Everything seemed slower here. Teachers dawdled, as if they were in no hurry to get us ready to take tests. They wore suits and ties or dresses. Maybe this was Dress-up Day. No jeans anywhere. Kids took their time in the halls. Even the big round clocks on the walls seemed to be ticking off lazy seconds. Through my first two classes, math and Spanish, my legs jiggled under my desk, which happens when I’m nervous or bored. I was both. How can you be both? Math was easy, and Spanish sounded like a baby talking French, the language I was taking back home.
I was uncomfortable in the clothes that Grandpa had laid out for me. Sand-colored desert boots, brown corduroy pants, and a yellow and black shirt. Everything itched, especially the pants. I hadn’t worn corduroy since I was a little kid. It gets damp between your thighs and makes your underwear crawl up into your crack. In science, I was squirming around in my seat trying to rub the underwear out.
“Edward, did you want to answer this question?”
I hadn’t been paying attention, and I didn’t react to the name until Ronnie kicked me. I looked up. The teacher was standing in front of a big roll-down chart of the solar system. No PowerPoint here.
I said, “I’m sorry. I forgot the question.”
“What are the planets of our solar system?”
That was easy. “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune.”
“You forgot one, Edward.”
“That’s it,” I said.
The teacher shook her head. “Merlyn?”
It was her! The same long black hair covering her face. What was she doing here? She said, “Pluto.”
“Very good,” said the teacher.
“Pluto’s not a planet,” I said. “It’s a star.”
“Where did you hear that?” said the teacher.
A little warning bell rang in my head, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Pluto’s too small to be a planet. It’s a dwarf planet, all ice and rock.”
“Pluto is a planet on this planet,” said Merlyn, smiling at me. “Maybe not on whatever planet you come from.”
The class grumbled at her. I guess it didn’t like anyone making fun of its hero, Eddie.
“Amnesia,” said Ronnie. “Anything can happen after a knock on the head. And Eddie’s had two, one in football and one at Scout camp.”
“That’s true,” said the teacher. She frowned. “How do you feel, Edward?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
The teacher came over and put her hand on my forehead. She smelled of talcum powder. “No fever.”
The bell rang.
“Have you been to your doctor?” asked the teacher.
I nodded.
“No need,” said Merlyn. “I have a new trick to examine his brain at the lunchtime talent show.”
Outside in the hallway, I said to Ronnie, “What’s with that Merlyn?”
“Search me. She’s new.”
THIRTY-NINE
NEARMONT, N.J.
1957
THE cafeteria was a crummy hole. The floor was yellow linoleum with black scabs. Kids sat on gray metal benches at long gray metal picnic tables, like in the old black-and-white prison movies I watched on Turner Classic. I wasn’t hungry anyway.
Grandpa had made me a great breakfast. Scrambled eggs, bacon, hot buttered toast, cold orange juice, and milk. It was delicious. I wasn’t used to eating so much for breakfast.
“You sit over there,” said Ronnie, pointing to a table in the center of the cafeteria.
You could tell it was a hotshot table: student government types in chinos and blue button-down shirts, jocks in team jerseys, and girls wearing skirts and two matching sweaters. Around us were thug tables and freak tables and rebel tables. Not much had changed over the years. Except the shoes. Kids were wearing dorky-looking shoes, a lot of brown leather and desert boots. I guess Nike and Skechers hadn’t been invented yet.
Ronnie started to slink away.
“Where you going?”
He pointed his chin toward a table in the corner packed with fat kids, goofy-looking kids, boys with pens, pencils, and little rulers in plastic holders in their shirt pockets.
I grabbed his skinny arm and pulled him toward the hot table. “You’re staying with me.”
“They won’t let me,” he said.
“Let ’em stop us.”
No one said anything as I climbed over the bench and made room for Ronnie and my violin bag. He didn’t look happy, but I needed him close. I could tell that the kids at the table weren’t happy, either, but Eddie got his way in this school. I wish I had spent more time with him. On EarthOne we would have called him a people person.
Grandpa had packed me a huge roast beef sandwich on a roll, an apple, and cookies. Ronnie had a slice of bologna and a slice of cheese on white bread. He stuffed his sandwich in his pocket and started to get up. “I gotta go, Eddie.”
I pulled him down and gave him half my roast beef sandwich. The way he ate it, I wondered if he had had any breakfast.
One of the jocks pointed at my violin bag. “What’s in there?”
“My violin,” I said.
Kids at the table started laughing like I had cracked a great joke.
“Gonna play for us?” a girl said.
“If you’re lucky.”
“In the talent show?” She pointed at Merlyn, who was fussing with her little folding table and collapsible top hat. “Miss Conceited thinks she’s going to win.”
Merlyn was definitely the girl from the park. How had she gotten here? The same way I got here?
Then I remembered Grandpa had said that Dr. Traum was probably a monitor because he could be two places at the same time. So Merlyn was probably a monitor. I’d better be careful with her.
The PA system started crackling, and some kid announced the seventh grade lunchtime open talent show. Teachers went around shushing people.
