The Twinning Project Page 3

  Sounds silly, I guess, but talking to Eddie always made me feel better when things were lousy, and I was lonely after Dad disappeared, especially whenever I got kicked out of school. Even though Eddie was a jock, he never said anything mean to me. He never made me feel bad. After I saw Star Wars, I decided that I was Eddie’s dark side.

  I have a pink scar on my left butt cheek from an operation I had when I was a baby. Mom said it was a growth that had to be removed. I like to pretend it’s the scar from where Eddie and I were connected when we were born.

  Whenever I had a mysterious pain, like a headache or a stomachache or what felt like a sudden twisted ankle even though I was just playing the violin, I would imagine that something had happened to Eddie. Maybe his ankle twisted coming down wrong after snagging a rebound. Besides being a quarterback, Eddie was point guard on his junior high school basketball team and a starting pitcher when he was wasn’t playing the outfield on the baseball team. The pains never lasted long. They were like news flashes keeping me up to date on Eddie. The worst was a pain in my butt cheek one time, like someone had drilled me with a baseball.

  Next time we talked, Eddie told me that’s exactly what had happened. He had lost a game of Chinese handball—the big game in his neighborhood. If you lose, you get Cans Up. You have to bend over and the winner gets to throw the ball at your butt. But this kid used a baseball instead of the soft pink rubber ball. I asked Eddie what he had done to get back at the kid and Eddie said, NOTHING.

  I told him he was a wussy. You need to punish bullies right away; you need revenge, payback. Eddie said that you have to pick your spots, wait until you can get something out of all that, put points on the scoreboard. WIN. Made no sense to me, but that was Eddie. Whatever.

  I didn’t mind the pain because I loved the idea of having a twin brother, someone I could tell everything to, even if he was imaginary. I never had close friends because I changed schools a lot and because I don’t like to share secrets. I don’t even have too many Facebook friends, although I’m on Facebook with a phony name, so I can spy on people and hack their accounts if they’re bullies.

  The summer that Dad disappeared, I spent a lot of time in the backyard garden talking to Eddie. We’d have these long conversations—out loud, if I wasn’t careful. Good thing I wasn’t going to a psychiatrist. Imaginary twins on other planets can get you locked up in a nuthouse.

  A double star double-blinked. That’s the signal. We talk only at night.

  Yo, Eddie. You there?

  Standing on the corner.

  That was a big song back in the 1950s. I Googled it first time Eddie sang it.

  I think I’m going to do something bad tomorrow. It’ll get me kicked out of school.

  Not again, Tomaroonie.

  No choice, bro. This Britzky is a bully. He has to be stopped.

  Why do you have to stop him? You’re not the Lone Ranger.

  He’s beating up on Alessa.

  What’s an Alessa?

  She’s, um, well, this girl . . .

  You’ve got a friend?

  Well, maybe, sort of . . .

  That’s super! You’re cookin’, good-lookin’. Now maybe there’s some other way of dealing with this Bratzky.

  Bratzky, I like that. Like what other way?

  Talk to him. Make him your friend.

  He’s my enemy. I can’t let him get away with what he did to Alessa.

  You’re not letting him get away with anything—you’re looking to get something out of him, make him part of your team.

  I visited Grandpa.

  Changing the subject?

  It was sad. He said, “The monitors have landed.”

  Huh. He say anything else?

  He said to stay on my toes. That it was crunch time.

  What’s that mean?

  How should I know?

  The stars blinked off. That happens when he gets called in to dinner. His grandpa is pretty strict about eating together while the food’s hot.

  Get Britzky on my team. Right. That’s Eddie, always trying to make people his friends. Another way he was the opposite of me.

  Why was I making up an opposite? What’s wrong with me the way I am?

  ELEVEN

  NEARMONT, N.J.

