From Sara Jane Rispoli's High School Journal

I glanced at my coffee cup, seeing the reflection of a Chicago cop, right next to me…

His face remained blank as his eyes moved over me – the thick gray walrus mustache twitching thoughtfully under his nose was the only give-away that he was concerned.

I realized what he was seeing was not pretty – a sixteen-year-old girl alone at six in the morning, after a world-class ass-kicking, a face full of bruises, and a nose that, just by its disproportionate size, hinted at trouble.