by R. L. Stine
He deserves it. He’s such a whiner. And he never helps me out.
Last week I wanted to go hang out with some guys at the Planet Hollywood over on Wilshire. I begged Jake to tell Mom and Dad that I went to Sharma’s house to study chemistry.
But he wouldn’t do it. “I can’t tell a lie!” he said.
“Why not?” I asked him.
“Because it’s not right.”
That’s why I enjoy torturing him.
“I know where the comics are,” he said. He dived past me and pulled open the bottom desk drawer. “There!”
I started to protest when I heard Dad’s voice from downstairs. “Ross—get down here!”
Uh-oh. He sounded angry. Really angry.
I picked up the stack of comics and heaved them at Jake. Then I slowly made my way downstairs. “You called me?” I asked in a tiny voice.
Dad had his cell phone gripped tightly in one hand. “I have Mort on the phone,” he said, scowling at me. “Mort says he changed his mind about working with me. He found the broken Oscar.”
My mouth dropped open. “Oscar? What Oscar?”
“Ross, I told you not to touch anything. I told you what a nut Mort is about his stuff. He found the Oscar pieces shoved under the couch.”
“But … I sat on the couch the whole time,” I said, my heart leaping around in my chest, my mouth suddenly dry. “I never saw any Oscar.”
Dad said something into the phone, then clicked it off. He glared angrily at me. “You were the only one in the office.”
“No,” I replied. “Actually, a cleaning lady came in. Uh … two cleaning ladies, and I saw them dusting the shelves. I—”
Mom came in, carrying a load of shopping bags. “What’s going on?”
“Ross is standing here, dissing me. He’s lying to my face,” Dad said, shaking his head. “Lying to my face!”
Mom sighed and let the bags drop to the carpet. “Ross,” she whispered. “You’re making up stories again?”
“No—” I started.
“Punish him!” Jake cried from the top of the stairs. “Punish him!”
“This is serious, Ross,” Dad said, rolling the cell phone in his hand. “Very serious. You may have just lost me millions of dollars. You do have to be punished for this.”
“Cut off his hand!” Jake shouted.
Mom gasped. “Jake! Where did you get a horrible idea like that?”
“It’s what they do to liars,” Jake said. “In some country somewhere. I learned it in school. Cut off his hand!”
Mom shook her head. “Well, we’re not going to do that.”
“No, we’re not,” Dad said. “We’re going to do something much worse.”
“You’re grounded,” Dad said.
He slapped the cell phone against his palm as if it was a policeman’s club. “You’ve got to stop being so dishonest all the time.”
“But I’m not!” I protested. “I—”
“You’re grounded until I say you’re not,” Dad said sharply. Slap slap slap. The phone against his hand.
I swallowed hard. “But—what about Max’s swim party Friday night? A lot of people are counting on me!” (Mainly the two girls I asked to go with me!)
“Sorry, Ross,” Mom said softly. “You’ll just have to miss it.”
“But—I’ve learned my lesson!” I cried. “I’ll never lie again. I swear!”
“He’s lying.” Jake walked into the room.
“Shut up!” I screamed at him. I turned back to Mom and Dad. “Really. I promise. I’ll never tell another lie as long as I live.”
“That’s no good, Ross,” Dad said firmly. “You have to prove yourself.”
“I’ll prove myself after Max’s party,” I said. “Please—?”
Mom and Dad both shook their heads. “No more arguing. You’re grounded.”
“Don’t ground him. Cut off his hand!” Jake insisted.
Dad turned to Jake. “Jake, they cut off a hand for stealing—not for lying,” Dad said.
“Oh,” Jake replied. “Then cut off his lips!”
Mom and Dad burst out laughing.
I didn’t think it was funny. With a growl I stomped up the stairs.
I deliberately bumped Jake into the wall. Swinging my fists, I raged into my room.
I was so furious, I thought I’d explode. “I hate my parents!” I screamed. And I kicked the wall with all my strength.
“Oh, wow.”
My sneaker went right through the wall! Plaster crumbled to the floor. I had kicked a big hole in the wall!
“Ross? What was that?” Dad shouted.
“Uh … nothing,” I called. “Nothing.”
Friday night. Party night. And where was I?
In my brother’s room, playing a stupid Nintendo wrestling game with Jake the Jerk.
Jake loves this game because it gives him a chance to beat me up. On the screen, he pounds me and knocks me to the canvas. Then he jumps up and down on me for half an hour. Then he lifts me over his head and heaves me to the canvas a hundred times.
He goes nuts, furiously pushing the controller, beating me to a pulp.
It’s a thrill for him.
But I wasn’t thrilled. Stuck at home watching Jake while all my friends were partying. And Cindy and Sharma were there waiting for me, getting angrier and angrier.
Maybe I should have called them and told them I’d been grounded.
But I couldn’t. It was too embarrassing.
Dad was thousands of miles away, in the Philippines, shooting a kung fu movie. Mom was visiting the Lamberts, friends of ours in Malibu.
The game ended. Jake pumped his fists above his head and did a victory dance.
Loud music floated in through the open window. Max’s house was just down the block.
