Liar Liar Read online

  I stopped at the bottom of the driveway and gazed up at the house. “Oh no,” I moaned.

  The lights were on in the front rooms. Mom’s Jaguar was in the driveway.

  No. No. No.

  When did she get home? I wondered. Does she know that I’m not there?

  Has Jake already squealed on me?

  Keeping in the shadows, I made my way around to the side of the house.

  The gardener planted a row of olive trees there a few years ago. The trees are short, but one of them is tall enough for me to stand on a branch and reach my bedroom window.

  I only use it for emergencies.

  And this was definitely an emergency.

  If Mom found out that I left Jake by himself and sneaked out to Max’s party, I’d be grounded until I was at least sixty years old!

  I had to climb through the upstairs window into my bedroom, then walk downstairs as if I had been there all along.

  If Jake said I went out, I’d tell Mom he was crazy.

  I stopped a few feet from the olive tree. I gazed up at my dark bedroom window.

  An easy climb.

  No problem.

  I reached for the bottom tree limb. Started to hoist myself up.

  And two hands wrapped around my waist, grabbed me hard, and pulled me down.

  As I fell back, I heard a high-pitched giggle in my ear.

  I tumbled to the ground. Spun around quickly. Jumped to my feet.

  And stared angrily at Jake.

  “What are you doing out here?” I cried. My voice cracked.

  That made Jake giggle even harder. His eyes flashed excitedly in the dim light. He loves scaring me. It’s a total thrill for him to sneak up behind me and grab me or shout, “Boo!”

  “What are you doing outside?” I repeated, grabbing him by the shoulders.

  His grin grew wider. “I saw you coming.”

  I squeezed his tiny shoulders harder. “When did Mom get home? Does she know I went out?”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe I told her. Or maybe I didn’t.”

  “Which is it?” I demanded.

  “Maybe you have to find out,” he said.

  I loosened my grip. I smoothed the front of his T-shirt. “Listen, Jake, help me out here. I—”

  The dining room window slid open. Mom poked her head out. “There you are, Rosssss.”

  I could tell by the way she hissed my name that she was totally angry.

  “Get in here,” she said. “Both of you. Right now.” She slammed the window so hard, the glass panes shook.

  She was waiting for us in the kitchen, hands pressed tightly against her waist. “Where were you, Rosssss?”

  “Uh … nowhere,” I said.

  “You were nowhere?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Jake laughed.

  Mom’s eyes burned into mine. “You weren’t home when I got here. Were you?”

  “Well … it’s not what you’re thinking,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t go to Max’s party.”

  “Yes, you did!” Jake chimed in.

  “Then where did you go?” Mom asked. “Why are you wearing a bathing suit? And why is it wet?”

  “Uh … you see, Jake was watching a video. And I was so hot … I just went outside to cool off. I took a swim in our pool. Really. I knew I was grounded. So I just hung around the pool.”

  Jake laughed.

  “Shut up, Jake!” I shouted. I spun away from him. “He just wants to get me in trouble, Mom. I was in the backyard. Really.”

  Mom scrunched up her face as she studied me. I could tell she was trying to decide whether or not to believe me.

  The phone rang.

  Mom punched the button on the speakerphone. “Hello?”

  “Oh, hi. Mrs. Arthur?”

  I recognized Max’s voice. I could hear the party going on in the background.

  “Yes, Max. Did you want to speak to Ross?”

  “No,” Max replied. “I was just calling to tell him he left his towel and his extra suit at my house.”

  I slumped onto a kitchen stool. Caught again.

  Mom thanked Max and clicked off the speakerphone. When she turned back to me, she did not have her friendly face on. In fact, she was bright red.

  “I’m really worried about you, Ross,” she said in a whisper.

  “Huh? Worried?”

  “I don’t think you know how to tell the truth anymore.”

  “Sure, I do,” I said. “I just—”

  Mom shook her head. “No. Really, Ross. I don’t think you know the difference between the truth and a lie.”

  I jumped off the stool. “I can tell the truth!” I protested. “I swear I can. Sometimes I make up things because … because I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “Ross, I don’t think you can stop making up things,” Mom said softly. “When your father gets back from his shoot, we need to have a family meeting. We need to talk about this problem.”

  I stared at the floor. “Okay,” I replied.

  And then I suddenly remembered the boy in the pool. And I had to ask.

  “Mom, can I ask you a strange question? Do I have a twin?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me for a long moment. Then her answer totally shocked me. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, you do.”

  I gasped. “Huh?”

  Mom nodded. “There’s a good twin and a bad twin. You’re the bad twin.” She laughed.

  “Ha ha,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Good joke, Mom.”

  Mom squeezed my shoulder. “Why would I want two of you?”

  “I want a twin!” Jake cried. “Then we could both pound Ross!”

  “We have more serious problems to talk about,” Mom said, sighing. “Let’s drop the twin talk.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She raised it to her mouth and took a long drink.

  “But I saw a kid who looks just like me,” I said. “I mean, exactly like me. He could have been my twin!”

  Mom took another drink, then shoved the bottle back into the fridge. “Were you looking in a mirror?”

