Mr. Maxwell had never seen his son so distraught. The opening night of the school's production of Romeo and Juliet was only three days away, and Benjamin had poured his heart into the role of Romeo. But now, the production was in jeopardy: Isabella Lansing, the brilliant young actress playing Juliet, had been in a car accident. She would recover fully, the doctors assured, but she could not perform-her leg was in a cast, her arm in a sling, and she was confined to bed rest. The understudy, a nervous freshman who forgot her lines under pressure, had reduced the director to tears during the emergency rehearsal. Maxwell watched his son pace the living room, muttering that months of work were about to be destroyed. That night, after Benjamin had gone to sleep, Maxwell made a decision. He had built the Normalizer for situations exactly like this-moments when reality needed a gentle adjustment to set things right. He would become Isabella, just for one evening, and save his son's play.

The following evening, one hour before curtain, Maxwell stood in the chrome chamber of the Normalizer and entered the parameters. When the doors opened, he was dressed in the Juliet costume: a flowing gown of luxurious silk in gentle creams and pastel pinks, the fitted bodice adorned with intricate embroidery. Soft, billowy sleeves trimmed with delicate lace cascaded down his arms, and a pearl-adorned veil framed his face. On his feet were elegant heels appropriate for the role. He caught his reflection in the chamber's polished surface-still his own face, still his own forty-six-year-old male body, every wrinkle and gray hair in place-but he knew that to everyone else, he would appear as Isabella, the eighteen-year-old ingenue. He had no time to admire the machine's work. The theater was twenty minutes away, and the curtain waited for no one. He gathered his skirts and ran.