Liar Liar Read online

  Mom sat with her back to me on a tall stool at the counter. She had a white mug of coffee steaming beside her. The telephone was pressed to her ear.

  The same Mom, I thought. The same blue bathrobe. Her hair unbrushed. One blue slipper on her foot, the other on the floor.

  “I know, I know,” she was saying into the phone. “Stella, tell me something I don’t already know. Nothing changes. Really.”

  I tapped her on the shoulder.

  A mistake.

  She let out a startled squeal and dropped the phone. “Ross—what on earth!”

  “Sorry, Mom,” I said softly.

  “What are you doing up so early? You scared me to death!” Mom exclaimed.

  She picked up the phone and returned it to her ear. “Sorry, Stella. It was Ross. What were you saying?”

  “I want to tell you something,” I said. “Something kind of crazy.”

  She shrugged and pointed to the telephone. I could hear Stella’s voice at the other end. She sounded like a quacking duck.

  “Go make yourself some cereal,” Mom whispered, waving me away.

  “Okay,” I said. “But I need to tell you something.”

  “I know, I know,” she said into the phone. “You’re not the only one, Stella. It happens. It happens a lot.”

  I went to the cabinet. I pulled down a bowl and a box of cornflakes. “I really have to talk to you,” I told Mom.

  She lowered the phone from her ear. “Stella got another call. She put me on hold. What do you want to tell me?”

  “Well …” I shoved the cereal box away. I didn’t really know where to begin. I knew I had to tell it right. I had to make her believe me.

  “Are you in trouble, Ross?” Mom asked, her face wrinkling in concern.

  “Well … yes and no,” I said. “You see, Mom—a strange thing happened to me.”

  “How strange?” She had the phone pressed to her ear, but she was studying me, her eyes locked on mine.

  “Pretty strange,” I said. “You see, you’re not really my mom. I—”

  “Oh, Ross! Not another one of your crazy stories!” she cried. “It’s too early! Go back to sleep, okay? You’ve got another hour to sleep.”

  “Just listen to me,” I said. “I know I’ve made up a lot of things in the past. But not today. Today I’m really serious, and I really need your help, okay?”

  I took a deep breath. I stared at the cereal box. For some reason, I couldn’t look at her. I didn’t want to see her face in case she didn’t believe me.

  “Just let me tell the whole thing, Mom. And please believe me,” I begged. “Please. I’m not making this up.”

  I stared at the cereal box. “The portal was open, and I slipped into a parallel world,” I continued. “You probably know all about parallel worlds. Ross—I mean, the other Ross, your Ross—said he studied them in school. Well, that’s what happened to me.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m Ross, but I’m not the same Ross you know. I belong in a different world. I’m what you call an Intruder. And I need to get back there fast. I need you to believe me, Mom, so I can get back there. If you come upstairs, I can prove it to you. The other Ross—your Ross—is still in bed. Sleeping.”

  Whew. I got it all out.

  I took a deep breath and hesitantly raised my eyes from the cereal box to Mom. “Do you believe me?” I asked in a whisper. “Do you? Will you come upstairs?”

  I held my breath. “Mom?”

  She hung up the phone. “What is it, Ross?” she snapped.

  “Do you believe me?” I repeated.

  “Believe what? I have to run over to Stella’s house. She’s very upset.”

  She waved me away. She hadn’t heard a word I said.

  “Just stop in my room before you get dressed,” I begged. “I have something to show you. It’s an emergency!”

  “I’m not getting dressed, Ross. I’m only going next door.” Mom grabbed her raincoat from the coat closet and threw it over her bathrobe. “Stella has an emergency. A real emergency. She doesn’t make up stories.”

  Mom stepped out the back door. I watched her hurry across the lawn to Stella’s house.

  I sighed and slumped out of the room. Strike one.

  I trudged back upstairs to my room. My twin was still sound asleep. He had kicked all the covers onto the floor. I do that sometimes, too.

