"Who's Mark?" Susan asked, suddenly very interested.

Maisie responded by pointing at me.

For some reason, I had to walk to school on Wednesday. Mom was busy and couldn't explain why Ida wasn't coming. I figured there was a blow up between Maisie and her mother, and that Ida didn't want to make a scene in front of Mom and me. As badly as I felt for Maisie and her Mom, I was glad to be able to walk a bit, and it was nice to be alone for once. Even if it was cold, it was a clear, sunny day. The air felt very clean, and aside from gym class I really hadn't had much movement since we arrived.

Soon — this weekend! — we'd be in the new house... It would be my third move in four months!

I thought about inviting Maisie and Susan to help with the move, then stopped dead in my tracks. I pictured the moving men carrying all our boxes out of storage, and that's when it hit me: What did I have in storage? Boy clothes, boy furniture, a boy's bicycle, boxes with "Mark" written on them... How could I possibly explain? The two girls who were probably going to be my closest friends would know I used to be a boy!

Sure, they'd want to help me unpack... they'd want to see my stuff, my clothes...

This weekend looked like a shortcut to disaster!

So what if I didn't invite them? Would they be offended? Susan, maybe not. Her parents probably wouldn't let her come, anyway. Maisie? She would be offended for sure. She's so touchy, she'd end up hating me the same way she hates her mother!

Speaking of which, I remembered Mom telling me that Ida would be helping. So if Maisie doesn't come, it will be an absolute, undeniable snub.

What was I going to do?

I fished for my cell phone and took a quick look around. There was no one, except for a woman about a block away, walking toward me.

I pushed the speed dial to call Mom. The phone rang and rang, but she didn't answer. Maybe she was in the bathroom? I waited. And waited. I must have heard ten rings. Didn't we have an answering machine? (Of course we did. It was in storage!)

The woman was getting closer. She paused in front of the school, as if she was going to go up the walk, but then she looked at me and put her hand on her chin. She was a thin black woman with curly black hair. She wore a long purple silk dress that clung to her and moved as she moved. Her coat, which hung open, was black and fur trimmed. She had an hourglass figure, amazing legs, and the most beautiful face I've seen in real life. I was in awe. It was like seeing a movie star.

And I wasn't the only one staring at her. A man in a car fell under her spell, and he cut his speed down to a crawl. I saw his face tracking her as he passed in front of the school. He moved at a slow constant rate, but all his attention was on her.

She suddenly moved toward me, and I realized that my call home was still ringing. Mom hadn't answered. I closed the phone and put it away. I didn't want anyone to hear this conversation, not even a stranger.

It turned out she wasn't a stranger.

"Marcie?" the woman asked when she was in front of me. "Marcie Donner?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm Marcie Donner."

"Ah!" she said, delighted. "I'm Yvette Overmore. I am your French teacher!"

"Pleased to meet you," I said, shaking her outstretched hand. "How did you know my name?"

"It's a small school, Marcie. Yours is the only new face. I see an attractive young lady in our school uniform, but I don't recognize her. Who else could it be, but Marcie Donner?"

Ms. Overmore was simply charming. I felt like I'd been lifted up, welcomed, flattered.

Over her shoulder I saw the man's face, still transfixed. His car was moving with impossible slowness. He wanted to make his vision of her last as long as humanly possible, and as we stood there, he plowed right into another car that was pulling out of a parking space. There was a loud, long sound of crumpling metal, followed by the sounds of two men shouting at each other.

"I think we should go," she said, with a mischievous twinkle, and took my arm.

As we made our way up the path to the front door, I said, "That man hit the other car because he was staring at you."

"Oh, yes?" she smiled. "Are you saying I'm responsible for that accident?"

"Not responsible," I fumbled.

"How do you know he wasn't staring at you, you little minx?" she countered in a sly tone. I knew it wasn't true, but I felt incredibly buoyed by her remark, and as the two of us entered the school, I had a big sunny smile.

I was still smiling when we encountered Sister Honororia.

"Good morning, Ms. Overmore, Marcella," she said. "Marcella, could I have a word?"

