else is on fire.
Mrs. Golden beams. “See, all better.” She picks up the balled up socks and the plastic clogs. “Let’s put these back on, okay? Let’s try wearing shoes for a while. At least now, because of the weather.”
I feel like a doofball in these blue clogs. My feet are still tingling, like ants are crawling around under the skin. I probably did get frostbitten, which I have to admit is not a goodthing. If I freeze my feet off, there’s no way I’ll ever make it into a thin space.
But clomping around in shoes feels like admitting defeat.
At lunch, I park it at the same back-corner table. It takes me a minute to realize I forgot my lunch at home. I shove a hand in my back pocket. Maybe there’s some money tucked away in my wallet. I dig past the license, the photos, a couple of old receipts. It’s weird seeing this stuff. A little painful slap from the past.
Take the driver’s license. Why the hell am I still carrying it around? I should get rid of it. Shove it in a drawer somewhere. I can’t imagine ever driving again. And I can’t stand looking at the picture.
Here’s a weird thing about being an identical twin—something maybe other people don’t realize—we didn’t see ourselves that way. Identical, I mean. Like one time we stood next to each other in front of the bathroom mirror and I was thinking, Do people really think we look the same? Because I didn’t think we did. Other people, though, they mixed us up all the time. I know that’s what makes it so hard for them. We were MarshandAustin, the twins. And seeing me now forces them to remember him. Like I’m his ghost.
“Hi, Marsh.” Maddie sits fast, slumping low in her seat. “Do you see Sam?”
I scuff my clogged feet back and forth across the floor. “Sam?”
“Yeah. Over there.” She whispers so I have to lean closer to hear what she’s saying. “That table where the lacrosse team sits. Is he looking at us?”
I glance over her shoulder. The lacrosse guys have their sticks out like they’re about to set up a game in the cafeteria. I catch a glimpse of Sam’s square jaw. “He’s not looking.”
She lets out a sigh. “Good. I don’t want him to see me.” She nudges her tray toward me. “Want some fries?”
“No, thanks.”
“Have some, really,” she says. “I’m too upset to eat.”
I know I’m supposed to ask her why. But I don’t have the energy. I do take a handful of fries though, and she smiles.
“This morning, you know how I wasn’t on the bus?”
That’s news to me, but I nod.
“Those lacrosse guys Sam carpools with, he wanted me to ride with them today. He doesn’t want me to—He doesn’t like that I’m—” She turns her head, squints over her shoulder. “See, he thinks you’re—”
I’m only halfway paying attention, but I know where she’s going with this. Without really thinking about it, I find myself wanting to help her out. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I know what people say about me.”
“You do?”
I twirl my finger around my ear, the universal sign for “I’m a lunatic.”
Maddie exhales a weak laugh.
“Really. Don’t worry about it.” I flex my feet. The plastic shoes dig into my skin. But I have to admit, it’s kind of nice having warm feet for a change.
“They were talking about you this morning.” She slumps down lower. “And your brother.”
I flick my eyes toward the lacrosse table again. There’s Brad Silverman sprawled out, looking cheerful, chucking a ball back and forth in his hands.
“Telling these stories . . . ”
“Stories?” My heart speeds up. I can’t figure out why. It’s not like I care about these people or what they say about me. I lock eyes with Brad Silverman.
Maddie’s chin is drooped so low it’s practically on her lunch tray. “About how you and your brother looked so much alike.”
“Well, we were identical.” I try to say it with a laugh but it comes out weak and shaky. I watch Brad stand, walk toward
Mrs. Golden beams. “See, all better.” She picks up the balled up socks and the plastic clogs. “Let’s put these back on, okay? Let’s try wearing shoes for a while. At least now, because of the weather.”
I feel like a doofball in these blue clogs. My feet are still tingling, like ants are crawling around under the skin. I probably did get frostbitten, which I have to admit is not a goodthing. If I freeze my feet off, there’s no way I’ll ever make it into a thin space.
But clomping around in shoes feels like admitting defeat.
At lunch, I park it at the same back-corner table. It takes me a minute to realize I forgot my lunch at home. I shove a hand in my back pocket. Maybe there’s some money tucked away in my wallet. I dig past the license, the photos, a couple of old receipts. It’s weird seeing this stuff. A little painful slap from the past.
Take the driver’s license. Why the hell am I still carrying it around? I should get rid of it. Shove it in a drawer somewhere. I can’t imagine ever driving again. And I can’t stand looking at the picture.
Here’s a weird thing about being an identical twin—something maybe other people don’t realize—we didn’t see ourselves that way. Identical, I mean. Like one time we stood next to each other in front of the bathroom mirror and I was thinking, Do people really think we look the same? Because I didn’t think we did. Other people, though, they mixed us up all the time. I know that’s what makes it so hard for them. We were MarshandAustin, the twins. And seeing me now forces them to remember him. Like I’m his ghost.
“Hi, Marsh.” Maddie sits fast, slumping low in her seat. “Do you see Sam?”
I scuff my clogged feet back and forth across the floor. “Sam?”
“Yeah. Over there.” She whispers so I have to lean closer to hear what she’s saying. “That table where the lacrosse team sits. Is he looking at us?”
I glance over her shoulder. The lacrosse guys have their sticks out like they’re about to set up a game in the cafeteria. I catch a glimpse of Sam’s square jaw. “He’s not looking.”
She lets out a sigh. “Good. I don’t want him to see me.” She nudges her tray toward me. “Want some fries?”
“No, thanks.”
“Have some, really,” she says. “I’m too upset to eat.”
I know I’m supposed to ask her why. But I don’t have the energy. I do take a handful of fries though, and she smiles.
“This morning, you know how I wasn’t on the bus?”
That’s news to me, but I nod.
“Those lacrosse guys Sam carpools with, he wanted me to ride with them today. He doesn’t want me to—He doesn’t like that I’m—” She turns her head, squints over her shoulder. “See, he thinks you’re—”
I’m only halfway paying attention, but I know where she’s going with this. Without really thinking about it, I find myself wanting to help her out. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I know what people say about me.”
“You do?”
I twirl my finger around my ear, the universal sign for “I’m a lunatic.”
Maddie exhales a weak laugh.
“Really. Don’t worry about it.” I flex my feet. The plastic shoes dig into my skin. But I have to admit, it’s kind of nice having warm feet for a change.
“They were talking about you this morning.” She slumps down lower. “And your brother.”
I flick my eyes toward the lacrosse table again. There’s Brad Silverman sprawled out, looking cheerful, chucking a ball back and forth in his hands.
“Telling these stories . . . ”
“Stories?” My heart speeds up. I can’t figure out why. It’s not like I care about these people or what they say about me. I lock eyes with Brad Silverman.
Maddie’s chin is drooped so low it’s practically on her lunch tray. “About how you and your brother looked so much alike.”
“Well, we were identical.” I try to say it with a laugh but it comes out weak and shaky. I watch Brad stand, walk toward
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