It was over fifteen years ago when I first met Margo Vaschenko. Summer was over, and it was my first day as a senior at Middleton High School. I parked in the school parking lot, got out of my four-year-old Ford Mustang and opened the passenger door for my sister Carol. My sister and I were walking toward the main entrance when I saw a couple of guys and a girl teasing a girl who looked totally lost and out of place. I yelled at them and told them to get lost. Damn, the first day hadn’t even started, and the bullies were out.

Margo had a scarf over her coal-black hair and a long one-piece dress that, according to my sister, went out of style ten years ago. I dragged my sister over. “Do something. People will make fun of her.”

My sister Carol is sixteen and can’t leave the house until she has mixed and matched half her closet to get the perfect outfit for the occasion. Carol took one look at Margo, “Oh my god.”

“Carol, please don’t...”

“It’s okay, Mike. I can work with this. It won’t be great, but it will get her through the day.

We introduced ourselves and apologized for the behavior of our fellow students.

My sister was in her element and took over, “What’s your name, honey?”

With a Baltic accent and better English than I expected, the waif replied, “Margo Vaschenko. You will help me, No?”

“Of course we’ll help.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked my sister.

My sister smiled, “Watch and learn.”

My sister asked Margo for her scarf. Then tied it around Margo’s to cinch the waist. The way my sister tied the flowered scarf gave Margo a whole new look. Then, my sister unbuttoned the three buttons that Margo had buttoned up to her throat.

My sister smiled, “Much better.” Carol took Margo’s hand, “Come with me. We are not done yet.” I followed as my sister hurried Margo off to the lady’s room. I waited outside for them to come out. When they came out, Margo was wearing lipstick and blush, and her eyes were made up. My jaw dropped. Margo Vaschenko had a look about her that is hard to describe. Yes, she is pretty, but there was something else. There was something special about how she carried herself and how her eyes captured mine. Nobody was going to be looking at or care what she wore.

I looked at my class schedule and mumbled, “See you later.” The day went by quickly. When I met my sister in the parking lot, she told me she had invited Margo over, and we were to pick her up at 7:00. My sister had taken Margo under her wing and invited her over to play in her overstuffed closet.

I drove my sister over to the address Margo had given her. We were introduced to Margo’s parents. Her mother seemed delighted that Margo had made a friend on her first day at her new school. Her father was pleasant when I was introduced as Carol’s brother, and I was only here to drive them to our house. When they asked, Carol assured them that our parents would be home.

When we got back to our house, introductions were made. My mother and father took an instant liking to Margo. I mean, who wouldn’t?

After the pleasantries were over, I was left downstairs when Carol and Margo went to my sister’s bedroom. Carol started pulling clothes out of her closet. She handed Margo a few things, “Here. Try these on. Don’t worry if they don’t fit perfectly. I just want to see how the color and style look on you.”

Margo changed in the bathroom, and when she came out, Carol was amazed, “Oh my god, Margo. The guys are going to be hitting on you from day one.”

“What is hitting on me?”

“You know, asking you out on a date.”

“Do you think your brother will hit on me?”

“My brother?”

“Ya, he is very handsome and very kind. Good shoulders like my Papa.”

“Yeah, I guess he is kind of nice ... most of the time.”

And that’s how it started. Despite the two-year difference in their age, my sister Carol quickly became Margo’s best friend and Margo’s fashion consultant.

Of course, big brother had to drive them to the Mall and pick them up when they called. I didn’t mind too much. I was already my sister’s designated chauffeur. When my sister said she needed me to pick up Margo and drop them off, I would always say it wasn’t that far out of my way. The truth is, if I had a chance to see Margo, I would drive my sister anywhere she wanted to go.

Over the next month, Margo came to trust me almost as much as she trusted my sister. The three of us would go together to the lake to swim, see a movie or hang out at the Mall, always in the afternoon or early evening. Margo never stayed out after dark. I was in awe of the beautiful Margo Vaschenko and never thought a girl that lovely would want to date me. After all, she was my sister’s friend, and I was just the chauffeur.

The Harvest Dance was the first of the school year’s special events. My sister asked me if I had a date. I told her I hadn’t asked anyone yet. Then she said I should ask Margo. At first, I laughed, then asked ... Really, do you think she would go with me? I didn’t miss how all the guys looked at her when she walked down the hall. I was sure a few had already asked her to the dance.

My sister rolled her eyes, “For god’s sake, Michael. Of course, she will go with you unless you let Bob Harding beat you to it.”

Bob Harding is the captain of the football team. He had a different girl hanging on him every month. That sleaze bag wasn’t getting anywhere near Margo if I could help it. I took out my cell phone and dialed. I sat with my mouth hanging open when I disconnected the call, “She said yes.”

My sister smiled and said, “Told ya. We will need to go to the Mall.”

Still numb, I answered, “Okay.” Without adding my usual comment. “Again?”

I sat in the food court for over two hours while my sister, Margo, and Emma Long, my sister’s date, shopped for the perfect outfit.

Emma and my sister waited in the car the night of the dance when I went in to pick up Margo. It wasn’t like Margo’s mother and father didn’t know me. My sister and I picked her up every day for school, and every other function my sister and Margo planned.

Her mother stood smiling as her father stood looking rather stern. Margo came down the stairs. She looked fantastic. She kissed her mother and father’s cheek and then took my arm. She smiled and said, “We go now, papa.” Her mother told her, “You have good time, Margo.” Her father just nodded and said the fatherly words, “You bring her home on time. I know what time dance is over.”

On the way to the car, Margo told me, “My mother say you good man to take me to the dance. My father say he will beat me if I come home late. He will kill you if I come home pregnant.” It was all a lie, but it was her way of setting boundaries. That was the first of many times I escorted Marge to a school function.

Half the guys that went to Middleton High School claim they dated Margo Vaschenko. None of them ever did. We had an exclusive but platonic relationship. At the time, I believed every word Margo told me that night I took her to the Harvest dance. I learned over the years that her mother was the sweetest thing on this earth, and her father, although quite imposing, would never lay a hand on her except to give her a hug.

We graduated from high school, and Margo was given more freedom. More freedom meant we often went out together without my sister and Emma as chaperones. We started holding hands, and I was allowed a kiss goodnight. I had started to think of Margo as my girlfriend. Although Margo still spent most of her time with my sister and her friends.

It was near the end of the summer. We were parked overlooking the lake and kissing when I brushed my hands over the side of Margo’s breasts. I quickly apologized, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Margo kissed me, “I am a woman now, and you are my boyfriend. It is expected that you will try to have sex with me.”

“I wasn’t trying to...”

“You do not like me enough to try to have sex with me?” Margo was smiling, and I knew she was having fun teasing me. I knew no matter what I answered, I was in trouble.

Margo kissed me; “Maybe you try, and maybe I let you. You know, what do you boys say? Get Lucky?

I won’t describe what that next half was like because I don’t have the words for it.

I rolled off of Margo, “Oh god, your father is going to kill me.”

Margo laughed, “No, Papa will not kill you. You will have to marry me if he finds out.”