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after school, to meet her grandmother who was flying in from Chicago.
    It was the kind of thing Anastasia's mother might do, too. Thank goodness she didn't have a grandmother in Chicago.
    "It's really getting cold," said Meredith as the three
girls headed down the street. T hope it snows soon. If it snows before Thanksgiving, my whole family's going skiing over vacation. We always go to this ski lodge in New Hampshire."
    "I don't even know how to ski," said Anastasia. "But if I did, I can't imagine going with my family. My parents would act weird. My father would recite poetry about snowfall, and my mother—well my mother is such a klutz she'd probably fall all the time. And then she'd laugh. My mom's big on
laughing,
for pete's sake. It's so embarrassing."
    "My mother laughs, too," said Meredith. "And she does it with a Danish accent, so it's even worse. But I just pretend that I don't know her. Her
or
my father. My sister and I just take off, at the ski lodge. The only time we have to see our parents is at dinner. And sometimes my sister even eats at a different table."
    "How old is your sister?" asked Anastasia. "She's pretty old, isn't she?"
    "Kirsten? Seventeen. Why?"
    Anastasia stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her shoulders slumped inside her jacket. "Oh, terrific!!" she wailed, in a voice that meant it wasn't terrific at all. "I thought it was only when you were
thirteen
that you felt this way about your family! You mean it lasts till you're seventeen?"
    Meredith thought it over. "I don't think it's the same," she said. "Kirsten doesn't even notice our parents. She goes off by herself because she wants to pick up guys when she's skiing."
    "That's Stage Two," said Sonya, who had been listening intently. "Stage Two of Adolescence. We're still in Stage One. My father told me that."
    "Doctors," scoffed Anastasia. "They always think they know everything."
    Sonya shrugged. "He says it's all hormones."
    "Hormones schmormones," said Anastasia. "My mother said the same thing. But I think it's a lie. I think grownups got together and made up this hormone theory. I don't even believe in hormones," she added gloomily.
    "When my father said that, about the hormones," Sonya went on, grinning, "my brother said he knew a joke. And the beginning of the joke was: How do you make a hormone? But then my father got mad and said, 'None of that at the dinner table!' So I never got to hear the punch line."
    "I don't think there's anything funny about hormones, anyway," Meredith said. "I hate the idea that there are all these
things
inside me. What do you suppose they look like? Insects or something?"
    "Blecchhh," said Anastasia.
    "Here's Bennington Street," said Sonya. "And there's a sign up there in the middle of the block—that must be the garage sale."
    They turned the corner and headed toward the large Tudor house with the sign in the driveway.
    "You know what?" asked Anastasia. "I told my parents that I wanted to go to a psychiatrist. But they said no. They said I didn't have any problems. Do you believe they said that? NO PROBLEMS?"
    Sonya and Meredith sighed sympathetically and shook their heads.
    "I read in the paper about a girl our age," said Meredith, "who was undergoing psychiatric evaluation at the state hospital."
    "How come?" asked Anastasia. "Did her hormones get out of control?"
    "She stole fourteen cars," Meredith explained. "And she didn't even have a driver's license. She even stole her own grandfather's car."
    They had reached the driveway and turned in toward the garage. Its door was open, and a few people were prowling around through the assorted objects. Suddenly Meredith started to laugh. "Anastasia," she said, "you're going to go to a psychiatrist whether your parents like it or not!"
    She pointed. On the side entrance of the house, a small bronze sign said: CALVIN MATTHIAS, M.D. PSYCHIATRY. PATIENTS' ENTRANCE .
    "Oh, I knew that," said Sonya. "Dr. Matthias died—that's why they're having the garage