“Ally McMullen sounds just as good,” I reply unconvincingly, giving Paula another win.

I’m trying to give her what she wants to stay on her good side. She’s the one in charge of me. She decides when, or even if, I get to visit my friends again. But there are some concessions I refuse to make, starting with my name.

“Well, we need to sort out your name because we have to get you a new ID,” Paula says. “We can’t be having the police escort you every place you need one.”

My driver’s license, while valid because I did pass the test, was taken away since it had a fake name. Oh, and, you know, it was obtained using forged documents. Sheriff Gleason was required to escort me through airport security with my birth certificate since I didn’t have a valid photo ID to fly. He must’ve called ahead because everybody was very polite about it, but we did get a few stares from other people waiting in line. Like, Who is this teen getting a police escort? They probably thought I was some troubled youth being hauled off to juvie.

If they only knew the truth.

Which is an odd thing to think, because I still feel as if I don’t know the truth about me.

“Speaking of your grandmother.” Paula pulls out her iPad and starts showing me more pictures. “There she is with your grandfather at our Fourth of July barbecue.”

“You can see the fireworks over the water from our backyard,” Craig adds.

She swipes her finger to another picture. “And who is this?” she quizzes me.

There’s a photo of an older man and woman with two grown kids. I know this. “That’s my aunt Eileen and uncle Fred.”

“Correct!” Paula beams. “And they are with …”

The names of my cousins on Paula’s side—I have five!—can’t seem to stick in my brain. Since Paula is the youngest of her siblings, Sarah and I are a few years younger than our cousins, all of whom are either in college or have graduated and have real jobs.

I shake my head as Paula explains that the cousins in the picture are Mike and Mary. Mike works in IT and has two kids, and I begin to blank out as she tells me about Mary.

I’m never going to remember this.

How rude would it be to ask family members to wear name tags for the foreseeable future?

There’s a chime as the seat-belt sign illuminates. We’re told we are starting our initial descent into Tampa. I look out the window and see palm trees and the sun reflecting off the crisp blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico.