“No—get lost!” That’s what I’d tell Lisa whenever she started bugging me. She’s eight, but something happened when she was born and she doesn’t look like or even act like an eight year old. In other words, she’s mentally challenged.

 I didn’t realize how often I’d said those three words until the day Sarah Jane and I went to the Mall. We’d both saved our baby-sitting money and had planned to shop for just the right thing to wear to the Christmas party. As usual, Lisa wanted to tag along.

“Want to buy Mom Cwismas pwesent,” Lisa said.

 “No!” I told her emphatically.

 “No—get lost,” Lisa muttered to herself.

 Mom, rolling out cookie dough, heard our argument. “Can’t you take her just this once?” she pleaded. “I can help her with other shopping, but I can’t very well take her to buy mine, can I?”

 “Sure, Mrs. Anderson,” Sarah Jane said. “She’ll enjoy the lights and decorations. We’ll take her.”

 I rolled my eyes. Whose friend was Sarah Jane, anyway?

 Lisa’s little round face lit up like a smiling sun. She was getting her own way again. Oh well, I thought, if I must, I must, but I’m not going to like it.

 Mom washed her hands and reached behind the plant stand for her purse. She grabbed it by the strap and the strap pulled away from the bag.

 “Pocket book bwoke,” Lisa said.

 Mom handed me a ten dollar bill and asked me to help Lisa pick out something.

 As Lisa trotted along beside us to the bus stop, I planned to make her trip so miserable that she’d never want to come along again. When the bus pulled up, Lisa hopped on and ran down the aisle to get a seat. With her little nose pressed against the window, she ooh’d and ah’d about all the Christmas decorations along the street.

 Finally, we reached the Mall.

 “Want to check out Bon Ton’s sweater sale?” I suggested.

As soon as Lisa caught sight of the moving stairs, she pulled back. “No!”

Lisa hated escalators and always refused to ride them. Good! I’ll make her go up, whether she wants to or not.

Sarah Jane opened her mouth to say something, but I shook my head. Lisa’s my sister, and if she insists on coming, she’ll have to do it my way.

 We’ll help you,” Sarah Jane said. “You go first, Chris. Step on the step, Lisa. Hold the railing. You’ll be okay.”

 Christmas music could be heard throughout the Mall. Lisa hummed along with Santa Claus is Coming To Town. As soon as we reached the top, she ran over to the rail to look down the center court. “Sandy Cwaws!” she exclaimed. “Want to see Sandy Cwaws.”

When I didn’t answer, Lisa said softly, “No—get lost.”

 “You’re too big to see Santa,” I told her. “It’s only babies who go see Santa.”

 “Okay. I too big,” Lisa agreed. “Have to buy pwesent for Mom.”

 Apparently every woman in the city had seen Bon Ton’s ad. I completely forgot about Lisa as Sarah Jane and I picked out some sweaters to try on. We took them to the fitting rooms.

 “You ready?” Sarah Jane called from the next stall.

 We both stepped out and laughed. We’d chosen the same green Christmas sweatshirt. We changed back into our regular clothes and walked up to the desk to pay.

 “Where’s Lisa?” I looked around, but my sister was not there.

 “Wasn’t she with you?” Sarah Jane asked.

 I shook my head. I’d been alone in the fitting room.

 “Lisa,” I called in my normal voice, not wanting to make a scene. Several women stared at me, but no response from Lisa. I asked the saleslady, but she’d been too busy to notice a little girl.

 “Maybe she went to see Santa,” Sara Jane suggested.

 “She’d have to use the escalator.”

 We looked down to where Santa sat, with a line of children waiting to give their wants for Christmas. But Lisa was not there. We checked at the service desk. They had no information about a lost child.

 My plan for making Lisa’s trip miserable had backfired. Mom trusted me to take care of my little sister. We had to find her.

 A woman stepped away from the service desk. As she tucked away a gift certificate, she said, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Not too long ago I saw a little girl in the handbag department at Bon Ton’s.”

 Sarah Jane and I looked at each other. I said, “Of course. The handle on Mom’s bag came apart this morning. She wants to buy Mom’s gift.”

 We thanked the lady and rushed back to Bon Ton’s. No little lost girl wandering around the handbag department. Eventually though, we found a saleslady who remembered seeing a small girl.

 “She was with an older woman, a grandmother I would assume,” the lady told us. “They were picking out a purse for her mother.”

 “Did they buy it?” I asked.

 The woman nodded. She led us over to the counter of the more expensive bags and pointed to the one they had purchased. The price: $95.

 “Oh no, I thought. Would someone abduct a child for a $95 purse? Sarah Jane thanked the lady and we walked away. I swallowed hard and brushed away the tears that blurred my eyes. Now I wasn’t even concerned about what Mom would say. I realized that I loved my little sister, even though she is a pest—sometimes, I added to myself. Where had the lady taken her and what would happen to her? Never again would I tell her to get lost.

 “Sara Jane, let’s pray,” I suggested, “then we’ll get security to help us find her.”

 We hurried through the Mall toward the escalator that we had forced Lisa to ride.

 “Would you believe that!” I grabbed Sarah Jane’s hand and we stood back and watched.

 There was Lisa riding down the escalator. Alone. She reached the first floor and ran around to come up.

 When Lisa reached the second floor, she saw us and ran to me. I gave her the biggest hug ever. “Oh, Lisa. I thought you were lost.”

 “No, I not get lost. Cwissy, dank you for bringing me to Mall. I having so much fun.”

 I hugged her again. “Come on, Lisa, let’s buy Mom’s present.”