At one side of the cafeteria, a little band set up and three girls climbed up on a table with a microphone and sang a sappy song about “Tammy.” They were terrible, but they must have been popular because they got a lot of applause. Then a kid tap-danced. Then a girl in a ballet outfit danced. A guy sang “All Shook Up,” and kids screamed when he did a little wiggle with it. Ronnie was singing along with him.
Suddenly, there was a drum roll from the band and Merlyn climbed up on the table. She was wearing the black top hat. She set up her little table on top of the big table.
Merlyn was as good as I remembered her. Just like a real magician on TV, she kept talking so you couldn’t concentrate on what she was doing—juggling four red balls, pulling a rabbit doll out of her hat, doing card tricks. Kids came up and she plucked coins out of their ears. Then she said, “I know some of you think I made Eddie Tudor disappear. We’re all so glad he’s back, even if he’s lost his memory. So come on up, Eddie. Do a trick with me.”
I stood up.
Ronnie grabbed my arm. “Cool your jets. Don’t do it.”
Everybody was looking at me. I couldn’t wimp out. I picked up my pack and walked across the cafeteria, slow, like a gunfighter, and climbed up on the table next to Merlyn.
“I see you brought your violin,” she said. Everybody laughed.
She pulled the red scarf out of her hat and started pretending to push it into one of my ears. Only this time it really felt like something was going into my head. How did she do that? Could aliens do things like that? It was creepy, but I didn’t pull away. Then she reached around my head and pulled the red scarf out of my other ear. What a strange feeling.
“Just as I thought,” said Merlyn. “Eddie’s head is still empty.”
Teachers were laughing. Everybody was laughing except Ronnie. His head was lowered.
Poor guy, I thought, he really loves Eddie.
I waited until the laughter died down. “Thank you for cleaning my head, Merlyn, so I can play better.” I opened my pack and took out my violin. People gasped.
I took my time tuning up, thinking of what
to play. Then I remembered the song Alessa’s mom had been playing in the car. “Let me dedicate this song to Merlyn the Magician.”
I faced her as I played and sang:
Tough girlz, think you’re cruel.
Tough girlz, too cool for school.
Tough girlz, you just foolz.
Tough girlz, tough girlz.
The cafeteria went crazy. I got a standing O. Clapping and stomping and cheering. For me. For Tom. It felt great. I hoped Eddie was feeling some of the chilly happy fingers playing up and down my spine.
One of the teachers held a vote. By applause, I won the open talent show by a landslide. I thought about Mrs. Rupp’s Timeline. How many years to go until the song “Tough Girlz” gets written? I looked at Merlyn. She winked.
What’s her game?
FORTY
NEARMONT, N.J.
1957
You didn’t tell me Alessa was a Negro.
Is that a problem for you, Eddie?
No, but I never knew one before.
Just like us only darker. Didn’t Dad or Grandpa talk about that?
Grandpa talked about Jackie all the time. He loved Jackie.
Who’s Jackie?
You kidding? Jackie Robinson.
The baseball player?
The first Negro player in the major leagues, April 15, 1947.
Timeline Rupp’s gonna love you.
I liked that timeline, Tom, especially the stuff that happened after my time.
We could bet on the World Series.
What do you mean?
You could Google who wins the Series in 1957, and I could bet on it.
That would be wrong.
Don’t be such a Boy Scout, Eddie. By the way, we don’t say Negro anymore, we say African American.
This kid Britzky . . .
The kid I bombed. He picks on Alessa.
That’s going to be okay.
How come?
I can make him a friend.
Some friend. What’s the deal with Ronnie?
He’s my little pal. Yours now.
You pick him out of a Dumpster?
A what?
The garbage.
That’s not nice.
The way he dresses. He smells bad. And he looks like a girl.
He’s a stand-up guy. You can count on him.
I gave him half my lunch.
I always do that. I don’t think he lives anywhere.
He’s homeless?
He won’t talk about it. Hey, how’s Buddy? I really miss him.
He knows. He growls at me.
Give him treats.
He tries to bite me.
We’d better stop. Grandpa said not to talk more than five minutes at a time, the monitors could be trying to tune in.
Eddie . . . ?
FORTY-ONE
NEARMONT, N.J.
1957
THE stars blinked off. They looked just like the ones in the backyard on my planet. I went back into the house. Grandpa was watching TV on a black-and-white set. He kept jiggling the two tall silver antennas on top of the set and still got lousy reception. No dish or cable here yet. Or color. He had to keep getting up to adjust the sound. No remote.
“It’s on,” he said.
An announcer in a suit and tie appeared on the screen and said, “Here he is: the one, the only . . . ,” and the studio audience screamed, “Groucho!” A funny-looking guy with a mustache who walked like a duck came out. And then a wooden duck came down from the ceiling with a hundred-dollar bill in its mouth and the announcer said that tonight’s secret word was space.
The show was called You Bet Your Life, and it wasn’t too lame. Groucho made jokes with his guests, who had to answer questions to win up to $10,000. Chump change. Grandpa loved the show. He laughed every time Groucho wiggled his eyebrows or waggled his cigar. By the time the show was over, Grandpa had tears in his eyes from laughing so much.