I leaned on the windowsill and peered out. I could see the lights from Max’s pool. I heard kids shouting and laughing.
“I should be there,” I muttered.
I turned to my brother. “Here’s the deal,” I said.
He shoved a game controller at me. “Come on. Let’s go. Round Twelve.”
“Here’s the deal,” I repeated. “I’m going to let you watch a DVD in my room.”
That’s usually a big deal to Jake. Because he doesn’t have a DVD player in his room. And I have all the best movies.
But he frowned at me. “And where are you going?”
“Out,” I said. “Just for a short while. Just for an hour. Then I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll tell,” Jake said.
I made a fist. “No, you won’t.”
“You’re grounded, Ross,” he said. “You’re not allowed to go out. I’ll tell.”
“You can watch any movie you want,” I said. “And you can eat a whole bag of M&M’s. You don’t have to share or save any for later.”
A few minutes later I crept out of the house. I’d changed into a baggy, black swimsuit and a cool black-and-red Hawaiian shirt, my party shirt. And I packed a towel and a spare swimsuit into a plastic bag.
“Ross—!” Jake called from my bedroom window. “Ross—you’ll be sorry!”
I just laughed.
“Party time!” I declared, taking my usual shortcut through the tall hedges, onto the terrace in Max’s backyard. It was bright as day, and the teardrop-shaped pool sparkled. Dance music blasted from the big speakers on the roof of the pool house.
In the center of the terrace a man in a white jacket stood behind a table, making tacos. I glimpsed Max’s parents sitting with some other adults away from everyone near the back of the house.
Wild splashing. Shouts. Loud laughter.
I saw a vicious splashing battle at one end of the pool. Some poor guy was being splashed by four or five girls, who were really into it.
Across from them a pool noodle war was taking place. Guys were smashing each other with pool noodles, beating each other, slapping backs and shoulders and heads. Thwack. Thwaaack. Smaaaack.
Two pool
noodles cracked in half, and everyone laughed like crazy.
“Hey, Ross!” Max came hurrying over, carrying a can of soda in one hand and a taco in the other.
Max is big. Big arms, big chest. He looks like a jock, but he isn’t into sports at all.
He has short, spiky brown hair, and big brown eyes, and a grin that spreads over his entire face. And the girls all think he’s one big puppy dog.
He was dripping wet. He’d just climbed out of the pool. He was wearing denim cutoffs, soaked to his skin. He had spilled some taco meat on his chest.
“Ross, I didn’t think you were coming, man.” He tried to flash me a thumbs-up and nearly dropped his taco.
“Hey, it’s a party—right?” I replied. “So I’m here.”
He chewed off a hunk of taco. “I heard you were grounded for life or something.”
“No way!” I protested.
“That’s what your brother said.”
“He’s crazy,” I told Max. “Why would I be grounded?”
I saw Cindy jump up from a chair at the edge of the pool. She wore a white two-piece swimsuit. Her black hair bobbed behind her as she ran across the terrace toward me. “Hey, Ross—where were you?”
“Hi,” I flashed her my best smile. “How’s it going?”
“You’re an hour late,” she boomed, crossing her arms in front of her. “What happened?”
“Well …” I thought hard.
“It was my brother,” I said. “Jake wasn’t feeling well. He was kind of sick. So I wanted to stay home and cheer him up. You know. Read him a few books. Play some games. I guess I lost track of the time.”
Cindy’s stern expression faded. “That was really nice of you,” she said softly.
“Well, he’s my only brother, you know. I try to take good care of him.”
Over Cindy’s shoulder, I saw Sharma waving frantically to me from the deep end of the pool.
“I’m starving,” Cindy said. “Those tacos look really good. But I waited for you to get here.” She started pulling me towards the food table.
“Uh … go get yourself one,” I said. “I’ll meet you over there in a sec. I just want to drop my bag somewhere.”
She hurried to the taco guy, and I jogged around the pool to Sharma. “Hey—what’s up?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Where have you been?”
I told her the same story about staying home to cheer up my brother. She ate it up, too.
“What were you talking to Cindy about?” she asked.
A Frisbee came flying out of the pool. I grabbed it and tossed it back. “Oh. Just something about school,” I said.
“Want to get some tacos?” Sharma asked.
I looked across the pool and saw Cindy waiting for me by the taco table.
“Uh … not right now,” I told Sharma. “I really need a swim. That water looks awesome, doesn’t it? Why don’t you get in, and I’ll meet you in a sec?”
I spun away and hurried back to Cindy.
I’m going to be running back and forth between the two girls all night, I realized. This is like a totally bad TV sitcom. Only, it’s my life!
“Here. I got you a taco,” Cindy said, handing it to me. “What were you talking to Sharma about?”
“Just a school thing,” I said. “She had a question about some homework.”
Cindy stared at me suspiciously.
I turned and saw Sharma waving to me from the deep end of the pool.
How long did it take Cindy and Sharma to figure out the truth?
Not long.
Somehow, a few minutes later, all three of us found ourselves standing together at the edge of the pool. Cindy looked at Sharma. Sharma looked at Cindy.
“Are you here with Ross?” Cindy asked.