  1957

  DR. Traum called Eddie to his office. He tried to make Eddie feel comfortable, closing the office door, asking him to sit on the couch instead of the hard wooden chair. Dr. Traum sat on the chair himself so he could sit close to Eddie, his bright green eyes boring into him. Dr. Traum was wearing his zooty suit.

  After they lost the football game, the guys on the team made fun of Dr. Traum’s suit, along with the boring way he talked and how he coached. Some guys even threatened to quit the team, but Eddie met with them one at a time, face-to-face, and persuaded them to give Dr. Traum a chance. They all said they would do it for Captain Eddie.

  But he’s a weird one, Eddie thought. Why am I here? Only bad kids and crazy kids go to the school psychologist. He would have felt better seeing Dr. Traum in the coach’s office.

  “This isn’t coach business,” said Dr. Traum.

  Could he read minds?

  “That was some hit you took.”

  “Happens all the time.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. Any headaches, nausea, dizziness?”

  Eddie shook his head, which made him a little dizzier. The headache had almost disappeared over the weekend. I’d better be careful, he thought. Any little thing could be an excuse for this guy to make me stop playing football. And then what? Basketball doesn’t start for three months.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m looking for an excuse to pull you off the team,” said Dr. Traum. “You’re a terrific quarterback. We need you.”

  “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  “I believe that, Eddie. I’m on your side. I want to prevent anything that might put you on the bench. Any flashes of light? Ringing sounds? Any changes in how your food tastes or smells? Any trouble doing homework?”

  I always have trouble doing homework, thought Eddie.

  “I mean, more than usual,” said Dr. Traum.

  Eddie’s head jerked up so fast, he heard a bell ring. Did he just read my mind?

  “These are common thoughts,” said Dr. Traum. “I don’t read minds.”

  Be careful with this guy, he is super sharp, thought Eddie. Lying to him might be a bad idea.

  “Do you ever hear voices, Eddie?”

  He stalled. “What kind of voices?”

  “Maybe coming from a distance, like a radio in another room, or even inside your head. It’s very common among football players.”

  Eddie felt super alert. He tried to read Dr. Traum as if he were reading a defense.

  Dr. Traum was acting casual, like this was no big deal. Like a linebacker planning to blitz pretending he was going to drop back to defend against a pass.

  “What do the voices say?”

  “Different things to different people,” said Dr. Traum. “They might even suggest things for you to do.” He chuckled. “Try a fumble-rooski.”

  “A fumble what?” Eddie could tell that Dr. Traum was trying to be friendly. He relaxed a little.

  “After the snap, the quarterback puts the ball . . .” Dr. Traum stopped and shook his head. “Just a little joke, Eddie. Tell me about the voices.”

  Eddie thought about the voice he’d been hearing for almost two years, since Dad disappeared. A kid’s voice, his age. For a while, once a week; then months of silence; then it would start again. Sometimes he thought he heard music, too—maybe a violin. At first, he thought it was Dad trying to tell him from Heaven that everything was all right. But it was a kid’s voice from very far away, telling him about his life. He thought he mostly heard it after he got his bell rung, hit by a pitch, knocked down under the basket. But he’d gotten his bell rung so often, especially in football season, it was hard to know for sure.

  Dr. Traum leaned back and put on a symp
athetic smile. Eddie thought that maybe he could trust this guy. After all, he was the school psychologist, too.

  “I hear this voice sometimes . . .”

  “Your father?” Dr. Traum leaned forward, his eyes glittering.

  “No. A kid. He says his name is Tom and that he’s my twin brother.”

  Dr. Traum seemed a little disappointed, but he nodded, as if he had heard of such things before. “Where is this, um, Tom?”

  “On another planet. Am I crazy?”

  “Of course not. I hear this all the time. Very common. Especially among football players. Do you ever hear from your dad?”

  “He disappeared,” said Eddie. “Everybody says he’s dead.”

  “What do you think?”

  Eddie was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He shrugged.

