The Twinning Project by Robert Lipsyte Page B

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.
    â€œEdward, 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.”
    â€œWhat are the planets of our solar system?”
    That was easy. “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune.”
    â€œYou forgot one, Edward.”
    â€œThat’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.”
    â€œVery good,” said the teacher.
    â€œPluto’s not a planet,” I said. “It’s a star.”
    â€œWhere 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.”
    â€œPluto 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.
    â€œAmnesia,” said Ronnie. “Anything can happen after a knock on the head. And Eddie’s had two, one in football and one at Scout camp.”
    â€œThat’s true,” said the teacher. She frowned. “How do you feel, Edward?”
    â€œI’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.
    â€œHave you been to your doctor?” asked the teacher.
    I nodded.
    â€œNo 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?”
    â€œSearch me. She’s new.”

THIRTY-NINE
    NEARMONT, N.J.
    1957
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    T HE 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.
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œWhere 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