"What did Honororia want with you?" Maisie asked when I sat down in homeroom. Mrs. Wix was busy unloading her briefcase.

"She wanted to know if I was moving soon."

"Are you?" Susan asked.

"Oh, yeah, my mother said!" Maisie threw in. "Can I come help?"

"Me, too!" Susan said.

"Can you get out of the house?" I asked.

"Sure," she said. "For something like that, yeah. I might have to bring my little sister, if that's okay."

"Yeah, I guess... sure," I replied. I'd have to figure out the Mark issue before Saturday morning! "Oh, hey, I found out that our house has a name!"

"A name?" Susan asked.

"Yeah. It's called the Villa Sabatino." The moment I spoke, Mrs. Wix dropped her books. They clattered and banged to the floor. The class stopped talking and looked at her. She had a strange expression... as if she'd seen a ghost. A strand of hair fell into her face, but she left it there.

"What did you say, Marcie?" she asked in a strained voice.

"I'm moving this weekend, Mrs. Wix."

"After that."

"My new house has a name. It's the Villa Sabatino."

Mrs. Wix face went white. "Really," she said, breathless. I thought she was going to faint. "Interesting."

One of the girls in the first row jumped up and gathered the fallen books. Mrs. Wix sat down heavily, pulled over one of her books, and opened it. I noticed that she was holding it upside down.

Then the PA cracked to life and the morning prayer began.

It didn't take long for the mystery to be explained. Second period was French. I don't know a word of the language, but for some reason, I had to "audit" the class. Before class began, Susan, Maisie, and I sat together. We were talking about Mrs. Wix's strange reaction, when Ms. Overmore glided over and asked in a friendly way what we were talking about.

"You're thick as thieves," she laughed in her beautiful, throaty voice.

When I told her what had happened with Mrs. Wix, she said, "Oh!" with great surprise, and the smile dropped from her face. "Hmm. I understand; I understand. Marcie, that house is where your Mrs. Wix grew up. Her maiden name is Sabatino." She looked at me for a moment, then glanced at Susan and Maisie. Her demeanor was quite serious. She seemed to want to say more, but considered her audience... and decided to stop there.

She turned abruptly and walked away.

"Well, girls, back to our sheep, as the French say..." and so began my first French class.

"That's pretty strange, isn't it? That you'd live in Mrs. Wix's old house?" Susan said. We were sitting at our usual table in the cafeteria.

"I wonder how Ms. Overmore knew it was her house," I puzzled.

Maisie nibbled on the end of a single french fry. "You know what I wonder?" she threw out, and looked at me. "I wonder about the whole Mark business. What's that all about?"

"Who's Mark?" Susan asked, suddenly very interested.

Maisie responded by pointing at me.

Susan frowned. "Another boyfriend?"

"No," Maisie corrected. "She's Mark. Or at least she used to be."

My face was red, and I was paralyzed with fear. Where did this come from? How much did Maisie know? Had she heard the tomboy story? I had to assume that that's what she was talking about. My mother probably told Ida, who told Maisie... I stammered, "I used to... ah..."

"She used to want to be a boy," Maisie filled in, with a mocking smile. "She wanted to be called Mark."

She suddenly paused, and said, "Mark Donner," as if the name rang a bell. I was terrified. It seemed as if a rift had opened in the cafeteria floor and my feet were slipping at the edge.

How in the world could she know Mark? I *never* knew Maisie before — I was quite sure of that. And I'd never heard her name before, so how could she possibly have heard mine? Sure, she came from California, but California's a huge place. The chances of our ever being anywhere near one another were infinitesimal!

I had to keep my grip: I couldn't freak out.

In that moment I realized that I didn't know where she lived in California. When we first met in the restaurant we had so many things to talk about that we never got to that one detail.

For sure, I couldn't ask her now, or she'd realize I had something to hide.

"Why in the world would you want to be a boy?" Susan asked.

Maisie looked like she was still turning my old name over in her mind.

"Oh," I groaned. "I don't want to talk about it."

I wished I had talked to Mom before I had this conversation. Was I going to be outed already?

© 2007 Kaleigh Way