  I suddenly felt so homesick. I wanted to be back safe and sound in my real room. I wondered what my real mom was doing. I wondered if the real Jake was awake yet.

  I stood over the bed and stared at my twin for a long moment. It felt so weird to see myself, how I looked, how I slept. He was me in every way.

  And this was his room. I didn’t belong here. And if I didn’t find someone to believe my story, I wouldn’t be here much longer.

  “Wake up,” I whispered. I bent down and shook him by the shoulders. “Come on. Wake up.”

  He blinked one eyelid open. “Huh? What’s your problem?” he asked, hoarse from sleep. “What time is it?”

  “It’s early,” I said. “But I don’t have much time. I want to go to school with you.”

  He opened his other eye. “Excuse me?”

  “I have to find someone to believe my story. So I have to go to school with you. As soon as my friends—your friends—see the two of us, they’ll believe me. I know they will.”

  He sat up sharply. “No way,” he said.

  “Huh? You won’t let me go to school?” I cried.

  “Of course I’ll let you go to school.” A slow smile spread across my twin’s face. “But I’m not going with you. You’re going to have to make someone believe you all by yourself. No way I’m helping.” He let out a loud yawn.

  “Fine. I’m going to school now,” I said. “I’m going to school—and I’m going to make someone believe me.”

  I stepped out into a warm, smoggy day. The air already heavy and damp. Along the block, gardeners were unloading their trucks. A woman in a gray maid’s uniform was walking two white standard poodles along the curb.

  It seems so much like home, I thought sadly. But I guess I’m as far away from home as a person can be.

  I didn’t have much time to feel sorry for myself. I saw Cindy on the next block, and I ran to catch up with her.

  “Hey, wait up! Cindy—wait up!”

  She was riding her bike, pedaling hard, her black hair bobbing behind her.

  “Hey, wait!”

  She finally stopped and turned around. “Ross? What’s up?”

  I ran over to her. “I have to tell you something,” I said breathlessly.

  She started pedaling again. “We’re late. What is it, Ross?”

  “I’m not really Ross,” I said, struggling to keep up. “I’m Ross in a different world. And I have to get back there.”

  “You have to get back to the insane asylum!” She laughed. “You and your crazy stories.”

  “Cindy—please,” I begged. “I’m not kidding about this. I’m really, really, really serious.”

  Her smile faded. “I don’t get it. What’s the joke?”

  “It’s not a joke,” I said. “I don’t belong here. I can’t stay in this world. I have to get back to where I belong. If I don’t …” My voice cracked.

  “All I need is for you to believe me,” I pleaded. “To believe what I’m telling you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You want me to believe that you’re an alien from another planet?”

  “No!” I cried. “I want you to believe that I’m Ross in a parallel universe. I—I’m an Intruder!”

  As she stared at me, her eyes darted back and forth. I could see she was thinking hard, trying to decide.

  I crossed my fingers behind my back. “Do you believe me, Cindy?” I asked. “Do you?”

  “Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. I believe you.”

  “Great!” I cried. “Thank you! Thank you!”

  “I also believe that the moon is made of Limburger cheese,” Cindy sa
id. “And I believe that I can flap my arms and fly to Mars anytime I want.” She burst out laughing.

  “Wait! I can prove it to you!” I said.

  I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. But I could show Cindy that I was an Intruder!

  “Watch this!” I said. I fell onto the grass, landing on my back. “Intruders destroy things. Right?”

  Cindy just rolled her eyes.

  “When I get up, the grass will burn and sizzle. You’ll see.”

  I pressed my back hard into the grass. I wanted to make sure the grass turned totally brown.

  I stood up. “Okay. Look.”

  We both stared down at the ground.

  “Whoa.” Cindy’s eyes opened wide. “That’s unbelievable. Flat grass.”

  Flat grass. That was it. The grass lay flat where I had fallen. Still green. Not burned at all.

  Why didn’t it work this time? I wondered, staring at the grass. My twin could probably tell me, but it really didn’t matter now.

  The only thing that mattered was making Cindy believe me.

