Liar Liar (7 page)

Zigfruits? Four Musketeers?

Since when did they add another musketeer?

I picked a carton of milk off the shelf and carried it to the woman behind the counter. “Is that all?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes. Just the milk.”

I shoved the carton across the counter.

And felt the cardboard carton melt away in my hand.

The milk poured out, steaming … making a loud hissing sound.

“Oh!” I gasped as the hissing milk poured out in thick lumps. It spread over the counter. Bubbling … steaming … turning bright yellow.

A sick, sour smell rose up from the yellow clots.

The shocked woman gazed down at the steaming mess. Then raised her eyes to me—frightened eyes—and opened her mouth in a scream: “GET OUT! OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!”

“S-sorry!” I choked out. My stomach lurched from the sick smell. I gagged. Spun away from the counter—and staggered outside.

I stumbled to the curb, feeling dazed, sick. I glimpsed the two guys from the store, holding strange candy bars, staring at me from the doorway.

“Hey—!” I called to them. My legs shaking, my whole body trembling, I walked up to them. “What just happened?” I asked. “Did you see—?”

“Don't touch us!” one of them screamed.

They both raised their hands as if shielding themselves from me.

“Keep back! Don't touch us!”

“But—but—” I sputtered. “What's wrong? What's happening?”

The two boys scrambled away. One of them dropped his candy bar. He didn't stop to pick it up.

I ran all the way home. Gasping for breath, sweat pouring down my face, I burst into the house.

“Mom? Where are you? Mom?”

“In the dining room,” she called. “Jake and I started without you.”

I lurched into the dining room. Mom and Jake sat at one end of the long table. Jake opened his mouth wide and showed me a disgusting, chewed-up blob of spaghetti inside.

I ran up beside Mom's chair. “I—I have to talk to you,” I said.

“Sit down,” Mom said sharply. “What took you so long? Mr. Lawrence will be here any minute.”

“Listen to me!” I cried. “Something strange is going on and—”

“Your face is strange!” Jake shouted. He burst out laughing at his own dumb joke.

“At least my nickname isn't Rat Face!” I shot back. “Hi, Rat Face! What's up, Rat Face!”

“I'm not a Rat Face! You're a rat! You're a whole rat!” Jake screamed. “Go eat some cheese, Rat!”

“Stop it! Stop it right now!” Mom cried. She turned to me. “Where's the milk?”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you,” I said breathlessly. “I couldn't—”

“You came home without milk?” Mom sighed. “Sit down, Ross.” She pushed me toward my seat. “Don't talk. Try to eat something before your lesson.”

“But—But—”

“Don't talk! Just eat!” She scooped a mound of spaghetti onto my plate. Then she piled on a ton of brussels sprouts.

Yuck.

The smell made my stomach lurch.

Mom leaned over the table, watching me. “Go ahead. Try the sprouts. I know you love them.”

“We have to talk—” I started. “You see, I don't like brussels sprouts. I'm trying to tell you—”

She shook her head. “Stop it. Not a word. I've heard enough of your crazy stories to last a lifetime. Just eat.”

I had no choice. I speared one of the disgusting, squishy balls on my fork. I raised it slowly to my mouth.

I felt sick. My stomach tightened.

I started to gag.

Mom stared across the table at me.

I held my breath. And slid the brussels sprout into my mouth. So squishy and slimy and sour …

I swallowed it whole.

Mom sat back in her seat. “Good?”

I couldn't reply. I was trying with all my strength to keep from puking.

The front doorbell rang. I saw Amelia, the housekeeper, hurry to answer it.

“That's Mr. Lawrence,” Mom said. “Hurry, Ross. Get into your karate robe. You'll have to eat later. We'll keep dinner warm for you.”

I gulped down a glass of apple juice, trying to get the brussels sprouts taste out of my mouth. “Uh … maybe I should skip the lesson tonight,” I said. “I have a big homework project, and—”

“Mr. Lawrence drove all the way from Burbank,” Mom said. “Get upstairs and get changed. What's wrong with you tonight?”

That's what I want to know! I said to myself as I hurried to my room.

What's wrong with me tonight?

I stared at the white robe hanging on my closet door. Which way does the belt go? I wondered. Does the collar stay up or down?

How am I going to fake my way through this lesson? I asked myself. I can't. I don't know anything about karate. And I've never seen this Mr. Lawrence before in my life.

Why did Mom say I've been taking lessons since I was seven?

How can she be so totally confused?

I pulled on the robe and tied the belt in front of me. My hands were trembling.

This guy could kill me, I realized.

I can't go through with this. I've got to stop it.

Downstairs, I heard voices coming from Dad's gym in the back of the house. Dad has a Stairmaster, a weight bench, and a treadmill in there.

As I stepped into the room, I was surprised to see a canvas floor mat spread out in the center of the gym. Jake was on the mat, kidding around with a huge, bald, red-faced man in a white robe. Mr. Lawrence.

The karate teacher was letting Jake throw him over his little shoulder. Jake laughed as Mr. Lawrence flipped over and landed with a hard thud on his back.

“You didn't know you were so strong, did you?” Mr. Lawrence asked Jake.

“I'm stronger than Ross!” Jake bragged. He crooked both arms to show off his pitiful, pea-sized muscles.

Mr. Lawrence sprang easily to his feet and turned to me. “Hi, Ross. You ready?” He bowed to me.

