man will marry you if you can't cook the proper foods. This is ridiculous, Stephanie. You are coming home with me, and that's final. Now, go into that kitchen, thank Mrs. Manoso for her hospitality, then march upstairs to pack your bag. You now have forty minutes. If you aren't packed, then it will stay here. I don't care either way."

"No. I will not. I am not leaving. You can't make me leave."

I can't believe my daughter is talking back to me. This is not how I raised her. If she were anything like Valerie, she would be upstairs packing already. If she were anything like Valerie, she wouldn't be here in the first place. Where did I go wrong with Stephanie? I walk over to her, so I'm standing directly in front of her. "You will go do as a said right now. Do you understand?"

"NO!" I reach out and slap her across the face hard, leaving a red mark on her cheek. She stares at me with her eyes wide open, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Go. NOW!" I order her.

"NO!" She replies, getting up to run to the kitchen. I grab her hair in anger and pull it, so she's back on the couch. Before I can blink, Lester is moving me backward, and Carlos is sitting next to Stephanie, with his arms wrapped around her. I think I'm going to be sick. I can't allow her to be with someone like him.

"Basta! Señora Plum, I don't know what happens in your house, but at my home, we don't strike our children. EVER. We don't send our children away because they embarrass us or because we are concerned about what the neighbors would think. We raise our children with love and provide them with a stable, loving home. Carlos and Lester were sent to me because they were making the wrong decisions, and with their siblings, their parents, my son, and daughter couldn't give them the attention they need to stay on the straight and narrow. Here, I've given those boys the love and attention they desired. Since then, they have both excelled in school, becoming the men we always wanted them to be. Lester has a full scholarship to college. He's on their soccer team and is keeping a 4.0 GPA. Carlos is the star of his soccer team in high school, has a 100 GPA, and is on his way to a full scholarship as well. Both of my boys have helped me out around the house and around Miami. They fix things when they break, they take me to the stores, and they help to cook and clean. They stay because they like it here, not because we are forcing them to stay.

"Your daughter came here emotionally broken. She'd wake up every night from nightmares about what she had to endure. She called herself a whore and a slut because some boy, some man, took advantage of her and forced her to do something she didn't want to do. She was forced to face the consequences of that rape, to imagine life as a 17-year-old mother, but, fortunately, God took that child away before he or she could be born, sparing Stephanie that burden. She was a young woman with no self-confidence and a poor image of herself. Now, she is becoming a confident, happy young woman. Miami is good for her, and she will stay. After your little display, I will not allow her to leave with you. You have not provided her with the love and support she needs and deserves. I have no problem with fighting you in court for Stephanie's guardianship.

"I have been supporting your daughter fully since July. I haven't asked you or your husband for any money to help with her additional expenses and won't do so. I keep her here because I love her because Estefanía is part of the family. My boys protect her, the way you and your husband should have, and will make sure that no one takes advantage of her. She has learned that she is a victim and still worthy of love. Now, I would like to ask you to leave before I call the cops."

I stand to stare at this woman. How dare she tell me how to raise my daughter. Not to mention, she made me believe that she only spoke Spanish, and those, those miscreants, including my daughter, played along. I'm so angry right now.

"I'll be more than happy to leave once my daughter's bags are packed. She is leaving with me."

"Lester, mi hijo, please call the cops. We will have them take Señora Plum away from here. Carlos, please take Estefania into the kitchen to finish dinner. It should be ready in about fifteen minutes."

I watch as that spic helps Stephanie up, walking with his arm around her waist into the kitchen. I'm drawn back to the woman in front of me when Lester tells her, "they will be here in five minutes, Abuela Rosa."

We stood, staring at each other, neither one backing down when there was a knock on the front door. Lester went to open the door.

"Señora Manoso, buenas noches. What is the problem?"

"Señora wants to bring her daughter, Estefania home with her to New Jersey, to dump her on her grandparents because she's embarrassed. Estefania doesn't want to go. She wants to stay here. I observed Señora Plum slap her daughter in the face and pull her hair, throwing her back on the couch when she didn't comply. I want her out of my house, and I want a restraining order, Miguel."

"Mrs. Plum, what do you have to say?"

"I want my daughter to come with me. She is my child, and she is a minor. I allowed her to come here initially for the summer, but then she stayed beyond. She was supposed to return home before Labor Day."

"So, what are you saying, Mrs. Plum."

"This woman is kidnapping my child. Now, she's brained-washed her as well."

I watch as he looks at Lester, watching him shake his head. "Les, can you please bring Steph in here?"

This is such bull. It seems that everyone knows each other. I watch as Stephanie walks back into the room, with Lester on one side, and Carlos on the other. I see that her eye is red and puffy, looking swollen. I couldn't have done that. I didn't hit her that hard.

"Hiya, Steph. How are you? Juan was telling me about the two goals you scored today. He said you were amazing on the pitch."

I watch as her eyes light up and she smiles a dazzling smile. "Thanks, Miguel. The goals weren't all that special."

"Jersey, you realize that no team has scored more than one goal against that team in three seasons. You did, single-handedly, what no other team has been able to accomplish."

"Thanks, really," she replied, looking at her feet, face red with embarrassment.

"Steph, why don't you want to go home with your mother?"

"I love it here, I love it here with Abuela, Les, and Carlos. I feel like I am normal when I'm here. I can do what I want to do. I can play soccer and not be told that I was embarrassing myself. I can do well in school and think about going to college, instead of biding my time until I marry someone. I don't have to be barefoot and pregnant. I can fly."

"Who gave you that black eye, querida?"

"She didn't mean it. She just wanted me to go with her. I didn't listen. I deserved it."

"Jersey, who?"

"My mother," Steph replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes are downcast, and she turns to the darker boy. He puts his arms around her, pulls her head into his chest, murmuring in Spanish to her, as I watch her body start to shake from tears.

"I'll leave. I'll allow Stephanie to stay."

"That's a good idea, Mrs. Plum. Stephanie, do you want to press charges?"

"No, Miguel. Thank you for coming out."

I gathered my purse and take out the keys to the rental car. I leave the house, climbing behind the wheel and heading to the hotel. When I arrive, I checked into my single room. I sat down, thinking about Stephanie. When did she become so different? When did she change? When she was a toddler, she was so loving, so caring, so much like Valerie. Then, she changed. What made her change? When Steph was three, I was pregnant. We were expecting a baby, a little boy. I had some complications during my pregnancy with him. Then, one day, Stephanie was playing in the dirt, where she knew she wasn't allowed to play. There was a hornet's nest there. She disturbed it and got stung. She went into anaphylactic shock. We had to call an ambulance. She almost died on her way to the hospital. The stress of her injury forced me into early labor. I was only thirty weeks. I delivered our son, Frank Matthew Plum, Jr., who died three hours later. It was all Stephanie's fault that we lost our baby boy. I couldn't look at her or interact with her for almost three months. I didn't want her. I should have known then that she was going to be my cross to bear, my problem. I knew we should have sent her to live with Frank's brother. Then, she would be out of our hands. Well, I've had enough of her. Once Val is married, I'm cutting ties with Stephanie. I can't do it beforehand, too many people will talk, but I'll just tell everyone that Stephanie chose to move away, to renounce us. I'll play the heartbroken mother. I'll have the sympathy of the Burg, and Stephanie will be forever relegated Burg outcast. Perfect.