Doppelganger by David Stahler Jr. Page B

building with a sign out front that said “Bakersville High School—Home of the Sharks,” which I thought was pretty funny since we weren’t anywhere near the ocean that I could tell.
    I’d seen plenty of high school movies and TV shows before, so the scene inside wasn’t too strange. The kids looked pretty much the same, all standing in clusters here and there along the hallways, talking, laughing. Even though it was first thing in the morning, it was a Friday, and people were excited for the weekend.
    As I walked down the hall, kids kept saying “Hi!” to me as I passed, patting me on the back, or giving me a little punch on the arm. The girls were especially friendly. They kept giving me these smiles and saying “Hi, Chris,” in this weird singsongy voice that made me feel a little prickly in a good sort of way. When Chris told me everybody liked him, I hadn’t believed him, but it seemed now that he’d been right, and for the first time it felt good to be Chris Parker. So good that by the time I found Josh and Steve with a bunch of other jocks, I was brimming with confidence.
    â€œWhat’s up,” Steve said, grinning and holding out his hand. I held out my hand too, and he grabbed it and did some weird little move that involved clapping and snapping and something else that I couldn’t catch in time.
    â€œWhat’s up,” I replied. That’s another little trick I figured out—if someone says something to you and you’renot sure how to respond, just repeat it back to them. Half the time they don’t even notice.
    â€œMissed you yesterday, Parker,” Josh said. “Coach was mad. You better lay low at practice.”
    â€œPlanning on it,” I said.
    â€œHey, where’s your jersey?” Steve said, giving me a little shove. One of the things I’ve noticed about human males, especially the jocks, is that they’re always touching each other. They make a big deal about not being “queer,” but between the shoving and punching and slapping, not to mention the headlocks and butt smacks, it’s like they can’t keep their hands off each other.
    I quickly realized the rest of the guys were all wearing their football jerseys.
    â€œIn the wash,” I said, hoping it would stick.
    Steve shook his head. “I do not want to be you at practice today.”
    Great . The last thing I needed was to call attention to myself.
    I stood around with the other guys for a while and half listened to them talk about football. From what I could gather, they were wearing their jerseys because of the game against Waterbury tomorrow, but I was more interested in finding Amber. Shouldn’t she have met me by my locker? Isn’t that what high school girlfriends are supposed to do?
    By the time the bell rang for first period, any confidence I’d gained had vanished. I suddenly realized I had no idea where I was supposed to go. Fortunately good old Josh saved the day.
    â€œLet’s go, Parker. We got history.”
    â€œYou’re right,” I said, and followed him down the hall.After about a dozen steps he stopped, then I stopped, and we both just sort of looked at each other.
    â€œAren’t you going to get your books?” he asked, gesturing toward the bank of lockers behind me.
    Oops , I thought, following his gesture. This could be bad.
    â€œUm,” I tried to stall. “Ah, screw it,” I suddenly said, and sort of shrugged my shoulders like I was tough and all, and to hell with school.
    Josh just sort of shook his head and snorted. He pushed by me, went up to a locker, and banged twice. It opened to reveal a pile of books.
    â€œCome on,” he said. “You know how Johnson can be. Not that it matters—we’re just going to be watching a video like we do every other day.”
    â€œAll right,” I said. I went up to the locker and peered in. There was a picture of some