Words from the mouth of a 10-year-old to a 12-year-old: "You're going to grow up to be a whore, just like your mother."

The 12-year-old listened and then said to a staffer, "I'm going to pour juice in her hair and then I'm going to slap her."

The staffer replies, "If you do, I'm not going to be able to let you back in for a few days."

The 12-year-old sat and sat and thought a bit and said, "Could you take me home?"

That is how I found myself sitting alone in my car with Fran. She has always been one of our most difficult (really obnoxious) children. I used to have to work very hard just to tolerate her, let alone like her. She would call me several times a day on my cellphone, tell me I was an ugly old bag, a bitch, not fair and on and on.

But always, the phone calls started with, "Are you coming?" We would argue for a while about behavior, what time I was coming and if I was coming (to pick her up, that is).

But always that insistent little vioce, irritating as hell: "Well, are you coming?" She never quit, she never gave up on me. I could moan and carry on, I could talk to her mother about that overused word - respect. She could write me notes badly spelled on bits of dirty paper - "I won't be bad again," she'd write, adding "I'm sorry." And much against my better judgment, I'd give in.

But trouble follows Fran like a shadow on a sunny day. Fights and loud vocal disruptions always let me know when Fran is "in the house." There was the day she called my help a fat pig who didn't do her job. There was the time she told me she was going in to get her mother to fight me, and then proceeded to do just that. And yes, I was terrified - her mother is really scary.

This waltz of insults and issues has been going on now for about a year. She has a younger brother and sister who bring their own pecadillos to Quest but somehow never rubbed my nerves as raw as Fran did. But Fran has a special gift; she is loyal. She truly loves her mother, an equally difficult individual but still her mother, after all.

And I would watch this small family of four struggle to lead a simple basic existence. Sometimes in summer, the local car wash, would let the children run through it as if it were a water park. They hung out often at the laundromat, that I could never figure out. And once a friend's mother worked at McDonalds and they would visit the eatery for free food.

These were the high points of their small lives. I would see them at all hours, running the streets and avenues with groups of other kids, watching hoodlums fight in the parking lots and forever eating junk food dripping with sugar. Yet they always waved and yelled to me and even offered to share.

Sometimes I thought that these guys were better people than I was. But still, there was the time Fran went to punch (yes, with a closed fist) the ballet teacher. Thank God she pulled her punch and didn't follow through. I really think Fran was embarassed about the whole thing.

I wasn't, though - I was livid with rage. She was banned from Quest for two weeks, every day pf which was never completed without that phone call, that voice, those words - "Are you coming?"

We had the usual conversations. "My mother told me if anyone touches my brother or sister I have to beat them up," she said very smugly and with the tiniest of smiles on a little, round face. And Fran really, really loved to fight - it was excitement, it was freedom, it was the chance to be the center of attention.

Car rides home at night were a nightmare - screaming in the car and me screaming with the best of them, feeling such a sense of release when I finally dropped Fran off.

One day, Teepha did Fran's hair. We all had to admit it looked nice and that she looked nice. Fran spent days looking at herself in the mirror. Kids teased her, danced around her, trying to block her view. "Well at least she's quiet," we said.

This, of course, could never last, and soon enough we were back to the old Fran, but maybe a slightly more mellow version. An attitude change.

"I've decided to be good," she said. "Can you give me a job?"

"Too young," we replied. "Maybe when you're older."

There were the many times we dragged her away from unsuitable places.

"Why?" she said.

"Because we care," we responded.

"Oh sure," she said.

She could always spot a liar. And while we were not exactly lying,we were stretching things a wee bit.

Many times I could not go and pick her up, and somehow she would arrive at Quest, all chipper and grinning.

"I walked," she said, while what she really meant was, "I'll show you, I'll come anyway." She does live 1-1/2 miles from Quest, and because it often got dark before we closed, I'd sigh and say, "Get in the car, I'll drive you home."

We came from two different sets of values, and as we struggled with each other's obvious dumbness, we began to find a common language. Don't get all excited, we did not exactly become bosom buddies, but we would tolerate each other (barely).

She still gets into fights, she hangs out often with a bad crowd, she'll bust you in the chops if you insult her or her family. But this time, this one time today, she stopped, considered the source and chose to move on. "After all" she said, "it's only GiGi talking, and she's plain stupid."

So the two of us rode alone together in my car, Fran eating her plate of food and I telling her I was really proud of her. And (surprise, surprise) I was.

We were like two pit bulls who decided the fight wasn't worth it. And the pit bull in this corner learned a humbling lesson from a 12-year-old, a 12-year-old, who sure as shooting will call tomorrow.

"Are you coming?" she'll say, and I'll say, "I'll be right there. I'm coming Fran, I'm coming."

QUEST is a community-based organization that provides a safe environment, free meals, counseling, art and recreation programs that keep Hamilton Hill children in school, out of trouble and on track for better lives. For more information on QUEST, visit www.questkids.net.