This is no dream. My arm is aching. I can smell the blood from the gashes, and the sour metallic smell from the melting remains burns my nose. Whatever is going on, it isn’t a dream.

I hear people approaching from the direction of the apartment complex and the Home. I don’t want to turn and face them. I also don’t want to face the cop.

“Is it dead?” A familiar voice says from behind me.

It’s Kevin the night-warden. Crap. This is where I really wish I could fly in my dreams. I mean, I’ve had flying dreams, sure. But when I’m lucid dreaming I can’t manage it. I can run fast, jump high (and far), fight like a Kung Fu master, even change myself and my environment in all sorts of entertaining and useful ways. But I can’t fly. If I could, I would have been at 10,000 feet before Kevin or the cop could blink.

“I’d say so,” says the cop, Officer Brandeis, according to his badge, “thanks to this young lady.”

That would be me.

Officer Brandeis turns to me and continues, “Thank you, Miss . . .?”

Name. Name. Name. Why isn’t time stretching out now, when I really need it? Parker is out, especially with Kevin standing right there. Damn. I like my name. I picked it myself. Wait, why can’t I be me? What is Kevin going to do about it? Tell me to turn back into a boy? Could I turn back to a boy? A crowd has gathered, phones out. I hope they don’t get a good shot of my face. Am I sure I can’t fly? Quick try. Nope. No flying.

Wait. I was supposed to be coming up with a name.

“Are you okay?” Officer Brandeis asks. He looks a little worried.

Excellent, a distraction. I look down at myself. I feel lightheaded for a second when I see the blood stain on my right side. Then I realize that my side is fine. The blood is from the gashes on my arm. I look at my arm and suddenly feel a little queasy.

“All the blood’s from this,” I hold out my arm. It’s already looking a little better. Still very bad, but better.

“Officer, I just need---” Kevin starts.

The officer cuts him off, “You’ll need to wait a minute, sir.”

He looks at my arm.

“We should put something on that until help can get here,” he gestures for me to follow him to the remains of his car, “I’m not sure how long that will be. All the nearby first responders are dealing with that mess over there.”

The fire again. We reach the car, with the crowd still following us. Kevin, too. He looks like he wants to ask the officer something, but is waiting for the right time.

“This will sting.”

Officer Brandeis sprays some antiseptic on the gashes before wrapping some gauze around my arm.

I’ve been thinking this whole time. Where did I think I was going? I’m doing well enough at school that I’m probably going to be able to get into the University of Texas, and since I’m in the system, my tuition will be taken care of. If I disappear and start all over, again, where would I be? How would I even do it? The trick I used last time won’t work for me now. And if this is a dream . . .

No. I had to let that go. If later this turns out to all be a dream, well, so what? How should I act differently? So. Somehow, I got what I wanted, what I had given up on ever having. And I kicked a real monster’s figurative ass. What do I have to be afraid of?

I speak to the officer, “Parker. My name is Parker.”

“That’s funny,” Kevin says, “That was what I was going to ask you about officer, I’m looking for---”

I cut him off, staring him straight in the eyes, and isn’t that weird, looking up at him instead of down, “Jordan Parker.”

“But . . .”

“Do you know this young lady?” the cop asks.

“Uhhh . . .”

“He does.” Parker to the rescue again, “Could we go inside?”

I point at the Home. The ring of phone wielding spectators is freaking me out. I really hope they aren’t getting any good shots.

The crowd follows us to the gate of the Heart of Hope Home for Troubled Youth. The cop is on his radio the whole time, giving a report on what happened. Kevin is whispering into his phone, and he keeps glancing at me. He hangs up as he buzzes us in.

“The director is on his way,” he reports.

We go around to the office door, instead of going through the main door. I guess the other kids are still downstairs, in the main room. This is Austin, so we don’t have a basement for an emergency shelter.

The office is empty. Unless a newbie is training, there is usually only one staff on duty at this time of night, and Kevin is it, five nights out of seven. I sit down in the visitor chair without waiting to be asked. Normally a big no-no, but I don’t really care. The chair is huge. Not really of course, but I could barely fit in it before, and now I can sit in it cross-legged. Which I do.

