I wasn't sure how we were going to play it, but when Mom reached into the changing booth and rolled my boy clothes up into a tight roll, I got it: for the moment, I was Juliette.

---

 

3. Clarkina Kent
 

Mom handed me a DVD. The cover showed a teenage blonde with her finger to her lips and the title Hannah Montana: Living The Life of a Rock Star. "You can't be serious," I said.

"Miranda is nuts about this show," Mom said. "It'll give you something to talk about with her. If you don't know who she is..."

I sighed.

"Look, just watch one episode. It's only a half hour. It won't kill you," Mom said.

---

So... don't tell anyone, but I watched the whole thing. All four episodes. And it was pretty funny. Mom didn't come in and tease me at all, which was a relief.

I was sitting there laughing, in the middle of the last episode, when the phone rang.

In my house, we call it when we pick up the phone. Since I didn't hear Mom sing out, I hit MUTE on the TV control, yelled "I got it!" and picked up.

Guess who it was.

"Hi, is this Juliette?" a girl's voice asked.

I swore silently and (knowing full well who it was) asked, "Yes, who is this?"

"This is Miranda. My Mom says you're going trick-or-treating with us this year."

"Yes, I am. Do you mind?"

"No! I'm glad. It will be nice to have somebody to go with." She hesitated, then asked, "So what are you doing?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm watching a Hannah Montana DVD. It's pretty funny."

"Oh! That's my favorite show!" That was her cue to give me the blow-by-blow of her favorite episode (when Hannah has bed-head). Once Miranda started, I knew I'd have to hear the whole thing. I expected to be incredibly bored, but she actually had me laughing pretty hard.

She asked my favorite episode, so I picked one of the ones I'd just seen. Then she ran through her other favorite shows, none of which I'd heard of. I took the excuse that I didn't watch much TV. We asked each other what we did after school, what school was like, and wasn't there so much more homework in fifth grade than in fourth?

Luckily I remembered that I was supposed to be in fifth grade.

Mom was right: Miranda was nice. And smart. And easy to talk to. I nearly messed up a couple of times and gave myself away, but I caught myself in time.

"You seem pretty nice," she said to me.

"Thanks, you too," I said, and added sincerely, "I'm looking forward to meeting you."

"Me too!" she said. "Hey, have you ever been to an IMAX?"

"Maybe once," I said. In case you don't know, an IMAX is a movie theater where the screen is huge and wraps around you, so the picture fills your whole eye, even your peripheral vision.

"At the Museum of Science they have this IMAX film called Mystery of the Nile..." She tried to describe it, then gave up and told me a URL so we could watch the trailer on the web together. It looked pretty cool.

Now, I know this will sound stupid. Okay, it *is* stupid, but the whole time we were talking, I never for once connected this movie, the IMAX movie, with the movie she wanted to take me to. When I thought movie, I thought of movie theater, popcorn, coming attractions. Not a high-tech science-museum show.

In my mind, we were just talking. It wasn't leading anywhere.

The trailer blew my mind. When it was over, I couldn't say anything except, "Wow. I'd really like to see that."

"I have tickets!" she announced gleefully.

---

Later, at the dinner table, Mom said, "I don't understand. You *knew* she was going to invite you to a movie."

"I thought it was going to be a movie movie, not a thing at a science museum," I whined.

My father put his hand over his face and struggled not to laugh. "A thing at a science museum. Yes, I see how *that* makes it different! It's a whole 'nother animal!" He closed his eyes and winced with the effort.

"Why don't you just go ahead and laugh?" I said. "You can't make me feel any worse."

Paradoxically, that quieted my father down.

My mother kept gesturing with her hands, as if she was about to speak, but didn't say anything. At last she said, "I still can't see how you could... I mean, we were going to come up with an excuse, but now you've said you'll go..."

"I couldn't say I wouldn't go after I said I wanted to see it," I protested. "Besides, she caught me by surprise! I thought she was going to call tomorrow."

"Caught you by surprise?" Mom asked. "You were on the phone with her for 45 minutes!"

"I was!?" I said in amazement.

"He could get sick," Dad suggested.

Mom frowned disapprovingly. "That excuse is the lamest, least believable..."

I didn't feel inspired when I said it. I was just thinking out loud, but I said, "I think I should just tell her the truth about who I am. And then I could go with her as me."