  “That’s enough for now, Eddie. You’ve been a good boy. I know it’s unusual for the school psychologist to also be the football coach, but that will give us a chance to know each other better. I’m going to recommend to the coach”—Dr. Traum laughed and winked—“that you take a day or two off from contact drills. But you can keep practicing, and you can start the next game.” He stood up and extended his hand. “We’ll talk again.”

  Eddie stood up and shook hands. Dr. Traum’s was cold. Now his green eyes were cold, too. But he was smiling. Eddie wondered if he had made a mistake telling him about Tom.

  Out in the hall, he almost bumped into Merlyn, the new cheerleader.

  “Eddie! I’ve been looking for you.” She had green eyes, too, but her hand on his arm was warm. “We’re collecting canned food for starving children in Africa. I’m the girl leader, and it would be great if you were the boy leader.”

  “I’ve got football every day and . . .”

  “It won’t take too much time. The principal said we can get out of classes to do it. We have to think of the whole planet, not just us. Please say yes. Please.”

  “Yes.”

  Her silvery voice rose. “Hooray for Eddie!” She ran down the hall, her long black hair whipping from side to side.

  TWELVE

  NEARMONT, N.J.

  2011

  I SET off a simple stink bomb, my specialty. You can get the recipe online and the ingredients at home. This one had enough of a rotten-egg smell to chase the class out of the room. That part is easy. The trick is in the blast. The explosion has to mostly stay in the box so no one gets burned, but there has to be enough outward force to make something happen—in this case, blow open Britzky’s desk drawer.

  I decided to do it in homeroom, where we all have assigned desks. It was easy enough to get to school early on my bike and open the homeroom door and then Britzky’s locked desk with a TPT SafecrackerPlus. I’d assembled the bomb at home, so all I had to do was hook it up.

  It was one of my best. Right after the Pledge of Allegiance, Britzky touched the knob on his drawer—BANG!—and the drawer shot open and a green cloud rose right into his face. He started gagging and coughing and crying.

  The stench rose as the green cloud broke up and spread around the room. Kids who had started to laugh covered their noses and ran out.

  I was glad to see no one was shooting this.

  But I just sat there, grinning, as Britzky slowly got up and the teacher looked my way.

  Maybe I wanted to get caught.

  THIRTEEN

  NEARMONT, N.J.

  2011

  I AM disappointed,” said Dr. Traum. That word again. “What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

  I looked under his desk. He was wearing his usual laceless sneakers. “I’d change them.”

  He didn’t react. “How is your mother going to feel? She begged me to admit you.” When I didn’t say anything, he sighed. “You didn’t mean to hurt him, did you, Thomas?”

  Good question. I hadn’t thought about it. Just when I started thinking about it, a school secretary came into the office and said, “His mother’s out of town, and the man who answered said he’s too busy right now.”

  “Too busy?” Dr. Traum stood up so fast his chair rolled back into the wall and bounced forward into his legs. “Tell him he can pick up Thomas here or at the police station.”

  When the secretary left, Dr. Traum looked down at me. “You know, Thomas, I bent the rules to admit you.” He sat down and tapped his keyboard. He squinted at his screen. “I’ve never seen a seventh-grader with so many past, um, incidents. False fire alarms. Bathroom floodings. Why do you think you keep getting chances?”

  I knew he was going to tell me.

  “These test scores. So high in math and reading. Musical talent. Everybody thinks a boy like you can be as terrific as he should be. And we all want to help. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “I saw the movie.”

  He smiled. “That’s what I mean, Thomas. You’re way ahead of your age—quick, sharp . . . and ready to turn the corner? What do you say? A new start. I’m going to discuss this with the principal. A short suspension, some time in special ed. What do you say?”

  “Special Ed’s okay, but I like his brother Driver Ed better.”

  Dr. Traum clapped his hands. “So we have a deal? No more incidents. Turn the corner. Be as terrific as you should be.”

  “How terrific is that?”

  “That’s up to you, isn’t it? Be an honor roll student, win violin competitions, make friends . . .” He paused. “Besides Eddie, of course.”