  “Cindy—” I glanced up, but she was gone. I watched her pedal away, bumping over the curb, onto the next block. “I’m not giving up,” I said out loud. “No way.”

  But a sharp stab of pain made me grab my head. I shut my eyes, trying to force the pain away.

  “Ohhh,” I groaned as my stomach started to ache. I bent over as the pain increased, as if thousands of razors pierced my stomach. The pain was so intense, I couldn’t walk.

  I hunched at the curb, doubled over in agony. My head. My stomach. It’s happening, I realized. Just as my twin predicted. The horrible pain …

  I forced myself to walk to school. I knew I didn’t have much time. I had to find someone to believe my story.

  I tried Max next. I found him at his locker across from Miss Douglas’s class. “Max, listen to me,” I said. “I’m an Intruder. I’m not really Ross.”

  He laughed. “Whatever,” he said, and started toward class.

  “Max—wait!” I called. “Please! If I told you a totally wild, totally insane story about me slipping between parallel worlds … if I told you that I’m not really the Ross you know, and that I don’t belong here in your world … if I swore it was all true … would you believe me? Is there any chance at all you would believe me?”

  He opened his mouth to answer. “No way—” he started.

  “Think about it,” I said. “Don’t answer right away. Think about it, okay?”

  He nodded. “I’ve thought about it.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “And I think you’re trying to get out of helping me wash my father’s car,” he said. “Nice try. But it won’t work. You promised. See you after school. And don’t forget to bring the car wax.”

  “Max—why won’t you believe me?” I shouted.

  “Everyone knows your crazy stories, Ross,” he said grinning. “Everyone.”

  The bell rang.

  Max shouted goodbye and hurried down the hall to class. I watched him for a moment, his words repeating in my mind.

  Words of doom.

  I could feel panic tighten my throat. My legs shook again as I slumped into Miss Douglas’s classroom. I saw her standing at the side of her desk, straightening a pile of papers.

  And suddenly I realized: She has to believe me.

  She’s a teacher. She has to believe her students.

  If I beg her to believe me, she’ll see how desperate I am. She won’t be like my friends and think it’s all a big joke.

  Because why would I joke with a teacher? And I bet she knows all about parallel worlds.

  I began to feel hopeful again. Just a little hope. But enough to make me think I might be able to return home after all.

  “Miss Douglas!” I called.

  Eyes turned as I tossed my backpack to the floor and took off running to the front of the room.

  “Miss Douglas! Can I tell you something?”

  Miss Douglas didn’t believe me, either.

  She thought I was trying to get out of taking a test. “But I have to admit this is one of your better stories, Ross,” she snickered, shaking her head.

  “Go take your seat,” she said, waving me away. “I’m sure you’ll have an even better story for me tomorrow.”

  I trudged across the room to my desk.

  There won’t be a tomorrow, I thought bitterly.

  There won’t be a tomorrow for me because no one will believe me.

  So what if I’m a liar? So what if I make up stories all the time?

  Why can’t someone believe me when I do tell the truth?

  After class I tried to stand up. But I felt weak. I could feel my strength draining away.

  My backpack suddenly weighed a ton. It took real effort to raise my shoes from the floor and make my way to my next class.

  No one is going to believe me, I realized. Even my teacher thinks it’s a big joke.

  But I knew I had to keep trying.

  In line at the lunchroom I asked one of the lunch servers if she believed in parallel worlds. She stared at me and asked if I wanted pizza or macaroni.

  I looked for Sharma. But some kids told me she and her family went away for a few days.

  After school I told my story to the tennis team coach. Coach Melvin listened silently, squeezing a tennis ball in one hand.

  When I finished, he thought for a moment. Then he said, “I once had a dream like that. You can skip practice today, Ross, if you’re upset about your dream.”

  He hurried off to start practice.

  With a sigh I tried to sling my tennis racket onto my shoulder. But I didn’t have the strength. I couldn’t raise it that high.

  My backpack felt too heavy to carry. My legs felt so weak, I kept stumbling on the sidewalk. The wind blew me off the grass onto the curb.