"As you. As Victor-you, not Juliette-you."

"Right."

Mom and Dad looked at each other. Dad shrugged, "Makes sense. No loose ends."

"So you'd want to see a movie with a ten-year-old girl?" Mom asked, smiling.

"Oh, Mom," I groaned, turning red. "Don't make this into something that it's not."

She continued smiling, "She's a very nice girl."

I groaned. "She's not going to be my girlfriend or anything."

"*I* never used the word 'girlfriend'," Mom teased. "You did."

I shook my head and refused to be baited.

Mom looked at me, smiling, for a bit longer. I guess she couldn't come up with any more teases, and Dad was just eating. So Mom sighed and said, "All right. About your secret identity: Let me call Macy first. It does make the most sense, for her to know who you are, but before you call Miranda and drop the bomb, I'd like to let her mother know what's coming."

A huge weight rolled off my shoulders...

---

... until the damn glasses appeared.

The next day, Mom surprised me by picking me up at school. The back seat was filled with shopping bags, and I saw a pair of wings sticking out of one. Mom was all hyper-enthusiastic, smiling like crazy. She and the bags made me nervous.

She didn't even say hello — she just launched right into it: "I got ALL the accessories, even the shoes, for you and Miranda. Did I tell you I'm making three costumes for her, too? Now that I've gotten in the groove, they're coming out much faster."

One part of my mind was processing what she said. Another part was rearing back in horror at the implications, and a third part said, "Mom, can we get out of here? Do you have to talk about this stuff where someone could hear?"

As if on cue, Lou plunked his hands on the car and greeted my mother. I stiffened when he asked about the bags, but Mom just smiled and told him she'd "done a little shopping."

Lou said, "Can you give me a ride? I think I can squeeze in back there."

Mom surprised me by having an answer ready. "No, sorry, Lou, but today we're going in the opposite direction. I have to take Victor to Newton Village to look for winter clothes, and I want to be done before dinner.."

"Ugh," Lou replied. "Good luck with that, Chapters. May the Force be with you!" He hoisted his bag on his shoulder and started off. Then, remembering, he turned back and said, "Hope Chapters' uncle's feeling better!"

Then he disappeared. Mom gave me a questioning look. I squirmed a bit, then 'fessed up: saying "Uncle Mickey," as if that explained everything.

Her lips tightened, and she said, "You and your father! I don't even want to know what story you made up and why, but just remember that your uncle is real person, can you do that?"

With that, she put the car in gear and hung a sharp U turn that made the tires squeal. A group of kids jumped back on the curb in alarm, but I didn't say a word.

Mom didn't talk, either. She just drove.

I sat in quiet guilt-fed agony and knew she was right. For me, "Uncle Mickey" was just a name. I'd never even seen a picture of him. For Mom, he was someone she knew and liked... and missed.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

She loosened up and smiled. "It's okay, kiddo." She took a breath and started talking. She talked and talked, and told me everything she knew about Uncle Mickey: how she knew him, her memories of him, what his sisters (my aunts) had to say, and so on. I was fascinated. He was a part of my life too, a part hidden behind a secret door, and now I was catching a glimpse.

All the while, she drove. And drove. Until she stopped and shut the off the engine.

"Where are we?" I asked, bewildered.

"Newton Village," she replied. "I was just giving an excuse to Lou, but then I figured, what the heck? Besides, I had been thinking of bringing you here to this thrift shop, but I couldn't make up my mind.

"First, though, take a look at these. Try them on." She pulled a pair of glasses from her purse. The thin frames were a dark red, almost purple. When I put them on and looked around, I frowned. Everything looked the same.

"That's because they're plain glass," Mom explained. "They're stage glasses, for when an actor plays a part that needs glasses. It was a whim. I was thinking of how Miranda would be Supergirl, and with those and a suit she could be Clarkina Kent or something."

I laughed, and pulled down the sun visor so I could use the mirror on its back. I looked surprising different.

"Yes, you do," Mom agreed. "I always thought that Superman's disguise was silly, but that honestly makes you look like another person."

"Can I wear them for a while?" I asked.

"Sure," she said as we got out of the car.

"So why are we here?" I asked. "I hope this isn't for me?"

"No," she said. "It's for Miranda. I wanted to see if I could find another princess-like dress so I could make one of those for her, too."