  I rolled my eyes again. “Ha ha. Another good one, Mom. Remind me to laugh later.”

  “I’m going to bed,” Mom said. She clicked off the kitchen lights and started out of the room.

  “No, wait.” I hurried after her. “I really did see my twin.”

  As Mom turned back, she looked troubled and sad. “Ross, what am I going to do with you?” she whispered. “You really can’t go two minutes without making up a story.”

  I felt my anger rise. I balled my hands into tight fists at my sides. “I’m not making this up,” I screamed. “It’s the truth!”

  I pushed Jake out of the way and ran up to my room.

  I couldn’t get to sleep that night. I kept thinking about that boy swimming toward me in Max’s pool. I kept picturing the angry expression on his face. I kept seeing him mouth the words Go away.

  And then he vanished.

  And I kept thinking about Cindy and Sharma. How angry they were over a simple mix-up.

  Mom’s words kept repeating in my mind: “I don’t think you know the difference between the truth and a lie.”

  That was crazy. Totally wrong.

  But how could I prove it to her?

  Finally I drifted into a restless sleep. I dreamed that I was running through an endless field of tall grass, being chased by Cindy and Sharma. They were waving their arms furiously, calling to me, shouting their lungs out—but I couldn’t hear them. And I couldn’t stop running through the tall grass.

  I was awakened by voices.

  I sat straight up in bed, breathing hard. My pajama shirt clung wetly to my skin.

  I glanced at my clock radio. Two o’clock in the morning.

  Who was talking at this time of night? I held my breath and listened hard.

  The voices came from downstairs. I heard a woman’s voice. She was speaking loudly, sharply. But I couldn’t make out her words.

 
; Had Dad come home early from his shoot? Were he and Mom talking down there?

  I slid out of bed and tiptoed to the hall. Nearly to the stairs, I stopped and listened again.

  It was dark downstairs. No lights on in the living room. They must be in the kitchen, I realized.

  The woman was talking. It was Mom. I recognized her voice.

  I leaned into the stairwell to try to make out her words.

  “Are you going crazy or something?”

  That’s what she said. She didn’t sound angry. She sounded worried.

  “You don’t have a twin,” she said. “No twin. Why would you say such a crazy thing?”

  And then I heard a boy answer.

  “But I saw him!” the boy said. “Really. I saw him.”

  I let out a low gasp. I gripped the banister to keep from falling.

  The boy …

  The boy … had MY voice!

  “I’m not making it up,” the boy said—in my voice. “I saw him, and he saw me.”

  “It’s late. We should be asleep,” Mom said. “Come on. Turn off the lights.”

  “Why don’t you believe me?” the boy demanded shrilly.

  Gripping the banister, I realized my whole body was trembling.

  How can he have my voice? Who is he? Why is Mom talking to him in the middle of the night?

  I had to see what was going on. I took a step—and stumbled.

  My bare foot slid over the wooden stair, and I started to fall, tumbling down step by step.

  A painful thud with each step.

  I landed hard on my elbows and knees. My heart pounding, I waited for the pain to stop. And listened for approaching footsteps, for cries of surprise from the kitchen.

  Mom must have heard me thumping and bumping down the stairs.

  Why didn’t she come running to see who had fallen?

  Silence in the kitchen now.

  I picked myself up and straightened my pajamas. One knee throbbed with pain. I rubbed it carefully as I limped toward the kitchen.

  “Who’s down here?” I called. “Mom? Is that you?”

  No reply.

  The kitchen was dark. No lights on. Silvery moonlight poured in from the windows. No color in the room, only shades of gray.

  I suddenly felt as if I were in a black-and-white movie.

  “Mom? I heard you talking!” I called.

  I made my way across the kitchen, running my hand along the counter. “Anyone in here?”

  No.

  I peered out at the backyard. Under the bright moonlight, the swimming pool shimmered, and the grass glowed like silver.

  Unreal.

  I turned away—and the kitchen lights flashed on. Blinking from the shock of the light, I saw Mom in the doorway.

  “Ross? What are you doing down here?” she asked, holding a hand over her mouth and yawning loudly.

  “I—I heard you talking,” I said.

  She tightened the belt of her robe. “Me? It wasn’t me. I was asleep.”

  “No,” I said. “I heard voices. You were here in the kitchen, talking to a boy.”

  Mom rubbed her eyes with both hands. “No. Really, Ross. Why are you down here?”

  “I told you,” I said, clenching my fists. I banged one fist on the Formica counter. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Because I wasn’t in here talking to anyone,” Mom said. “I was in my bed, sound asleep. Until I heard you wandering around.”

  She yawned. “You must have been having a nightmare. Sometimes nightmares can seem very real.”

  “I didn’t dream it,” I insisted. “I know the difference between a nightmare and what’s really happening.”

  I could see she wasn’t going to believe me. So I shrugged and followed her out of the kitchen, clicking off the lights as I left.

  I didn’t get back to sleep that night.

  I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Listening for the voices downstairs. Waiting … listening for Mom and the boy with my voice.

  I didn’t know I would see the boy in a few hours.

  I didn’t know how dangerous he was.

  I didn’t know the terrifying trouble I was in.

