"Maisie, you're *not* fat," I told her. "You've never been fat. You're never going to BE fat. You're so not fat that you, uh, that you..." I didn't know how to finish, but it didn't matter. Her face had changed, and she was furious.

I gasped.

"Don't have a heart attack," Dad said. "They lived in Llewellyn."

I let out a great sigh of relief. Llewellyn was an enormous gated community on the edge of Tarhent. Llewellyn has its own security force, its own stores and movie theater, and there's a big wall around it. The people who live in Llewellyn are constantly trying to separate from Tarhent. They want to be a town in their own right with their very own zip code.

The zip code in particular is a very sore point.

You can address letters to Llewellyn, California, and they'll get there, but if you look up the zip code it always comes up TARHENT, which really burns the rich folks.

"Now, even though I don't think there's any cause for worry, I do think it's better if you can connect with them here in New Jersey, in the present, and not in California, in the past."

"That's very philosophical, Dad," I commented.

He looked at me in the rear view mirror again. "I guess you feel good enough to joke about it."

"Well, yeah!" I replied. "If they lived in Llewellyn, they might as well have lived on the Moon."

People never walked in or out of Llewellyn. I don't know if that was allowed. I'd only seen expensive-looking cars driving in and out. Tarhent itself wasn't poor or bad or anything, but there was no mixing. I didn't know anyone who lived in there, and I didn't know anyone who knew anyone who lived there. So there was no danger that Ida or Maisie could ever have known or come across me as Mark.

"Not exactly," Dad said. "You never know. There might be some random connection in there someplace."

"Oh! That reminds me!" I said. "Mom, did you tell Maisie's mother about the whole Mark-tomboy thing?"

"Um... no," she said, frowning. "In fact, it's never come up. Let's see... Rhonda Means could have told her, at Thanksgiving. Why?"

"Oh, just that my boxes with MARK written on them will be all over the place. Susan and Maisie will see them."

"Don't worry. We'll just tell them the same story."

"They already know the story! Maisie's mother must have told her, and Maisie told Susan..."

"Okay, okay," Mom said. "I get it. How about this: I'll have the movers put all the 'Mark' boxes and your old furniture in the basement. It's dry enough, and since you and Maisie cleaned it, no one has any reason to be going down there. We will have to put your old bed in your room until we get your new furniture, but it is just a bed. Oh, and I guess your bureau can go in there — I don't think it looks too boyish... you'll need it, in any case. Then we'll keep you and your friends busy unpacking the kitchen. Does that sound like a plan?"

I exhaled. A big exhale, as though I'd been holding my breath for days. I was so relieved! "Thanks, Mom!" I gushed. "You're the best!"

"Oh," Dad said, pretending to be hurt. "And what about me? Aren't I the best, too? Can I at least be second best?"

I laughed and grabbed his shoulders from behind, giving him a happy squeeze. It felt like an enormous weight had lifted off me.

That night I had a dream about the new house. When it started, I was outside with Maisie and her mother, standing in the snow. The three of us were wearing BYHS uniforms. Somehow, even though none of us were wearing coats, we weren't cold. I was staring at Maisie's mother — I can't tell you how beautiful she looked.

"I should send Jerry a picture of you in that uniform," I told her. "You make it look good."

Ida frowned and said to me, "No, Maisie — I mean Marcie — that's not the point! Don't look at me! Look at her!"

Bewildered, I looked up where she was pointing. It was one of my bedroom windows. It was the window where I'd seen the girl, but she wasn't there now. There was nothing to see.

I turned to tell Ida, "She's not there," but Ida was gone, too. So I turned the other way to look at Maisie, but she had moved... far, far away. She was so far off! In the distance she looked oh-so tiny, like an itty-bitty doll. Even though she appeared to be only two inches high, I could see that she was dancing. It was a weird kind of dance. Her head was down, and she was mostly moving her elbows and knees... jerky movements, like a marionette's.

Maybe people danced like that before I was born, but no one danced that way now.

"Maisie!" I called. "Maisie! Quit dancing like that! What are you doing? Maisie!"

The girl lifted her head.

A horrifying chill ran through me. Every hair on my arms lifted in terror.

"I'm not Maisie!" the girl laughed, as if it were a cute joke. She was right: she wasn't Maisie at all. She was Misty Sabatino.

As soon as I recognized her, she zoomed right up to me, and stuck her face in mine. Her eyes were enormous, and there was a dull roaring in my ears. Misty said something, but I didn't get it.

"What did you say?" I asked. I wanted to get away, but I was paralyzed. I couldn't move a muscle. It was even hard to talk. My tongue was thick; I couldn't get the words out. For some reason, it was important for me to ask her what the little room was for, but it was impossible.

She repeated whatever it was she'd said, but I missed it again, so I shook my head.

Exasperated, she shouted in my ear, "I didn't want to be fat. I don't want to be fat! I'M NOT GOING TO BE FAT!"

"Maisie, you're *not* fat," I told her. "You've never been fat. You're never going to BE fat. You're so not fat that you, uh, that you..." I didn't know how to finish, but it didn't matter. Misty's face had changed, and she was furious.

"I'M NOT MAISIE!" she screamed, "DO YOU GET IT?"

I woke up in a sweat, my heart pounding.

It took a few moments to remember where I was: New Jersey, Flickerbridge, Dad's apartment.

I lay without moving a muscle, while my eyes darted all around the room.

Every atom of my body was listening, fearing. Was she here? Was she gone? Was she in the room with me? I knew it was only a dream, but it scared the bejeezus out of me.

After half a minute, with great caution, without making a sound, I slipped out of bed. By now I was awake and knew full well that it was only a dream, but what I told myself in my head didn't matter.

Even if I knew it was crazy, I had to poke all the clothes in the closet to make sure nothing was behind them or hanging between them. I searched every corner, and looked under my bed. I even pulled the sheets back — all the way back — to make sure no one was in there with me, hiding at the bottom, waiting to grab my feet. I wanted to pull back the curtain and look in the street, but didn't dare.

Why didn't I dare? What if I opened the curtain, and she was there, standing in midair, with her face against the window?

After taking another good look under the bed, I climbed back in and pulled the covers up to my neck.

I lay there shivering until I finally feel asleep again.

© 2007 Kaleigh Way