Oh, right! "Mom, you said you're making *three* costumes for her... does that mean–"

"– that she'll be with you all weekend? Yes, it does. Do you mind?"

"No, not really."

"You like her, don't you?"

I hedged. "Um, I've never even met her..."

Mom smiled. "Well, if she's your friend, you won't mind trying something on for her, will you?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She just entered the store, leaving me gawking on the pavement.

---

When I caught up with Mom, she was already working her way through a rack of fluffy, girly, princessy dresses. She caught my look and said, "You don't have to stay with me while I do this. Have a look around. But, Victor–"

"What?"

"Take those glasses off first. You don't look bad, but you look too different." She hesitated, then said it: "They make you look like a girl."

That made it easy. I took them off and handed them to her. She dropped them in her purse.

There was nothing of interest in the store at all, until I discovered the book area. There were some historical novels that piqued my interest, so I opened one and started to read...

Mom had dresses in her arms when she found me. She looked a little embarrassed as she asked, "Would you mind?"

I thought for a moment.

She said, "The store is practically empty. No one will see you."

I sighed and shrugged and followed her to the dressing rooms, which were really just big booths with heavy curtains on the front. The entire back wall of each booth was a huge mirror that ran all the way from ceiling to floor.

Mom hung all the dresses on the left side. There were three "princess" dresses, two pairs of ballet-style shoes, and —

"Mom, what is that?" I knew what it was, but why was it here?

She blushed and showed it to me. "It's a silk skirt. I can't believe I found it. It's beautiful, and if it looks good on you, I think it would be a nice gift for Miranda."

I sighed.

"Please?" She pretended to beg. She even went so far as to make puppy-dog eyes.

I scoffed and pulled the curtain. The first dress was a bit hard to get into, but I managed. Once I zipped it up, I peeked out of the curtain.

"Mom?" I called. Where was she? A little louder: "Mom?"

Red-faced, she came running back, carrying more clothes. "Sorry!" she said. "Now let me look."

She pulled open the curtain, and dropped her bundle on the bench inside. Her mouth twisted to the side in dislike. "This one's a no," she declared, turning me one way and another. "It's too tight, and it's made funny, the way it pulls right here. And here." She kept turning me, stepping back, feeling different details. I resisted the urge to complain, but I didn't understand: if it was a 'no', why couldn't I just take it off and go on to the next one?

"No, no," Mom said finally. "Take it off, hand it out here, and try the next one."

The next one was pronounced "good enough" and the third was a close tie. To my chagrin, I had to try on numbers two and three twice more, and then number two "one last time" before two was declared the winner. She had me step out of the booth, which made me extremely nervous, but she insisted the light was better.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm watching the store. No one can see you."

Fine. The number three dress was taken away.

Now she wanted me to try on the skirt.

It turned out that the bundle of clothes was a selection of six tops, each of which "might go" with the skirt. I sighed.

"Come on, Victor, be brave. We'll be done soon, and then I'll take you to that pizzeria you like for dinner."

I grudgingly agreed. While the curtain was open, I tried the shoes, which fit well. "They'll go with yours and Miranda's fairy outfits — I can take back the other ones I bought, because these are better."

So: on to top number one! I put on the skirt, the green shoes, and a blue top with a ruffly whatnot near the shoulder. It looked stupid. I mean the top looked stupid. The skirt was actually quite nice: it was a creamy light brown, and there was some kind of subtle design in a slightly different color that made it interesting to look at.

"That skirt is beautiful," Mom agreed, "and you're right about the top, too. It does look stupid."

I grabbed the curtain, ready to go on to top number two, but Mom stopped my hand and held the curtain open. She pursed her lips and glanced around.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Her eye fell on a bin full of bathing suits, just a few feet away. She walked over, and after a quick look, pulled out a yellow two-piece. She felt the material with her fingers, then brought it over to me.

"Here," she said. "Put the bottom on in place of your underwear."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because the y-front of your boy-underwear is showing. Put that on, and tuck yourself in —" she made gestures "— down there."

I looked at her a moment, and she said, "Please? It's not right. I mean, it looks weird."

The bathing suit bottom was a bit tight, which made it quite effective in hiding my equipment. It was also pretty thin, so it looked and felt like underwear. I couldn't imagine a girl wearing it in public. I mean as a bathing suit. It looked like the kind that turns transparent when wet.

