It all started the morning I woke up green.

Waking up has never been my favorite thing to do-- which is pretty typical, I guess, for your average American teenager. That was how I always thought of myself-- Peter (Pete to my friends) Morgan, average guy extraordinaire. Not too bright, not too dumb, not an athlete but not about to trip over my own feet either. You know, I was normal.

Or so I thought.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me backtrack a second.

"Pete! Breakfast! Time to wake up!"

That was my mother shouting at me. I swear, the woman has lungs like a bullhorn. It didn't matter where she was-- she could always make herself heard.

"Uh, five more minutes, Mom," I told her as I rolled over.

"Now, Pete."

I sighed. That was Mom's "She Who Must Be Obeyed" voice. Even Dad knew better than to argue when she used that voice.

So I got of bed and ruffled my hair-- only to find that I had no hair.

"Huh? Bare skin? No, no-- I'm only 17! I'm too young to be going bald!"

I ran into the bathroom and looked at myself.

"Holy cow!"

I was green. Emerald green. With ears that Mr. Spock would envy. Red eyes-- and no hair!

I stared at myself in shock and rubbed my eyes fiercely. I opened one eye.

I was still green.

"Oh, man-- I can't be a mutant! I'm too young to wear a trench coat and get shot at by giant robots! Please, no. Let this be a dream."

I closed my eyes and rubbed them again. I opened them again-- and I was still green.

"Oh, heck."

"Pete, get down here right now!"

"Uh, Mom . . . I don't feel good."

"What do you mean you don't feel good? You're never sick!" Mom came running up the stairs. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, not exactly. Look, Mom. Can't I just stay up here a little while longer?"

"Peter Morgan, open this door right now."

"Mom--"

"Do I have to call your father right now?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Troy! Get your butt upstairs! Your son won't come out of the bathroom!"

"Helen, he's at that age right now-- It's perfectly normal--!"

"Troy, now!"

I heard heavier steps on the stairs. "Pete, son. You had better let me in."

"Dad-- "

"Open the door, Pete."

"Can't I just stay in the bathroom the rest of my life, Dad? You and Mom can slip pizza under the door--"

"Pete. Door. Open. Now."

That was Dad's "I'm At the End of My Rope" voice. It was even more frightening than Mom's-- maybe because he so seldom got hacked off. Dad wasn't a big guy-- far from it-- but when he was mad he sounded like he was ten feet tall.

There was no help for it.

I swung the door open. "Look, I don't know how it happened but I think I'm a mutant--"

Mom and Dad gaped at my green face for a moment. Then they smiled. Mom gently reached out and touched my cheek.

"Oh, honey," she said. "You're not a mutant."

Dad nodded. "You're an alien."

"Alien--?" I sputtered.

"Alien," Mom affirmed, nodding her head.

"Like us," Dad said.

And they were both green too.

I did the only thing I could then:

I fainted.