She is still laughing. “The orange nails are so you. But really, get your own.”

“Shut up, Shane Q. Public,” I say, throwing my top at her.

She blinks at the onslaught of fabric, and catches it. “Actually, my middle name is Elizabeth,” she says as I undo the tie on my pants and push them down from my hips.

I laugh and sit down on my bed. “Right.”

“What? It is.”

“Sure, Elizabeth.”

She tosses my top to the bed and scratches the back of her head. I stand up and shake out my scrubs, fold them neatly. She leans against the wall as I walk to the closet and begin rifling through it.

“It is. What did you think my middle name was?”

Butch, I think, the giggles of the last twenty minutes threatening to run back through me. I bite my lip and try to decide between a crushed velvet halter and a pink baby tee.

“I dunno. I’m just kidding you, hottie, chill.”

“Here.” She holds up a card. Just when I think I have her figured out. I turn my head, and see the hologram catches the light as I move it. I move to the lamp by the bed.

She looks so young in the picture, smeared makeup, hung over. And ***** as *****. “You’re so lucky. You actually look hot in this picture.”

“Thanks,” she says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.

“And… you have a birthday coming up.” It says 7/19/78.

“Yup.”

And, sure enough, it says Shane Elizabeth McCutcheon. I stand up and hand the license back to her.

“Shane Elizabeth. That’s really pretty.” I run back through my closet, totally forgetting what I was planning to wear. “So what’s the story with your name? Shane’s unusual for a girl.”

“I dunno.”

Typical. I roll my eyes toward the closet. “What do you mean you don’t know?” I pull the velvet halter and the pink tee out, turn around and hold both tops in front of me.

“The pink one. I mean I have no clue. I don’t know.”

“How can you have no clue? Is it a secret or something?”

“My mom supposedly picked it. I have no idea why, allright? I never asked her. I don’t know.”