The Twin Powers by Robert Lipsyte Page A

black boot.
    â€œMaybe we need a little more understanding here,” said Agent Quinn. “It’s not that Alessa is being unpatriotic or criminal. She’s hung up on body-image issues.”
    Good cop.
    â€œShe’s just fat,” said Agent Mathison.
    Bad cop.
    â€œShe’s not totally comfortable in her skin,” said Agent Quinn.
    Good cop.
    â€œThere’s so much of it,” said Agent Mathison.
    Bad cop.
    Go ahead,
I thought.
You think I haven’t heard all of this before?
    â€œHer feelings make her do things against her better nature,” said Agent Quinn. “Such as protecting Tom.”
    â€œBeing a tub of lard is no excuse for endangering the nation,” said Agent Mathison. “And the jury won’t think so either.”
    I was cold and hot. I sucked for breath. The arms I had wrapped around myself were the only things keeping me from falling apart. My fingers dug into my rolls of flesh.
Stay tough. If they keep you here and starve you, Lessi, you’ll wake up skinny.
    If you come out alive.
    â€œMaybe she’s hiding information about Tom in all that blubber,” said Agent Mathison. “A thumb drive, notes—who knows? We better check.”
    â€œI’m afraid you’re right,” said Agent Quinn. “But how about one more chance. I know she wants to do the right thing.”
    â€œOkay,” said Agent Mathison. “Explain this, Alessa. You say Tom didn’t come back after going after Ronnie. But you say you saw him give his speech. How’s that possible?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œShe doesn’t want to tell us,” said Agent Quinn.
    â€œLet her starve!” screamed Agent Mathison. She turned away.
    â€œWait.” It just came out of me. “There are two of them. They’re twins.”
    â€œNo wonder we didn’t have a fix,” said Agent Quinn. “Better call this in, pronto.”
    â€œFirst, we shake out the other loser,” said Agent Mathison.
    They walked out. I felt like a puddle of fat.

Thirty-one
    BRITZKY
    SOMEWHERE IN NORTHERN VIRGINIA
    2012
    Â 
    â€œT OUGH guy peed his pants,” said Agent Mathison.
    â€œUnderstandable, the jam he’s in,” said Agent Quinn.
    â€œYour fat friend tells us Tom is working with the aliens,” said Agent Mathison. “You can confirm that and maybe save your pathetic yellow-stained self, or you can continue to play tough and suffer the consequences.”
    What consequences,
I thought.
I’m thirteen years old. What can they do to me?
    â€œDon’t think,” said Agent Quinn in his phony sympathetic voice, “that being a kid protects you from consequences. In war, kids suffer worse than grownups. And we consider this a war. You’re not going to walk away.”
    â€œOh, he’ll walk, all right,” said Agent Mathison. “After we release him in a few months, he’ll walk right into a juvenile facility. Those gangbangers love tough guys with zits who pee in their pants.”
    â€œSo tell us,” said Agent Quinn. “Did Alessa tell us the truth? Is Tom in contact with the aliens? Because if she didn’t . . .” He looked at Agent Mathison, who gave him her nasty smile.
    I took a deep breath—I couldn’t help myself. Poor Lessi. She must have figured it didn’t matter if she told them. They’d probably figured it out anyway.
Okay, tell them what they already know. No more.
    â€œIt’s true.”
    â€œWhere are they?” said Agent Mathison.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said.
    â€œWhen is the last time you saw an alien?”
    â€œIf Hercules was an alien, then the last time I saw one was when he showed up at school.”
    â€œThat’s what Alessa said too,” said Agent Quinn, smiling at him. “We’re going to turn off the lights and music and let you nap for a while.”
    â€œBut first,” said Agent