"Mom, you're killing me!" I protested.

She just scoffed. Dad was no help... he just slogged along, head down, perspiring.

The weekend was tiring, but it was good. Mom and Ida kept pushing forward, wanting to make the most of it.

My mother kept saying, "We can't lose momentum! If we leave something undone now, it will stay that way for months!"

"Mom, you're killing me!" I protested.

She just scoffed. Dad was no help... he just slogged along, head down, perspiring.

And Maisie and Susan were there, both days, all day, working.

"Aren't you guys tired?" I asked. "I'm just about dying here!"

They shrugged.

"We take breaks," Susan said.

"And we don't complain all the time like you do," Maisie grinned, "so it isn't as obvious."

In the end, all the boxes were empty, everything was put away, and all the furniture was in place. I didn't think it was possible. If I'd been in charge, we wouldn't be anywhere near done.

"Oh, but we're not done," Mom informed me. "There is so much left to do!"

I groaned. It sounded like she was enjoying herself!

On Monday, Ida drove me and Maisie to school. I was sore all over, but they seemed fine.

"Maybe you pushed yourself too hard," Ida suggested.

Maisie scoffed. "You're too soft, Marcie!"

I rolled my eyes.

"And, I told you to hydrate!"

I huffed loudly, but said nothing.

Ida dropped us off and drove off to meet my mother. They had plans and projects, and for once I thanked God for school, so I could miss all that "home work"!

"Oh, you are a lazy spoiled thing, aren't you?" Maisie asked, with surprising affection.

When the two of us were nearly at the door of the school, I told her, "Watch. Honororia is going to want to talk to me."

"About what?"

"About her stupid brother."

She shook her head. "If you get detention, you ought to complain of police harrassment."

Sister Honororia was waiting, and she *did* want to talk to me. "Marcella, a word, please."

She drew me aside to a niche in the corridor, and spoke in a low voice. "Marcella, you don't have any older siblings, do you? No big brother or sister?"

"No, sister, I don't."

"Mmm," she said. "That's right. You're an only child, so you don't know what it's like. It's interesting, but older children, especially first-borns, often feel an ... exaggerated sense of responsibility ... as if they were some sort of additional parent. Do you follow me?"

"I think I do, sister."

She fixed her eyes on mine and nodded. "They have a way of meddling ... or controlling ... It's a sort of misplaced ... or misdirected kindness, I think," she continued, "and it's often quite inconvenient."

Her eyes searched my face.

I smiled. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sister."

"Oh, good!" she replied with a sigh of relief. "Then off to class you go!"

As I started to walk away, she said, "Oh, Marcella... Let's say your last day of detention is Wednesday, shall we?"

"Thank you, sister."

Maisie and Susan were waiting anxiously. "So do you have detention?" Susan asked.

"I have one less," I crowed.

After I told them what happened, Maisie said, "Interesting... so even the wicked, controlling nun has problems with her brother, the wicked, controlling cop."

"Looks that way," I said. "But don't spread it around."

That night, Maisie called.

"Hey, Maze, what's up?"

"Can I talk to your mother?" she asked.

"My mother?"

"Yeah, you know that lady who lives in your house?"

"Ha, ha. I *know* who my mother is. What I dont know, is why you want to talk to her?"

"That's right — you don't know. But don't worry, I'll tell you after. Will you put her on?"

My mother was a little surprised, but she took the phone. I stood by, on pins and needles, listening, while Maisie did most of the talking.

As Maisie spoke, my mother's puzzled expression relaxed into a smile. She even chuckled a bit. What was going on?

My mother's side of the conversation didn't tell me anything. All she did was agree, saying, "Oh, that's a great idea! Yes, I do," and things like that. I kept making questioning faces at her, but she ignored me.

Maisie's voice was just barely audible, like a series of squawks. I moved my head closer to the phone so I could listen better, but my mother — my own mother! — turned her back on me so I couldn't hear a word! She wedged the left side of her body, the one with the phone, into the corner of the kitchen counters so I couldn't get my head in and listen!

Then she said to Maisie, "Oh, yes, she's here. She's dying to know what we're talking about." The she laughed, and I could hear Maisie laughing too.

I growled with frustrated impatient curiosity.

Then Mom said to Maisie, "Okay, great! That sounds like a plan! Yes, right, but that shouldn't be a problem. No, I don't think so ... No, not at all. Right! Good! I'm looking forward to it. Yes, Maisie, yes. I'm glad. Okay, here's Marcie again." Smiling, she handed the phone back to me.

"So what was that all about?" I asked as I walked out of the kitchen, heading for the stairs to my room.

Dad, who was sitting in the living room, called after me, "Don't monopolize the phone!"

"It was Mom on the phone all this time!" I retorted, and trudged up the stairs.

"Okay," Maisie said. "This is great! It's better than great!" She was obviously in a good mood. "You know your idea about trading mothers? We're going to do it!"

"What!? Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm not kidding! We're going to do it this weekend. That is, if the cow agrees. But she should. Don't you think?"

I sighed.

Maisie said, "Yeah, yeah, I know you hate it when I call her that. I don't care. But listen, you can come here and play the good daughter. She'll be so happy. And you can talk about girly things with her. You'll both be in heaven, and I'll be the hell out of here."

"Uh...," I said. It was a lot to process.

"Don't tell me you want to back out!"

"No, no, it's not that... it's just a surprise..."

"You want to do it, right?"

"Yes, sure, yes..."

"Listen, you hate working around the house, but I love it..."

"You do?"

"Didn't you see me last weekend?" she demanded. "Yeah! I fix everything around here! My mother is so useless. So's my dad, but anyway... if you stay there, you're going to work like an Egyptian slave girl, building the pyramids, eating only straw or hay, like in the Bible."

"Oh, Maisie," I laughed, "I'm sure that's all wrong."

"So? Do you want to slave around your house this weekend?"

"No..."

"Wouldn't you rather squirt perfume in the air and walk into the mist with my mother?"

"I guess..."

"Then listen." Maisie gave me the details of the switch: Ida would take us to school on Friday. She'd drop Maisie's weekend bag at my house and pick up my weekend bag.

Then my mother would pick us up from school on Friday and drop me at Ida's house.

One of the mothers would drive us to school Monday morning.

"That's a long time," I observed.

"Yeah, isn't it great?" Maze enthused. "All you have to do is ask Ida. She doesn't have a clue about it, so you have to explain it and sell it. You can do it."

"Okay," I replied. "Can you give her the phone?"

"As if!" she countered. "You can call her. I'll hang up. You call back. I won't answer, so she'll have to."

"Ah... I..."

"Look, it's better if you call her. She'll be touched. Okay, I'm going to hang up now. You call right back. Then call me after to let me know."

"Maisie, listen," I began, but she'd already hung up.

© 2007 Kaleigh Way