the other end of his table.
“That must be kind of weird, having a twin. Were you the type that dressed alike?”
“Nah. We tried to be different.” I snort. “Except during football season when he cut his hair.” I notice Brad’s pushing past the other sports tables, still lobbing the lacrosse ball. Sam’s behind him, not looking very cheerful. I’m half out of my seat, my feet pressing into the clunky shoes, as both guys stride toward us.
“Madison,” Sam says. “What the hell?”
The cafeteria is a rapt audience. Like someone turned off a switch. The usual roar fades out. Kids coming through the lunch line doorway freeze. At tables up and down the room, people snap their heads in our direction.
“Sam,” Maddie says, bowing her head. “We’re just eating.”
He hooks a finger around her tray and tugs it toward him. His eyes are on mine. “I told you this morning, you can sit with us.”
“Yeah, we want you to,” Brad says, smirking.
Sam glares at him before turning back to Maddie. “Come on,” he says, picking up the tray. “You’re not sitting with this . . . ”
“Freak,” Brad supplies helpfully.
“I can sit with whoever I want,” Maddie says in a quiet voice.
“We talked about this,” Sam hisses.
People are out of their chairs now, pushing closer, like fans rushing the stage at a concert. Too bad we don’t have microphones.
Brad’s somehow elbowed his way over to my side of the table. “Nice shoes,” he says.
I get a queasy flash of déjà vu, back to seventh grade when I once took a pop at Brad. That was the year he and my brother kept getting into it. Who knows why? Then somehow, I got dragged in. Another perk of being an identical twin. I’m minding my own business, cutting across the middle school baseball field and Brad comes hurtling out of nowhere, throws himself on my back. He’d mixed us up, is what happened. I defended myself. What the hell else could I do? Funny thing, Brad always thought it was my brother who gave him the split lip.
“What are you looking at?” Brad says. “Marsh,” he spits out the word.
My brother had cracked up about that. Hey. You’re building up my reputation, little brother. The way you took him down. And I didn’t even have to break a sweat.
“That’s right, I’m talking to you.” Brad pokes a finger at my chest.
Just like last time, Brad’s mouth plops open like a dumb fish. Just like last time, I’m surprised at the pain in my knuckles.
A girl screams. At first, I think it’s Maddie, but there’s someone else digging her fingers into my arm. Great. When the hell did Logan show up?
“Marsh,” she wails. “Stop.”
The audience is on their feet. Some of them applaud. Brad’s sprawled out on his back, his fingers clutching his mouth. His lacrosse player buddies hover over him. Sam’s dragging Maddie through the crowd. Her face is drained, white.
“Marsh,” Logan says, “please, don’t.”
Don’t what? I look at my fist, and somehow it’s pulled back again.
“Hey, man, take it easy.” Now my old pal Chuck’s at my side, his mouth stretched into a grin. “Everyone wants to punch Brad, but maybe the cafeteria isn’t the best place.”
“It’s not funny,” Logan says. Her fingers are talons around my arm.
I yank away from her. I can’t find Maddie. Too many people are pushed against the table. Mr. O’Donnell’s bald head bobs through, and the crowd parts like the Red Sea.
For the second time today, I find myself sitting in Mrs. Golden’s office.
8
Wreck
S he seems more upset than I am.
“I don’t understand,” she says, shaking her head. “We had such a nice talk this morning.”
I’m plunked down in the same chair as before. I notice the dishpan turned over on another chair, the towel draped over it. I can feel Mrs. Golden staring at me and I force myself to turn my face in her direction. I notice her desk is overflowing with clutter. Besides a bunch of framed photos of her
“That must be kind of weird, having a twin. Were you the type that dressed alike?”
“Nah. We tried to be different.” I snort. “Except during football season when he cut his hair.” I notice Brad’s pushing past the other sports tables, still lobbing the lacrosse ball. Sam’s behind him, not looking very cheerful. I’m half out of my seat, my feet pressing into the clunky shoes, as both guys stride toward us.
“Madison,” Sam says. “What the hell?”
The cafeteria is a rapt audience. Like someone turned off a switch. The usual roar fades out. Kids coming through the lunch line doorway freeze. At tables up and down the room, people snap their heads in our direction.
“Sam,” Maddie says, bowing her head. “We’re just eating.”
He hooks a finger around her tray and tugs it toward him. His eyes are on mine. “I told you this morning, you can sit with us.”
“Yeah, we want you to,” Brad says, smirking.
Sam glares at him before turning back to Maddie. “Come on,” he says, picking up the tray. “You’re not sitting with this . . . ”
“Freak,” Brad supplies helpfully.
“I can sit with whoever I want,” Maddie says in a quiet voice.
“We talked about this,” Sam hisses.
People are out of their chairs now, pushing closer, like fans rushing the stage at a concert. Too bad we don’t have microphones.
Brad’s somehow elbowed his way over to my side of the table. “Nice shoes,” he says.
I get a queasy flash of déjà vu, back to seventh grade when I once took a pop at Brad. That was the year he and my brother kept getting into it. Who knows why? Then somehow, I got dragged in. Another perk of being an identical twin. I’m minding my own business, cutting across the middle school baseball field and Brad comes hurtling out of nowhere, throws himself on my back. He’d mixed us up, is what happened. I defended myself. What the hell else could I do? Funny thing, Brad always thought it was my brother who gave him the split lip.
“What are you looking at?” Brad says. “Marsh,” he spits out the word.
My brother had cracked up about that. Hey. You’re building up my reputation, little brother. The way you took him down. And I didn’t even have to break a sweat.
“That’s right, I’m talking to you.” Brad pokes a finger at my chest.
Just like last time, Brad’s mouth plops open like a dumb fish. Just like last time, I’m surprised at the pain in my knuckles.
A girl screams. At first, I think it’s Maddie, but there’s someone else digging her fingers into my arm. Great. When the hell did Logan show up?
“Marsh,” she wails. “Stop.”
The audience is on their feet. Some of them applaud. Brad’s sprawled out on his back, his fingers clutching his mouth. His lacrosse player buddies hover over him. Sam’s dragging Maddie through the crowd. Her face is drained, white.
“Marsh,” Logan says, “please, don’t.”
Don’t what? I look at my fist, and somehow it’s pulled back again.
“Hey, man, take it easy.” Now my old pal Chuck’s at my side, his mouth stretched into a grin. “Everyone wants to punch Brad, but maybe the cafeteria isn’t the best place.”
“It’s not funny,” Logan says. Her fingers are talons around my arm.
I yank away from her. I can’t find Maddie. Too many people are pushed against the table. Mr. O’Donnell’s bald head bobs through, and the crowd parts like the Red Sea.
For the second time today, I find myself sitting in Mrs. Golden’s office.
8
Wreck
S he seems more upset than I am.
“I don’t understand,” she says, shaking her head. “We had such a nice talk this morning.”
I’m plunked down in the same chair as before. I notice the dishpan turned over on another chair, the towel draped over it. I can feel Mrs. Golden staring at me and I force myself to turn my face in her direction. I notice her desk is overflowing with clutter. Besides a bunch of framed photos of her
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