“I’m physically male, but I consider myself a girl,” Tabby admitted. “I’ve been living as a girl for two years now.”

Mrs. Walters, peering over her newspaper, noticed that Fern hadn’t taken a single bite from her caramel-and-cheese popcorn ball. Indeed, the poodle girl appeared quite pale and distracted. “What’s wrong, honey?” she inquired.

Fern looked away from the bumpy snack on a stick. “I…don’t know if I should tell you,” she said quietly.

“So it’s a secret,” said her mother, intrigued. “Is it an I’m afraid I’ll be embarrassed secret, or is it a matter of national security secret?”

She let out a faint sigh. “You’ve always told me there’s nothing wrong with being a girl,” she said, her tone humorless. “And I’ve always believed it. Well, now there’s a boy who believes it as well.”

Mrs. Walters gave her a quizzical look. “What do you mean, dear?”

Fern set her popcorn ball down on the glass-paneled coffee table, indifferent to the sticky stain it would leave. “You’re not gonna believe this, Mom,” she said, standing. “It’s the craziest, most insane thing ever.”

“Crazier than Buster’s Skittle pizza?” her mother asked.

“Mom,” said Fern, color returning to her cheeks, “Tabby is a boy.”

Mrs. Walters clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping.

“Her…his real name is David,” Fern went on. “When he was nine he started wearing dresses and growing his hair long. When he was ten he decided that gender was irrelevant, and started wearing Goodwill castoffs.”

“You’re…you’re…” Words failed her mother. “You’re kidding me. Tabby? She looks 100% female to me. In fact, every time I see her I imagine what a pretty girl she’d make if she would just dress normally.”

“I made a tough decision today,” said Arthur into the telephone receiver. “It was one of the toughest decisions of my life. Well, actually, it was pretty easy for me, but it was really, really tough for Buster.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Francine, nodding.

“Anyway,” Arthur continued, “Buster’s not too happy with me now, so D.W. and I have no one to hang out with, except each other, and that gets old really quick. If you’ve got nothing else to do…”

“Thanks for the invitation, Arthur,” said Francine. “Any other day I’d come over, but Cath and Mitch are visiting, and they don’t visit often, so…”

“Catherine’s there?” said Arthur loudly. “Cool! Is she more pregnant than she was the last time I saw her?”

“What do you mean, more pregnant?” said Francine in a gently scolding tone. “You’re either pregnant or you’re not.”

In another room of her apartment Catherine lay on a mattress, her belly bulging, her face radiating weariness. “Oy, I am so pregnant,” she complained to her husband Mitch, who was typing on a nearby computer. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this pregnant before.”

“You’re only six months along,” quipped Mitch. “It gets better. A lot better.”

Catherine grinned. “I love everything about being pregnant,” she remarked, “except for the swollen feet, and the back pain, and the worrying about how we’re gonna feed our little boy.”

Mitch’s response was a poignant silence.

“How’s the novel coming along?” asked his wife, craning her neck so that her eyes could make out the words on the computer screen.

All work and no play make Mitch a dull boy

All work and no play make Mitch a dull boy

All work and no play make Mitch a dull boy

“I’m still working on the title,” Mitch told her.

Binky saw stars. He saw little else. Ever since his unforgettable meeting with Principal Cameron, stars had dominated his field of vision. Floating, swirling, dancing stars.

A knock came at his bedroom door. “Binky? Are you all right in there?”

“Go ‘way,” the boy mumbled.

Stars. Spinning, darting, waltzing stars. And an occasional starship.

“Are you sure you won’t come out?” his mother called out. “It’s almost time for Dancing with the Stars.”

“Ungh,” moaned Binky, clutching his knees tightly to his chest. He felt nauseous. He felt like his vomit would fill the Atlantic Ocean.

“Maybe you should go to the doctor tomorrow,” Mrs. Barnes suggested.

“I’m okay!” he retorted vehemently. “I’m fine!”

I’m not fine, he told himself. I don’t know what I am, but fine isn’t part of it.

“Those four bullies didn’t beat you up, did they?”

“No, Mom.” Although that would’ve been easier to take. I wish I could tell you what happened…but if Sue Ellen ever finds out what I did, she’ll hate me for eternity!

“Mr. Smith, I need you.”

The words came from the mouth of a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length brown locks. She stood, surrounded by odd-looking gadgets of every shape, in the upper floor of a rather undistinguished house on Bannerman Road in London. Next to her right foot squatted a metallic case with a tail-like antenna fixed on one end, and on the other an elongated protruberance topped with a pair of tiny, curved radio dishes. The side of the case was marked with the symbols K-9.

In response to her speech, a wall of the very large room split in two, sliding away to facilitate the entrance of a massive console decorated with buttons, switches, and displays. A screen attached to the console came to life, coloring itself with spirals and fractal patterns. A booming but peaceful voice uttered, “Hello, Sarah Jane.”

The woman didn’t smile. “Rani has an extra ticket for the McFly concert,” she told the machine. “I’d like to attend, but the Trickster comes first. Can you provide me with specifics as to his location?”

Flying brains appeared on Mr. Smith’s screen, indicating that the supercomputer was deep in thought. “Yes, Sarah Jane, I can,” he finally stated.

“Good,” she said with relief. “Where is he?”

As his display zoomed in on an aerial view of a city, Mr. Smith replied, “He has been detected in Elwood City, a town in the United States of America.”

“Which state?” inquired Sarah Jane.

“That information is not available,” answered the computer.

“Never mind,” said the brunette. “I’ll Google it.” Turning her attention to the mechanical creature on the floor, she said warmly, “Pack your bags, K-9. We’re going to take a little holiday.”

Its dishes wiggled as it moved its front protruberance up and down. “I do not have possessions, mistress,” it spoke in a tinny voice. “Therefore, I do not need to pack my bags, but can leave at a moment’s notice. To which planet are we traveling, mistress?”

“A planet that regards itself as the center of the universe,” replied Sarah Jane. “America.”

To be continued