  Feeling lost and defeated, I headed for home. It’s as good a place to disappear as any, I thought sadly.

  My twin greeted me at the front door. “You’re back?”

  I nodded weakly, struggling to catch my breath. Stomach cramps made it hard to breathe. My head throbbed with pain.

  My twin followed me outside. I slumped wearily against a tree.

  “You failed, huh?” he said. He had a crooked smile on his face, as if he was enjoying my suffering. “Sorry,” he said. “The sun is heading down. I don’t think you have much time.”

  “I … know …” I whispered.

  I stared hard at him. The sinking sun made his face glow. His gray eyes gleamed in the soft light.

  I gazed at him, so healthy, so strong, so … alive.

  And suddenly I had an idea.

  Suddenly I knew how I could save myself.

  I pointed at the other Ross. “You!” I said.

  He took a step back. And narrowed his eyes at me. “Me? What about me?”

  “YOU believe me!” I cried. “YOU believe the story. So—I’m safe! You said I need only one person to believe my story—and it’s YOU!”

  To my surprise, he burst out laughing.

  “I’ve won!” I insisted. “I can go back to my world now.”

  He shook his head and laughed again.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded. “This is serious. I did exactly what you told me to do. I found someone to believe me. You! You! You! So now I’m safe.”

  “No, you’re not,” he replied, still grinning. “I lied.”

  “You what?” I cried.

  “I’m you—remember?” he said. “I’m your exact double, Ross. You’re Ross—and I’m Ross. We’re the same, right? So … sometimes I make up stories.”

  “You mean … you mean …” I swallowed hard. I suddenly felt weaker. I staggered back onto the front lawn. Smacked hard into the tree trunk.

  A gust of wind pushed me away. I pressed my back into the trunk.

  “You mean … that’s not the way to return to my world?” I whispered.

  He raised a hand to his mouth. “Oops! Guess
I made up a little story.”

  “But—but—that’s so cold!” I gasped.

  He shrugged. “Whatever. I’m you, remember? I’m you in every way. Except that I belong here, and you don’t.”

  The wind lifted me off my feet. I grabbed the trunk to pull myself back to the ground.

  “You’re fading away,” my twin said. “You’re practically gone.”

  I glanced at my hands. I could see right through them. I could see through my arms.

  The wind picked me up again. I dived for the tree trunk and flung my filmy arms around it.

  I’m going to blow away, I realized. Like a dead leaf.

  I felt so weak … weak and drained.

  Holding tightly to the tree trunk, I turned to my twin. “Aren’t you going to help me?” I pleaded. “Are you just going to let me disappear?”

  “I can’t help you,” he said. “It’s too late.”

  I clung to the tree, but my grip was slipping. In a few seconds I knew I would flutter away. “You’ve … got to … help me,” I whispered.

  My twin crossed his arms over his chest. “I just want you gone, Ross. If I tell you how to get back to your world, you’ll only tell more lies. And you’ll end up in my world again.”

  “No!” I whispered. “No. Tell me how to get back. Tell me! Please! I promise—no more lies. I swear! Only the truth!”

  “You’re lying!” he shouted. “I know you are!”

  “No—please!” I begged. “Please—tell me what I can do.”

  My twin shook his head. “No way.”

  I lost my grip on the tree. A blast of wind lifted me off my feet.

  “I’ll never tell another lie!” I swore. My voice came out so weak, I didn’t know if he heard me.

  “Okay, okay,” he muttered. His expression softened. “Okay. I’ll give you a break. I can’t stand to see another Ross suffer.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

  He pointed. “See my garage? There’s a room above the garage.”

  “Yes,” I said. “An empty room. I know it. I have the same garage.”

  “Well, that room is a portal,” he continued. “It’s a passageway between our two worlds.”

  “Wow,” I murmured.

  “Climb up to the room and wait for a door to open,” my twin instructed. “Go through that door—and you will be home. You will be home and strong again.”