Kevin disappears through the door to the main room, with a promise to be right back. Sadly, he keeps his word. Apparently he left the job of getting all the kids back to their rooms to Jay.

Officer B looks from me to Kevin and back again. He looks at the picture wall, with pictures of all the staff and all the boys who live here. Boys. He looks like he wanted to ask a question, but can’t quite bring himself to. At least ten minutes pass before anyone speaks, other than Officer B having a couple of quick status updates on his radio. Apparently they are sending another squad car out to give him a lift, but it might be a while, with all the chaos.

Kevin finally can’t take it anymore, “You can’t be Parker.”

“But I am.”

“Prove it.”

“How?” I ask, “Tell you something only Parker would know? Like maybe how you get me to come at you so you can justify a restraint?”

The officer gives Kevin a look.

Kevin ignores it and walks over to the picture wall. He pointed at a picture of a giant of a boy. Not bad looking, if I do say so myself, in a hulking way. Sort of ruggedly plain. Under the picture is the name I picked for myself when I ran away.

“This, “ he says, “is Jordan Parker.”

Officer B looks at me.

I shrug. “It’s true.”

“But you said you’re Jordan Parker.”

“Also true.”

“Any way you can prove it?” it sounds like a sincere question. Facing down an impossible monster must have made him open minded.

I think maybe I can. I don’t want to, though. But I really want this settled. I take Molly from my neck and fidget with her. I pulled her taut and she becomes a thin steel rod. I release the tension and put the chain back around my neck.

“I think so.” I hesitate, “but I’d rather wait until Director Carter gets here, so I don’t have to do it twice.”

That must have been his cue, because the director walks in, a little out of breath. I stand up out of the chair. I wouldn’t say I liked the director, but I respect him.

Officer B and Kevin quickly bring him up to speed on happenings outside, with only moderate arguing over the details. Kevin only saw things from right before I started swinging Molly, but he still manages to argue over some of the details of what came before. I’d say between them, they get it about three quarters right.

The director turns to me. “You say you’re Jordan Parker?”

I nod, “I can show you, I think. But I only want to do it once.”

It’s his turn to nod, “Go ahead.”

I close my eyes and picture my old self. Not just picture, but feel. It’s hard. I don’t want to do this, but I tell myself it’s only for a few seconds. That’s enough.

They all stare at me. At least the director’s mouth isn’t hanging open.

“Good enough?” I say, in a considerably deeper register, and from almost a foot and a half higher.

The director and police officer both nod. Kevin just stares.

Turning back is easy. I don’t even have to close my eyes. One second I’m looking down at them, the next, up.

I seem to have broken Kevin. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

I roll my eyes. “You just saw me beat the crap out of a full metal Minotaur. You saw me jump fifty-three feet. You saw me turn this necklace into a wrecking ball,” I have to take a breath, “And this,” I gesture at my body, “is too much for you?”

Kevin continues to gape.

“Your arm,” the director says.

I look at it. The bandage is gone, and so are the gashes. My shirt is clean again, too. Not a speck of blood. It isn’t even rumpled from the fight.

I look at the director and shrug.

No one speaks for somewhere between a minute and two years. Probably a little toward the lower end of that range. I break first.

“So, what now, sir?” I ask the director.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Apparently, what comes now is many repetitions of this:

“Change back.”

“No.”

“Just change back.”

“No.”

“Why don’t you just change back?”

“I don’t want to. You don’t have any right to make me. And you couldn’t if you did.”

Mostly between me and Kevin.

That gets boring fast.

Apparently Officer B agrees. That, or his ride gets here. He takes me aside before he leaves.

“If you remember any details about the person who killed that thing, give me a call,” he says, deadpan, “I’m sure someone will be looking for them.”

He hands me his card. Huh. Cops have business cards. Who knew?

“Um, thanks. What about them?”

“Someone will eventually get around to asking them, I’m sure.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

I turn back to Kevin and the director. Before the back and forth can start again, I speak up. “Can I just stay in solitary,” I catch the look from the director, “I mean the safe room, tonight?”

Kevin opens his mouth to say no, but shuts it again at a look from the director. Man, he is good at that.

