It looked like I'd have to be Marcie-who-used-to-be-Mark, which did not look like a good option, especially as a way to get to know people. "Hi, I'm Marcie. I used to be Mark, but you know... I liked dresses better."

After talking to my dad, I felt pretty nervous. I'd been thinking of the move as a new start, where I'd be Marcie as if I'd always been Marcie. Now, it looked like I'd have to be Marcie-who-used-to-be-Mark, which did not look like a good option, especially as a way to get to know people. "Hi, I'm Marcie. I used to be Mark, but you know... I liked dresses better."

I was determined to work out a good story: one that left me as Marcie from the very beginning, one in which Mark either never existed or was somebody else (not me!). I took out a piece of paper and began a list of all the questions that needed to be answered:

• Where did Marcie come from?
• Where did Mark go?

Then I stopped. Was that all? What else was there? There had to be something else. I thought about the picture in my father's office. That was really the only problem. Could he say that he put up the wrong picture? That it wasn't his family? That the kid, Mark, was a cousin of mine, or something?

I sighed. If he only hadn't put up the picture, there wouldn't be anything to explain.

No, that wasn't true. His co-workers probably asked about his family. They didn't just go by the picture! Wife? Kids? Those are normal questions.

Plus, there are my relatives. Most of them are on the West coast: California, Washington, and an uncle in Texas. They'd be far away from New Jersey, but they would have to be told. Sooner or later. How could they not know? What could we say? (Oh, yes! We thought Mark was a boy, but turns out he was a girl all along! Never thought to look! Neither did the doctors! It's the damndest thing!)

I wished there was someone who could help me. There were so many people I *couldn't* ask: Eden, Carla, Jerry, Cassie, Mr. Bryant.

My aunt isn't home right now, but she'd probably have some ideas. At least she'd have the adult perspective. Was there anyone else? Maybe Alice or Denise?

Then it hit me: Mrs. Earshon, the psychic! She might be able to tell me how things were going to work out, even if she didn't have the answers.

I dug out her number and gave her a call.

She said hello, and yes, she remembered me...

She seemed a little cool and distant, almost formal, as if she didn't want to talk to me.

Still, she didn't hang up.

I told her when I was moving, and asked if I could come for another reading, but she replied that it was too soon.

I asked what she meant, and she said, "It's just too soon," and left it there.

Before the call, I planned on explaining to her the whole Mark and Marcie business, but now, with her acting so weird, I was sure I didn't want to.

It was puzzling and frustrating, and I was getting a little angry. She was the one who wanted to meet me, in the first place. I didn't go seeking her out. She was the one who was curious about my life and wanted to see what her cards said about me. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, she didn't want to know me? What was that about?

Still, I had to be careful with what I said, because there was something else I needed from her: more tea. I wanted to know where to get it.

She told me I could buy it through the internet. She gave me the name of the tea and the website. I had to ask her twice, so she ended up telling me the same thing three times total. She didn't sound impatient or angry or anything. She was just flat. It was disappointing. I had to do all the work in the conversation. All she did was respond to what I said with the shortest answers possible.

At the end, when I'd given up, when I was going to say goodbye, she said, "You know, that tea... you're supposed to stop drinking it when it starts to work."

"Oh, I know," I said. "I did stop. This is for a friend."

She sounded impatient when she said, "Marcie, don't forget that I'm psychic. It's not a joke. I know when people are lying, and I can tell that you're lying now. I just don't understand why."

"Why would I lie to you?" I asked her in a defensive tone. What did she want from me? She didn't want to talk to me, and now she was getting mean. I didn't have to take that from her. She wasn't my mother, after all. She had no right.

"You'd like to hide something," she said simply.

"I have nothing to hide," I told her.

"It almost sounds like you believe that," she countered.

I felt my anger grow like a flame. Now that I knew where to get the tea, I didn't need to be careful. So I told her, "I don't want to be rude, but why are you accusing me? What did I ever do to you? Are you mad at me because your reading didn't work? Because you couldn't figure me out?"

In a surprisingly calm voice, she said, "Can I ask you one thing? If I'm wrong, I'm very sorry, but I have a question for you: Are you really a boy? Or did you used to be a boy?"

I was stunned, and for a few moments I couldn't speak. Inside I was asking, How could she hit me there?

"Marcie? Marcie? Are you there?"

At last I said "yes" in a low croak.

"Yes what?"

"I was born a boy, but I'm changing into a girl."

"Ahh!" she said in a relieved tone. It almost sounded like a long, slow fart, or the air coming out of a balloon. "Thank goodness! Now I get it!"

"Please don't tell anyone."

"I won't, hon." Now her voice was warm and confidential. "They wouldn't believe me anyway. So, did the tea do anything for you? I guess it must have, or you wouldn't want more."

I told her what happened. As I talked, she gasped and chuckled.

"My doctor doesn't believe it. He says it couldn't be the tea."

She laughed happily. "Well of course he wouldn't believe it."

Now she was relaxed and ready to talk. It was like a dam had broken; now the water could flow. This was the Brenda Earshon that I'd been hoping to talk to!

"Tell me," she asked. "Are you nervous about the move? I get the feeling that you're afraid of being exposed."

I told her about my father, about the photo in his office, and about my new school.

"Oh, don't you worry about any of that!" she said. "It isn't going to come to anything. Your parents are watching out for you. You have to be ready for a few unpleasant experiences, but nothing bad. Just normal life. The only thing — the only person — you have to worry about is a girl near you —"

"In New Jersey?"

"Yes, in your class, a girl your age, a girl in your class, in your school in New Jersey. Anyway, I didn't mean worry. You shouldn't worry, because your only defense is to be *open*. You have to try to be the best friend you can be. That's what you need to remember, okay?"

"I guess. Brenda, when I'm there, can I call you?"

"Uh," she hesitated. "You know... you have to understand... that this is my livelihood. This is what I do for a living. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

She paused for a moment, then said, "Why don't you give me a call after you're settled. I mean really settled.

"This is what I want you to do: When you're in your new house, after everything is unpacked and put away, after all the dust has settled, and you're all moved in, you're going to have a special moment. The first time you look around your room and feel that everything's in place, then you can call me. Not a moment sooner. And we can talk about how it could work."

"How what could work?"

"Your calling me. Like I said, I do this for a living. Even my friends have to pay."

I smiled. "Are you saying I'm one of your friends?"

"Oh, aren't you the clever one," she laughed. I heard a doorbell in the background behind her. She said, "Listen, I have to go. Remember what I said: don't worry, be OPEN, be the best friend you can be. Call me when you're really, truly settled, and we'll make arrangements. Now I have to go."

Her doorbell rang again, and she hung up.