“Yes,” Sharma replied. “You, too?”
“I can explain,” I said.
They didn’t give me a chance.
Cindy grabbed me around the waist. Sharma grabbed my legs. They picked me up—and heaved me into the pool.
I splashed hard.
The cold, clear water rose around me.
I bobbed to the surface. And felt hands grab my hair. And shove me back down.
“Hey—help!” I sputtered.
But they pushed me underwater. Held my head down.
I wrestled and thrashed my arms. I burst free. Shot up to the top, gasping and choking.
I saw them both laughing, both excited. They thought it was so funny.
They shoved me under again. And held me down.
I squirmed and kicked. But I couldn’t pull free.
I could hear them laughing above me. They were paying me back. Having their revenge. Enjoying it so much.
They pushed my shoulders down. Pressed down on my head.
Too long … I thought. Too long!
I felt panic tighten my chest. I swallowed some water and started to choke.
Hey—I’m drowning! I realized.
Let me up! Too long! You’re DROWNING me!
My chest ached. I swallowed more water.
Didn’t they realize what they were doing?
Not funny! You’re DROWNING me!
Lights flashed in the water. Blue. White. Blue. White.
I … can’t … breathe …
And then—finally—I broke free.
The hands lifted. The weight vanished.
I shot up hard. And broke the surface, coughing and sputtering.
I sucked in breath after breath, my chest still aching. The lights flashed in my eyes.
The pool sparkled so brightly…. So painfully bright.
I shut my eyes and plunged back into the water.
I dived underwater and started to swim away from the two girls. Moving smoothly now, taking slow, steady strokes. I opened my eyes and swam, feeling my body start to relax.
I was nearing the deep end when I saw the figure swimming toward me.
He was underwater, too, and taking the same slow strokes. He stared through the clear water at me.
At first I thought I was gazing at my reflection.
Did Max’s parents put a mirror in the pool?
But no.
I was staring at another boy. Another boy swimming straight at me. A boy with my hair, my eyes, my face.
Closer …
The water was so clear … so bright and clear.
I stopped my swim strokes. I let my arms float to my sides. And I stared through the water … stared at a boy who looked exactly like me!
We both stopped and stared wide-eyed at each other. Lights shimmered and flashed in the water, making it seem unreal, like in a dream.
He seemed to be just as surprised to see me!
This isn’t happening, I thought. He’s a total twin. He’s even wearing a baggy black swimsuit.
No. No way.
I swam closer.
His eyes grew wider. His expression changed. Now he looked angry. Upset.
Air bubbled from his open mouth.
And then he formed two words with his lips.
What was he saying? I struggled to understand.
Floating in place, I stared harder.
Go away.
That’s what I thought he was saying.
More air bubbles escaped his open mouth, and he formed the words again:
Go away.
Why was he saying that? Why did he appear so angry?
Who was he? What was he doing here? I wanted to ask a dozen questions.
But my chest felt about to burst again.
I had to get air, had to breathe.
I raised my arms and kicked, and pulled myself up to the surface. Again, I took in breath after breath.
And then I waited for the other boy to surface.
He had to breathe, too—right?
I treaded water and waited, brushing water from my eyes, sweeping back my dark hair with one hand.
Where was he?
He didn’t surface.
I swam slowly in his direction,
my eyes searching the water.
I did a breast stroke, moving a few inches at a time, ducking my head under the surface, peering into the shimmering, blue light.
No.
No sign of him.
I reached the wall at the deep end, turned and floated back. I dived under, down to the pool floor, then back up to the top.
He was gone. Vanished.
But—how?
Who was he? Why did he look so much like me? Why did he tell me to go away?
Questions, questions.
I climbed out of the pool. Shook myself like a dog trying to get dry. I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my shoulders.
Cindy and Sharma were still at the edge of the pool. They were laughing and dancing to the music blasting from the pool house.
I ran to them, waving frantically, my bare feet slapping the stone terrace. “Did you see that guy?”
They didn’t stop dancing.
“Did you see him? The boy in the pool who looks like me?” I asked.
They ignored me. I guess they were still angry.
“I—I think I have a twin,” I said.
Sharma scowled at me and rolled her eyes. “One of you is enough,” she snapped.
“You really didn’t see him?” I asked.
They kept dancing.
I suddenly realized it was getting late. “What time is it?” I asked.
They talked to each other as they danced and pretended I didn’t exist.
I ran across the terrace to Max. He was kidding around with three girls from our class.
I slapped him on the back with a wet towel to get his attention.
“Got to run,” I said. “I have to pick Jake up at a friend’s house. Awesome party!”
“It’s just starting!” he protested.
But I gave him a thumbs-up and took off. I stopped at the hedge and turned back.
Shielding my eyes from the bright lights, I searched for the boy who looked so much like me.
No sign of him.
Cindy and Sharma were laughing hard about something. A boy did a bellyflop into the pool, sending up a high wave that drenched both of them.
I ducked through the crack in the hedge and began to jog across backyards toward my house. I knew I had to get home before Mom returned.
Jake the Snake would never lie for me. He’d love it if Mom got home first so he could tell her I sneaked off to Max’s party.