“Sorry, kiddo. Ginger’s right,” Dan said as he loosened his tie. It was navy blue with what looked like little yellow bees on it. I leaned closer. Nope, they were tiny Pac-Mans, like from the old video game.

“If you can wear Pac-Man to church, how come I can’t wear my sweatshirt to school?”

He rolled up his tie and sighed. “If you want to go to Chickering, you have to be in dress code. Them’s the rules. I can’t wear Pac-Man to school either, if that makes you feel better.”

It didn’t.

“Then I’ll go to public school.”

They both shook their heads.

Ginger said in her lawyer voice, “We’ve already registered you and informed both Melissa and Maria. If you really are miserable and still want to switch after you give it a few weeks, then we’ll go through the necessary steps to get you transferred.” She wore pearls to church, I noticed.

I was about to say, Mom wouldn’t make me wear a uniform, and then I realized that’s exactly what she does when I put on the dress and boots and suede jacket for performances. It’s just that I’m used to that kind of uniform.

Still, I was about to keep arguing. Or take the outfit and hide it in their big house so no one could ever find it again. But then I thought of Well saying that’s because you’re normal, and I realized I did kind of want to go to Chickering. Take theater. Be normal. I looked down at my own outfit. It was not normal to wear the same grubby sweatshirt for five days in a row and to be so freaked out about new clothes.

And so, here I am, Monday morning, standing in the middle of the room in a towel, trying to make myself walk over and put on the skirt.

“Lou! Breakfast!”