"That's your new high school: Blessed Yvette High School for Girls. I've told you the name before."

"I don't think so," I said. "I'd remember a whacked-out name like that."

She gave me a funny look.

As soon as we were out of Sacramento and back on the highway, Mom said she had something to tell me. "I don't want to spoil your day," she said, "and I'm sure you're going to take this as bad news, but — after all — there is no good time to tell you."

"What?"

In a quiet voice, she dropped the bomb: "You're going to have to come to New Jersey soon."

I tensed up. "How soon?"

"You get out early on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. We'll leave right after. That way, we can have Thanksgiving as a family, and you start your new school on the Monday. This way you'll meet some of the other girls and hopefully make some friends before Christmas vacation."

"Thanksgiving? Oh, wait a minute — the other girls?"

"Yes, we want to send you to Blessed Yvette."

Huh? "Mom, who is 'Blessed Yvette'?"

"That's your new high school: Blessed Yvette High School for Girls. Yvette was a saint, or almost a saint. I don't know how they work it out. Don't act so surprised. I've told you the name before."

"I don't think so," I said. "I'd remember a whacked-out name like that."

She gave me a funny look.

I went on. "And don't *I* get any say in all of this? What if I want to stay until the end of the semester? What if I want to go to the public high school? Is there something wrong with the public school there? I mean, I never wanted to move anyway. Especially to New Jersey!"

Mom let out a big sigh. I looked out my window, and saw her face reflected in the glass. She glanced at me, again with that look I couldn't read. I remembered what Mr. Marks said about putting myself in her place. I tried to imagine what she was feeling, but drew a blank. So I asked her.

"Mom, what are you feeling right now?"

She laughed. "Who are you, Dr. Phil?"

"What I mean is, I know what it's like to be me, but I don't know what it's like to be you. Is it hard, being my mother?"

"Oh, honey," she said. "I wouldn't want to be anyone else's mother. You're my baby!"

I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah, but that's not what I mean. Is it such a big deal to let me stay to the end of the semester? And why do you want me to go to a girls school?"

"Fair enough," she said. "Let me take one question at a time. Let's see: what is it like to be your mother? Oh, it's a little stressful, being the mother of a quote-unquote action hero. It scares me. When that little girl got kidnapped, well..." she choked up for a moment.

"I'm proud and amazed at what you did, but I can't help but think that you easily could have died, or at least been badly hurt. You could have ended up being kidnapped yourself! I know you didn't, but you could have. The eternal question with you is what's going to happen next?"

"I know," I said.

"At the same time, I think... I know... you're trying to keep a low profile." She laughed in spite of herself and was silent for a while. Then she continued.

"You asked about staying until the end of the semester. Your poor father is all alone in New Jersey. And I just feel like a visitor here. Your aunt has been very generous in sharing her home, but we're driving her up the wall. Maybe you don't notice, but she wants to get her house back to herself. Plus, there is so much happening with our new house... the inspection, the mortgage... it's hard to manage it, long distance.

"I want us all to be together. For many reasons. We're a family — that's the big one — but I'd like my husband to hold me when you have your next adventure."

"Oh, mom," I sighed. "I don't think I'm having any more adventures. That last one did it for me."

"Like I said before," she continued, returning to my questions (which I'd forgotten!), "it's better for you to switch mid-semester. That way you get to make some friends. If you change schools during vacation, it's harder to meet people. Although meeting people and making friends doesn't seem to be a problem for you any more."

"Did it used to be?" I asked.

"It sure looked that way," she replied. "Now, what else did you ask me? Oh, the public high school... right. Where we are now, there is a public school, but it's not very good. You'd be better off staying in bed than going to that school there. Our *new* house is in a district with a very good public school, so once we move, you can go there, unless you like going to Blessed Yvette's."

"Blessed Yvette," I repeated scornfully.

"Maybe you should look her up on the internet and found out who she was," Mom gently suggested. "The school has a website, too, I think. Anyway, Blessed Yvette's was very accomodating about everything."

I frowned. "Does that mean they know I'm not, uh —" I had a hard time saying it, "not really a boy? I mean, not really a girl?"

"No," she replied, "and that has to be our little secret." She bit her lip. "You asked me what it's like to be your mother. Well. It's hard when I talk to my friends, and they ask me about Mark and how he's doing. I have to be careful what I say. You've been in the newspapers a couple of times already, and I don't want to connect what you did with Mark. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"We haven't talked to any of our relatives for a while," she said. "I don't know what we're going to put on our Christmas card this year. And we're running out of time on that one." She shook her head.

I had to puzzle over that for a while before I knew what she was talking about.

"And your father..." she drew a breath. "It's lucky that we're moving to a new town, where nobody knows us. But your father, when he started his job, of course one of the first things he did was hang up a photo of the three of us in his office. Everybody knows he has a son Mark. They ask about you."

"But they don't know me."

"It's called being polite, Marcie. People ask about family, to show interest. So, where did this Marcie come from? Who is she? And what happened to Mark? Eventually someone will put it together, but what is your father supposed to do? When they say, Hey, Art? How's your son Mark doing? what does he say? Oh, it's the darndest thing. He's a girl now. How about that."

"Oh," I said in a small voice. I hadn't thought about that.

"Yeah, 'oh'. And the potential legal problems, if someone realizes you're a boy... So, when you ask me whether you have any say in what's happening... I think you've already had your say in a big way. Your father and I are doing our best to cope with the repercussions of your little experiment in dress-up."

She concentrated on the road for a while. Then she said, "Let's see. I think there was one more question. Oh, right: girls school. You know I'm uncomfortable with you dating boys."

"You don't want me to date girls, do you?"

She shot me a look that just about scorched me.

"Sorry, Mom!"

"Don't interrupt me," she said. "I know it's going to happen, but I'd like to slow it down as much as possible. That's part of it. Also, like I said, you can't go to the good public school until we move. Plus, you need to be around girls so you know how to be a girl. You're okay at it now, but there are some rough edges that need to come off, and being with other girls will help with that. AND, you might find that you like it."

"But we're not even Catholic, Mom!"

"That's okay. It turns out that a lot of the girls who go there aren't. They just want a good, affordable private education."

"And since you mention dating girls–"

"I was only kidding!" I cried, surprised to find myself blushing.

"I don't want you getting involved with girls, either. Your life is complicated enough already."

I could feel my entire face glowing red. Seemed like a good time to change the subject. "Oh!" I said, remembering, "What did you mean when you said the school was accommodating? What was there to be accommodating about?"

"Popping you in near the end of the semester, for one. They're also going to let you take gym class at the end of the day so you can shower at home."

"How did you swing that?" I asked.

"We told them you have an embarrassing skin condition," she grinned. I was shocked. "We offered to bring a doctor's note, but they didn't care. We were just bluffing, though. I don't know what we would have done if they needed one. You have to to take gym with the seniors instead of your own class."

"How am I going to explain that?" I asked.

"You don't have to explain it," she said. "Say that you didn't make your schedule, and you don't know why it's that way."

"Wow, Mom," I said, "I didn't know you were so clever."

"You had to get it from somewhere, didn't you?" she quipped.