  Cindy stopped me after school Monday afternoon. I was kneeling down in front of my hall locker, lacing my new tennis sneakers. She stepped in front of me and stomped down hard on one of them.

  “Hey!” I snapped angrily. “Why’d you do that?”

  She shrugged. “Just felt like it.”

  I tied the laces quickly, then spit on my fingers and tried to rub off the scuff mark she’d made. “If you’re still angry at me about Max’s party …”

  “I’ve decided to be nice to you again,” she said.

  “Nice? By stomping on my foot?”

  She laughed. “That was just to be funny.” She raked her fingers through her straight black bangs. “Why did you leave the party so early Friday night? Afraid Sharma and I would toss you in the pool again?”

  “You almost drowned me!” I grumbled.

  “You deserved it,” Cindy replied. “So why did you leave in such a hurry, Ross?”

  “Oh, I was worried about my little brother,” I said. “I don’t like to leave him alone for long.”

  Cindy stared hard at me. “Is that the truth?”

  I slammed my locker shut. “Of course,” I said.

  Cindy shifted her backpack on her shoulders. “Maybe you could come over to my house now. We could study for the government test together.”

  I waved to some guys down the hall. “I can’t,” I told Cindy. “I have tennis team practice.”

  I glanced at the clock above the principal’s office. “I’m already late.”

  Cindy frowned at me. “Where’s your tennis racket?”

  I started jogging to the back doors. “Steve Franklin said he’d bring an extra one for me. I left mine at home this morning.”

  “Where are you really going?” Cindy called after me. “Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  “It’s true!” I shouted. I trotted out of the school building and hurried across the playground to the tennis courts.

  I heard the thock thock thock of rackets hitting tennis balls. Guys on the team were already warming up.

  I searched the long row of courts for Steve Franklin. He had a bucket of balls and was hitting one after another, practicing his serve.

  I started jogging over to him to get the racket he’d promised to bring. But Coach Melvin blocked my way. “Ross, you’re ten minutes late. We really need you here on time. You missed the whole warm-up.”

  “Sorry, Coach,” I said. “I … uh … had a really bad nosebleed.”

  He squinted at my nose. “You okay now?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, go warm up. Practice your serves, okay? Take the court next to Steve.”

  I took a basket of tennis balls and trotted over to Steve. He stopped serving and tossed me an old racket of his. “What’s up, Ross?” he asked.

  I swung the racket hard a few times to get the feel of it.

  “I’m thinking of quitting the team,” I said. “I might go pro.”

  Steve laughed. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “Not a bad racket,” I said, twirling it in my palm. “Not a good racket. But not a bad racket.”

  “You want to come over and practice some time this weekend?” Steve asked. “My dad built a new court in our backyard. It’s clay. Very sweet.”

  “Cool,” I said. I dragged the bucket of balls over to the next court and started practicing my serve. The first three flew into the net.

  I turned and saw Coach Melvin frowning at me from the next court.

  “Just testing the racket,” I called to him.

  I served a few more. My arm felt stiff. I hadn’t practiced in a while.

  Down the long row of courts, guys were volleying back and forth. The afternoon sun suddenly appeared from behind a high cloud. The bright light swept over me.

  I shielded my eyes with one hand—an
d saw him.

  Squinting into the sunlight, I saw the boy—me!—my twin. He was six or seven courts down, at the far end.

  He was volleying with Jared Harris. He was dressed in the same tennis whites I wore. His dark hair flew up as he ran to the net.

  He looked just like me!

  The racket fell out of my hand and bounced in front of me.

  “Hey!” I shouted. I waved frantically.

  He didn’t hear me. He returned a serve from Jared, then ran to the corner to return Jared’s shot.

  “Hey—you!” I cried. “Wait!”

  My heart pounded. I squinted hard, trying to block out the bright sunlight. Trying to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

  No. It was me.

  It was my exact double on that court.

  And suddenly he turned—and saw me.

  I saw his eyes go wide. I saw his expression change. He recognized me.

  For a long moment we stared at each other down the long row of tennis courts.

  And then his mouth formed the words … the same words they had formed underwater in Max’s pool: Go away.

  Even from so far away, I could see the angry scowl on his face. Cold … his glare was so cold.

  “GO AWAY!” he repeated.

  “No!” I screamed. “No!”

  I started to run, shouting and waving my arms wildly.

  I got about two steps and tripped over the racket I had dropped.

  The racket slid under my feet. I fell onto my stomach and bounced hard over the asphalt.

  “Owww!”

  Ignoring the pain, I scrambled to my feet. Lurched a few steps toward the far court—and stopped.

  The boy—my twin—was gone. Vanished again.

  I stared into the light. Jared had his back turned. He was leaning over, pulling a white headband out of a canvas bag.

  He had missed the whole thing!

  Finally Jared turned around. “Hey, Ross,” he called. “Are you going to play or not?”

  I ran over to him. “Th-that wasn’t me,” I said.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Excuse me? I thought we were playing a practice game.”

  “It wasn’t me,” I repeated shakily.

  The guys in the next court had stopped playing. They were staring at me now.

  I saw Coach Melvin jogging over from the other end of the courts.