  The door opened and the secretary said, “Someone will be here in ten minutes.”

  Dr. Traum was still smiling. “What’ll it be, Thomas? Deal or no deal?”

  “No deal,” I said.

  I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Besides Eddie? Who could have told him about Eddie? Who knew about Eddie, besides me?

  FOURTEEN

  NEARMONT, N.J.

  2011

  THE Lump didn’t say a word until we were halfway home. “This is it for you, pal. Next stop, military school.”

  “Cool. I want to learn how to shoot automatic weapons.”

  “More likely a juvenile facility full of Bronx gangbangers.”

  “Better,” I said. “I want to learn how to kill with my bare hands.”

  He laughed through his fat nose, a sound like a toilet flushing. “How long do you think a skinny twelve-year-old smackmouth is going to last in a juvie zoo?”

  “Long enough to come back and smoke you while you sleep.”

  “I feel sorry for you, Tom. You don’t have to be such a loser, but you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

  To prove him wrong, I kept my mouth shut the rest of the way home. Maybe that was what he wanted.

  FIFTEEN

  NEARMONT, N.J.

  2011

  THE Lump and I don’t eat together when Mom’s out of town. I stayed up in my room all morning, searching for new apps, while he banged around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, the refrigerator, the microwave. I could hear him chewing and swallowing. It sounded like a garbage disposal.

  And then he was blasting the big plasma TV in the living room, watching ESPN in the middle of the day. One of the reasons Mom bought it was so she and I could watch old movies together, but the Lump took it over for sports. I never watch sports.

  I had a headache. First, I felt like I got hit on the back of my head; then my eyes crossed, and everything went dark for a moment. Now I just had a dull ache. I wondered if something had happened to Eddie.

  I’d stayed cool when Dr. Traum mentioned Eddie and didn’t think about it while I was with the Lump, but sitting in front of my computer in my room, I let two opposite feelings wash over me. One feeling wanted to freak out—how did he know about Eddie? Was he a mind reader? I never mentioned Eddie to anybody. The other feeling was a kind of relief. I couldn’t be completely insane if he knew about Eddie and hadn’t thrown me into a loony bin.

  I forced myself to concentrate on something else. I Googled juvenile facilities. The website of the nearest one said it was
“secure.” Some fourteen-year-old kid who shot a cop was there, waiting for his trial. Would I be sent to a “secure” facility or one you could escape from? If I escaped, where would I go? This is the kind of thing I could discuss only with Eddie.

  I read more about the secure juvenile facility. It was thirty miles from my house. Years ago it had been a mental asylum called the Union County Hospital for the Criminally Insane. In the picture, it looked almost like a castle, with gray stone towers and tiny barred windows. It was surrounded by a high chainlink fence topped with barbed wire. Outside the fence was a stone guardhouse, where cars were inspected before they were allowed through the gate.

  People had called the insane asylum a “snake pit” because inmates were locked away in little cells and treated badly—sometimes even beaten and starved. Not everybody there was a criminal. Patients who were released complained about the awful conditions and the constant noise of inmates screaming and banging their tin cups against the bars, but nothing happened until 1957, when a tornado hit the asylum and some of the patients escaped through a secret tunnel between the main building and the guardhouse.

  They told reporters that it hadn’t been a tornado, it had been a spaceship with aliens. But no one believed them because they were . . . well, patients in an insane asylum.

  It was a big story back then because tornadoes were rare in that part of New Jersey. This one just knocked off that one tower and did no other damage anywhere. In any case, there was an investigation, and the asylum was closed for a while before it became a juvenile prison. I wondered if Eddie had heard about it back in 1957.

  I took a nap and when I woke up, it was evening. I heard the basement door slam. The Lump was finally heading back down to his temperature-controlled, bomb-proof safe room. It’s filled with computer equipment. He says he works for the government. When I ask him which government, he flashes his yellow werewolf teeth at me.