I bowed back. “Uh … I don't think I can do this tonight,” I started. “You see, I've had these terrible headaches—”

“Tension,” Mr. Lawrence said. “This lesson should help.”

“No. Really,” I insisted. “Maybe … uh … Jake would like a lesson tonight. I can't—”

He wasn't paying any attention to me. “Let's practice what we were doing last time, okay?”

He stood stiffly, facing me, hands placed firmly on his hips. He stared straight ahead, concentrating. His round, bald head glowed under the ceiling light.

What is he waiting for? I wondered. What is he going to do?

It didn't take long to find out.

With a grunt, he swung off the floor. Flew up off the mat. Both legs rose sideways—and landed a hard, pounding kick in my stomach.

“Unnnnh!” I groaned in pain.

I doubled over. It hurt … hurt so much … I couldn't breathe … couldn't breathe …

I felt my stomach tighten—then heave.

“Unnnnnh.” The whole brussels sprout flew out of my mouth and plopped onto the mat.

Gasping, holding my aching stomach, I collapsed to the floor.

Mr. Lawrence huddled over me. “What happened?” He knelt beside me, his heavy arm on my shoulders. “Ross, you've defended against that a hundred times. Why didn't you move?”

“Uh …” I couldn't speak. My breaths were rasping in my throat.

Somehow I managed to stand. My stomach ached. I felt about to heave again.

“Ross, are you okay? Why didn't you defend yourself?” Mr. Lawrence asked.

I turned away. Bent over, I started to run. Out of the gym. Down the back hall.

“Ross, come back!” Mr. Lawrence shouted after me.

I was nearly to the stairs when a figure jumped out to stop me.

My twin.

I let out a startled cry. “You—?”

Scowling at me furiously, he grabbed my arm. “I'm late—and you try to take over my life! It's not going to work, Rosssss,” he hissed. “Give me that robe—and get out of here!”

“But—” I groaned weakly.

“Get out! Go away!” he cried in a harsh whisper. “I've been warning you! You don't belong here!”

Angrily I pushed his hand away. “Get off me!” I cried.

“Go away, Rossss!” he hissed. He shoved me. “You don't belong here. You have to leave.”

“But—it's my house!” I cried. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He raised a finger to his lips and glanced nervously down the hall. “Keep it down. I can't explain. But I'm trying to tell you—you're in danger. Don't say anything. Don't touch anything. Just give me that robe and get lost! Fast!”

“I won't leave!” I insisted. “You have to leave! I'm going to tell Mom. I'm going to explain that you aren't me!”

“She's
my
Mom!” my twin declared. “Please! Leave! Just—go!”

“No way!” I said.

I heard voices from the gym. Footsteps in the hall.

“Get upstairs!” my twin whispered frantically. He grabbed the robe and struggled to tug it off me. I let him take it. Then he pushed me to the stairs.

“What's going on?” I demanded. “Who are you? Why do you look like me?”

“I can't explain now. Go up to my room—quick!”

“It's my room!” I protested.

“Get upstairs before they see you!” he ordered.

“But I have to talk to Mom!” I said.

“No way.” He twisted my arm up hard behind my back.

“Ow.”

He's real, I realized. He's a person. He's not a ghost. A ghost couldn't shove me or twist my arm like that.

Squeezing my arm behind my back, he forced me up the stairs and into my room. “You can't—” I started to say.

But he practically heaved me into the room. “I'll come back after the lesson. I'll explain,” he said breathlessly. “Don't try to escape. And don't touch anything. I'm warning you.”

Then he hurried back out to the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him.

“No! Wait!” I shouted.

I grabbed the doorknob and started to pull the door open. But I heard the lock click on the other side.

He'd locked me in.

“Hey—come back!” I shouted. I pounded on the door with my fists. “Give me a break! Let me out of here!”

I pounded till my fists hurt. Silence out there.

With a defeated sigh, I slumped away from the door. I'm a prisoner, I realized. A prisoner in my own room.

But was it my room?

I spun around. My eyes swept over all the familiar things. My Jimi Hendrix posters … my snow globe collection … my things.

Yes. I was in my own room. My room in my house.

But why does everything seem right and wrong at the same time?

I remembered falling. Then watching the grass burn.

I thought about the boy on the street. I had grabbed his shoulder, and his arm had changed until it slithered and curled. And his face …

I didn't want to think about that hamburger face.

The milk in the store. I held the carton … and it blew up or something! And then everyone started screaming at me.

What was going on?

Did I cause those things to happen?

Why? How could I?

I paced back and forth, my heart pounding. I clenched and unclenched my fists. I stopped at the window and peered out.

A warm, clear night. Stars in a purple sky. The olive tree below the window shimmered in a soft wind, as if inviting me. Inviting me to climb out and lower myself down its trunk.

Yes!

I'll escape, I decided. Then I'll run back inside the house and find Mom. I'll show her the other Ross. I'll tell her he's an impostor, a total fake. I'll make her believe me. And I'll tell her about all the other weird things that have happened. There's got to be a logical explanation for all of it. Once Mom sees the other Ross, she'll know I'm not lying. She'll help me figure out what's going on.

My hands trembled as I reached for the window. I slid it up as high as it would go. Warm, damp air floated into the room. It smelled so sweet and fresh.