You arrive home (well, not exactly YOU)

"John and I are pleased that you will be keeping the house clean," your mother says with a big smile on her face. It has been a while since your mother has looked this happy about anything. Her happiness terrifies you.

"Uh . . . you are?" you reply.

"We are," your father chimes in. "And Evan is, too."

"Evan is?" you repeat in a puzzled tone. "But aren`t you wondering where he has gone off to?"

"He`s out with a friend," your mother explains. "He should be getting home at any moment."

You feel like screaming "I`M EVAN!!!!" at the top of your lungs. Unfortunately, you know full well that would do about as much good as trying to convince your parents that you`re not really a girl dressed as a French maid. As far as they are concerned, that is what you are.

Sooner or later, they`re going to wonder where `Evan` is, you think to yourself. This crazy brunette can`t keep this up forever . . . can she?

You hear the front door creak open. The sound of footsteps echoes through the foyer. The footsteps approach the bedroom where you, your parents, and the invisible brunette are standing. Two young boys enter the room. One is your friend Jake. The other young boy is . . . .

"Hi, Evan, honey," your mother says warmly. You feel your jaw go slack. "Oh, no," you groan.

Written by an anonymous author

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