"What are you doing in there?" Mom prompted. "What's taking so long?"

We went through a longer version of the dress-selection process: I tried on tops two through six. Two more were discarded. I tried on the remaining three in turn. One more was out. Mom wanted to see the two finalists twice each, again, and at long last she declared a winner: a cute crocheted thing with short sleeves. It was a very light yellow. Mom said it wasn't "yellow" — it was some other color, but who cares. It was yellow.

Count 'em. It made thirteen changes in all.

Once again, she wanted me to come out where the light was better, but I resisted. She pulled me just a foot out of the booth, then stopped.

"I can't look at you this way," she said.

"Fine," I said, "but it sounds like more people are here."

"That's not what I mean," she said. "Those little dots there are your your nipples, and it's very distracting. It ruins the effect."

She picked up the bathing suit top, ripped off the price tag, and said, "Put this on underneath."

A salesgirl saw this and said, "Ma'am? If you pull off the tag, you have to buy it."

"Fine," Mom said. "It's only five dollars anyway."

"Sorry," the girl said. "Store policy."

"No problem," Mom replied.

The bathing-suit top lay nearly flat against my chest. I put the crocheted top back on and opened the curtain.

"See?" I said. "Now we're done, right? I'm not going to step into the light."

The salesgirl came over. "Oh, so you got that skirt! We all wanted it, but you know..." she gestured to her hips, which were very nice, but larger than mine. "It looks like it was made for you. Come over to the big mirror and see." She took my hand, but I resisted. She smiled and gave a second tug, but I didn't budge.

Mom gave me a don't worry, I'll handle it look. "She's a little shy," Mom said, "and she can't see that well without her glasses." She opened her purse, took them out and put them on me. "And let's fix your hair, too, okay? All those tops have mussed it up." She ran her hands through my hair, moving my part to the middle, and combing through with her fingers.

"You really need a haircut," she said in a soft voice. "But this will do for now." She turned me around to see my reflection. "See? Your own brother wouldn't know you."

The salesgirl made a confused face at this remark, then recovered: "You look very pretty that way. Those are nice glasses. They really frame your eyes and light up your face. Are the shoes from out front?"

I was astonished at the change in my appearance. I could still see me underneath it all... and I didn't think I looked very girly... but I sure didn't look like Victor any more.

"Okay?" Mom said. "A quick look in the big mirror, then we're done."

"Okay," I agreed, and stepped out.

The salesgirl had me turn this way and that, showered me with compliments, and even made me laugh a little. She was good at her job, but I wished she'd go away. And what would she think when I put my Victor clothes back on? It didn't matter anyway, because I'd never come here again. Besides, I remembered, it was Halloween.

"We'll take it," I said, hoping that would send her away, and she did take a step back, but then suggested, "Do you want to wear it home?"

Mom and I were both about to say 'no' together, when suddenly Mom made a strange face at something behind me. She put on a forced smile and waved over my shoulder.

My face went white. "Who? What?" I asked in alarm. I was afraid to turn my head.

"You won't believe who's here," Mom said. She looked alarmed herself, and *that* was a very bad sign. "Believe me, I didn't know they'd be here. Just try to relax and go with it. We'll sort it all out later."

"But who is it?" I whispered in a desperate panic.

"Macy and Miranda Jameson," Mom replied. "And I haven't been able to talk to Macy yet, Juliette, so be careful what you say."

The salesgirl's glance bounced between Mom, me, and the approaching Jamesons. "Is everything alright?" she asked, with some concern. We weren't going to make a scene, were we?

"Everything's fine," Mom said. "Just unexpected. Everything's fine." She nervously patted my clothes here and there, as if she were tweaking them into place.

I wasn't sure how we were going to play it, but when Mom reached into the changing booth and rolled my boy clothes up into a tight roll, I got it: for the moment, I was Juliette.

The salesgirl gave a curious look at my clothes and asked Mom if she wanted a bag for them. Mom, distracted, said yes, and the girl took them from her and carried them to the checkout counter in front.

"Hello, Carly," Mrs. Jameson called. "What a surprise! And this lovely young girl must be Juliette!"

"Hi," I said weakly.

© 2007, 2008 by Kaleigh Way