“What… the hell… are you wearing?” said Wynezra.

I glanced down at myself, lifted my arms uncertainly, and then flopped them at my sides.

“Your clothes?” I offered.

“I hid that coat in the back of my closet for a reason,” said Wynezra. “You look like the Michelin Man mated with a Smurf.”

“Why do you have it, then?”

“It was a Christmas present from my grandpa, dummy! When your grandpa gives you clothes for Christmas, you don’t actually wear them. You hide them in your closet, and you lie through your teeth about what a great present it was. That’s how it works. Get in the car.”

I thought of offering to drive. Wynezra, however, was throttling the steering wheel in the ten-and-two position. She seemed fully ensconced in the driver’s seat and all the powers it entailed, so I quietly climbed in the passenger seat and shut the door. Wynezra punched the gas, and we took off, with no spoken destination. That was okay. We were just here to talk. To figure things out.

It wasn’t until now—seeing my own body from a third-person perspective, through Wynonna’s eyes—that I realized how much bigger I was than her. Maybe only two or three inches taller, but my jaw was wide and angular, and my shoulders had a lanky broadness to them, and my limbs were long and ropy and powerful-looking—at least compared to the limbs I was currently operating.

Why didn’t I feel that big when I was myself?

“Your grandpa?” I said. “Is this the grandpa who’s married to your grandma? I mean… the woman you’re living with?”

It occurred to me that I was making all sorts of assumptions. I didn’t even know that that was actually her grandma.

Wynezra’s eyes widened. “Oh god. You met Carol?”

“So she’s not your grandma?”

“What? No, she… she is. Just… what did she say?”

“She thought I was… or you were… she thought we were sick. Or coming down with something.”

Wynezra looked all sorts of confused. “What?”

“Because of the coat,” I clarified. “I told her I was cold.”

“Oh.”

“So, she told us to go quarantine ourselves.”

“She told us to what?”

“Yeah. She told us to lock ourselves in our room and… uh… ‘knock ourselves out with NyQuil.’ I think those were her exact words. So I guess we have a free pass from school today!”

I said this last part optimistically. Wynezra, however, did not share my enthusiasm. Her face—my face—was crumpled into a scowl. She slammed the steering wheel.

“God, who does she think she is?” said Wynezra. “Queen of the whole goddamn world, that’s who. Ugh! I hate her.”

“You hate your grandma?” I said.

In all honesty, I had never met anyone who hated their grandma. This was uncharted territory in my understanding of the universe.