“I mean,” I continue, “I wouldn’t mind staying in my bunk . . .”

The director shakes his head, “Definitely not. Not unless you choose to change back and agree to stay that way.”

I shake my head.

“I’ll consider it, but first I need a little more information.”

With that he walks into his private office and closes the door behind him. Leaving me alone in the outer office with Kevin.

The director’s door reopens and he leans out. “Kevin, you can carry on with your rounds. I’m sure Jordan will be fine waiting here.”

Kevin gives me a sour look as he leaves through the main door.

I fidget with Molly while the director considers. I wonder if he's praying in there. He is pretty religious, after all. Finally, he comes back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but the rules on the use of the safe room are very specific. For one thing, they require that we monitor any child in there, and we don’t have anyone to monitor you in your current . . . state.”

“However,” he continues, “Mrs. Carter and I do have a room above our garage. You may stay there tonight. Tomorrow, if you insist on your current course, we can find you something longer term.”

“What about Soul?” I ask. Soul of Hope is the girls' version of Heart.

“We're currently full over there. I want to be honest with you though. I don't think I'd be comfortable with you there.”

Of course. I'd let my defenses down for a minute there, when he'd invited me into his home.

I shrug, then reach for the door to the main room.

“I'll get my stuff.”

Director Carter puts his hand on the door.

“I'll have someone bring it over in the morning.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The next morning is a long time coming.

The room is nice. It was probably Carter's daughter's room at some point. It has that girly feel to it. Not all in pink, thank God, just, feminine, I guess.

The bed is amazing. I mean, the bed itself isn't anything special, but I fit. I haven't slept in a bed big enough for me in years.

But the the room isn’t the problem. I am.

It was two am by the time the director left me in the room, but I can't get to sleep. I'm not sleepy. I'm not even drowsy. It's not just that I'm worried that I'll wake up my old self, even though that's probably part of it. I'm just not tired. At all.

I find a cable hook-up, but no television. A power strip and stand for a laptop on the desk, but no computer. The closet is empty, so no tough decisions there.

There are some books on a shelf next to the bed. Nothing up my usual alley (fantasy or sci-fi, mainly), so I settle on a copy of Our Bodies Ourselves. Cool. An instruction manual. I sit down and begin to read.

By six a.m. I'm close to reconsidering my recent life choice. Okay, not really, but I really had no idea what I was letting myself in for.

At eight there is a knock on the door. Mrs. Carter is there with a big box. Well, not all that big, considering it holds almost everything I own, other than the clothes on my back.

I thank her and sort through the box. Yep. It's all there. My whole life. Four changes of clothes (with a couple extra pairs of underwear), my backpack with my school books, two pairs of shoes, and my wallet, with my state ID, a library card, and a list of emergency contact numbers. We weren’t allowed cash, so no phone, because, how would I afford one if they were even allowed? 

One pair of shoes match what I'm wearing now, but a lot bigger. The others are dress shoes. There's no coat, because it's only October and I outgrew and handed down my coat from last year. 

I look at the clothes. I guess I’ll give them to Heart, to keep in case they ever take in someone else my old size. I separate the cargo pants and t-shirt that sort of match what I'm wearing, along with the shoes. It's weird that they still exist.They should have gone away, or turned into what I was wearing or something like that. Shouldn't they?

The only thing missing is the one thing I'd kept from my old life, before I ran away. I'll have to sneak back into Heart at some point to get it from its hiding place. Not tonight, though.

Eventually I lose a battle I hadn't even realized I was fighting. I have to go to the bathroom. Luckily the little garage apartment has its own. I close the door, confirm that I match the diagrams I’d been looking at earlier, and take care of business.

Once I'm done, I take a look at myself in the full length mirror I noticed there earlier.

I can't help it. I reach out and touch the mirror, just to make sure. Sure of what, I don't know, but it's a relief to feel the cool glass. I look a lot like pictures of my Aunt Tabitha when she was in high school. That isn't an accident, of course. Curly red hair, down to my shoulders. Green eyes. An athletic figure that no one will ever mistake for a boy’s.

I spend a long time staring at the girl the mirror.

“Hi, I’m Parker,” I say to my reflection, “Nice to meet you.”