I guess I must have been looking at him weirdly because he said, “Not a ton of real smart stuff back here in 1957.”
“At least you got all your marbles in 1957, Grandpa.”
He laughed. “That’s the kind of crack your dad would make.”
I took a breath. “Grandpa, do you think he could be alive?”
“Why do you ask that?”
When adults answer your question with a question, they’re stalling for time. I felt an excitement deep in my stomach come up into my chest. “He’s alive, isn’t he? He’s hiding from the monitors.”
“You’re a smart boy.” He gave me a hug. “Now go to bed.”
I could tell he wasn’t going to say anything else, so I went upstairs. I wondered if I’d be able to go to sleep.
I felt funny using Eddie’s toothbrush. Instead, I just put toothpaste on my finger and rubbed it over my teeth. I got into bed in my underwear.
Dad had to be alive. The monitors were hunting the rebel leader. What could I do in the fight against the monitors?
I remembered that in one of the Mark Twain books Grandpa and I read, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, the hero beat the evil magician Merlin because he knew there was going to be an eclipse of the sun on a certain date.
Had anything like that happened in 1957? Would I remember if it had? I was dead without Google. If only I could get online here.
I dug my phone out of the violin bag. No signal. And it was running out of juice. I had a charger, but so what? I plugged it in anyway and charged the phone. Old habit.
Eddie had a marked-up calendar on the wall. Today was Thursday, October 3, 1957. I needed Google, Mrs. Rupp’s Timeline, something.
You Bet Your Life.
The magic word was space.
Something really important was hiding in a fold of my brain. Just when I thought I was getting close, I fell asleep.
FORTY-TWO
NEARMONT, N.J.
2011
EDDIE persuaded Alessa to take the school bus with him by telling her it would be good for the campaign. They’d meet more kids every day, get to know them. Her mom wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but she trusted him to protect Alessa. Eddie didn’t like riding in their big truck of a car. He was used to riding in buses with a bunch of kids, fooling around, making friends.
Alessa was staring at her little screen. Her lips were trembling.
“What’s up, pup?”
She handed him her telephone. The words on the screen were:
KISS YR PIZZA BUTT BYBY.
BRAINDEAD CAN’T SAVE YOU.
“Who’s it from?”
“Britzky,” she said. “He’s a cyberbully.”
“Cyberbully?’
“Maybe you are brain dead.” She was very upset. “Sorry. It’s not you. It’s your pills.”
The bus pulled up at the school.
Eddie looked at the big stone fountain on the sidewalk outside the school. At his junior high school, the after-school fights were held by the fountain. They were called showdowns. Eddie didn’t fight much. A jock rarely had to. But if you did fight, the whole team showed up to cover your back.
“You should report it,” said Eddie.
“I can’t prove it’s him.”
He gave her back the phone and jumped off the bus. “I’ll think of something,” he said. He was feeling more confident since sinking those baskets. He felt more like himself instead of a fake Tom. He bounced his rubber ball a few times.
He followed Alessa to a wall of lockers. Before he even asked, she told him his combination. There was a pink slip of paper inside his locker. It read: You’re so gay. Eddie laughed. It was true, he was feeling pretty good. He wondered if it was from Merlyn. He always got notes like that from girls in his old school.
“You think that’s funny?” said Alessa, who had read the note over his shoulder.
She was starting to get on his nerves. “Don’t be jealous.”
“Do you even know what that means?”
“It means I’m, you know, in a good
mood, happy.”
She just stared at him. “It’s from Britzky. He’d text you if you had a phone. It’s a bias crime to write that. It’s not allowed.”
“To call someone happy?”
“Is it really the pills, or are you trying to punk everybody out?”
“What?”
She gave off a big sigh. It was like the air rushing out of a blow-up mattress at Scout camp. “‘Gay’ means homosexual.”
Eddie wasn’t really sure what “homosexual” meant. He did know it wasn’t considered nice to use the word back home. “So what’s the big deal? ‘Sticks and stones can break my bones but names will never hurt me.’ Ever hear that?”
“Sure they can hurt you. People use words and names to scare you, to bully you, to turn people against you.”
“So maybe I should report it.”
“You can’t. It would be wimpy. You would lose your YouTube cred.”
It took him a moment to figure that out. She was talking about Tom’s reputation for being tough. But I’ve got a reputation, too. I’m Captain Eddie, a leader. I don’t run for help. People run to me for help.
Cyberbullies. Hurting people you hardly know over the airwaves. It’ll come to my planet in fifty years.
An idea began to form.
He followed Alessa to history. Mrs. Rupp made her computer do its thing, and a chart of dates went up on the wall. One of them was October 4, 1957. That was tomorrow. The chart was moving, and all he could see was something about a spaceship. Mrs. Rupp said the wrong people conquered space. The aliens? Mrs. Rupp glared at Eddie a few times, but she never called on him.
Tom needed to know about the spaceship tomorrow, Eddie thought. But meanwhile, his idea grew into a plan, filled his head. It was hard to keep two things spinning in his brain at the same time.
FORTY-THREE
The Twinning Project Page 9
