" Don’t call me ‘Helen,’” I said firmly, brushing Polydeuces’ question aside unanswered. “Helen of Sparta wouldn’t be on this ship. I’m Atalanta.”
“I was wrong. You’re crazier than Herakles,” Castor said.
I ignored his sarcasm. “When the Argo returns to Iolkos, do you want the crewmen scattering to their homes, bearing the tale of how Helen of Sparta threw away her proper role in life to go sailing halfway across the world? What will the lords of Mykenae, Thebes, Iolkos, and all the rest say about us then?”
“That’s something you should have thought about before you sneaked away from Delphi,” Castor said.
“Do you want to argue about how big the fire’s grown or do you want to put it out?” I countered, hands on hips. “Helen can’t be here; Atalanta can!”
Polydeuces shook his head. “It won’t work. Castor and I aren’t the only crewmen who were part of the boar hunt. They saw Atalanta. They know she’s a woman, not a little girl.”
“I am not a little girl anymore! Atalanta isn’t that much older than me. I’m as much a woman as she is, now.”
“You’re still more convincing as a boy,” Castor muttered.
I did my best to fry him with a single look. "

― Esther M. Friesner , Nobody's Prize (Nobody's Princess, #2)