Page 27

“I don’t have any idea how hard you worked on that project.” He takes a step back, shrugging. “Because I wasn’t trusted enough to help.”

You weren’t trusted?I want to scream.You didn’t even try!

“Besides,” he adds, “I have more important things to do with my summer.”

I snort. “Like what? Play video games? Go surfing?”

“Yeah,” he says with an ireful laugh. “You know me so well.” He pivots and starts to walk away.

I feel like I’ve run out of options. Helplessness sweeps through me, further igniting my anger. I do not like feeling helpless.

As I stare at Quint’s retreating back, I ball my fists and picture the earth opening up beneath him and swallowing him whole.

“Oh, wait, Mr. Erickson?” calls our teacher.

Quint pauses.

“Almost forgot.” Mr. Chavez riffles through his papers and grabs a folder. “Here’s that extra-credit assignment. Great work here. The photos are really impressive.”

Quint’s face softens and he takes the folder with a smile. “Thanks, Mr. C. Have a good summer.”

I gape, stunned, as Quint leaves the room.

What was that?

I spin on Mr. Chavez. “Hold on. You let him do an extra-credit assignment? But I can’t do something to bring upmygrade?”

Mr. Chavez sighs. “He had extenuating circumstances, Prudence.”

“Whatextenuating circumstances?”

He opens his mouth, but hesitates. Then he shrugs. “Maybe you should try asking your lab partner about it.”

I let out an infuriated roar, then stomp back to the table to gather my things. Jude is watching me, worried, both thumbs locked behind the straps of his backpack. We’re the only students left in the classroom.

“That was a valiant effort,” he says.

“Don’t talk to me,” I mutter back.

Ever accommodating, Jude doesn’t say anything else, just waits while I shove the binder into my bag and grab the street model.

It feels like the universe is playing a practical joke on me.

NINE

The rest of the school day is uneventful. It’s clear that the teachers are as eager for summer vacation as we are, and most of them are phoning in these last obligatory hours. In Spanish class, we spend the whole period watching some cheesy telenovela. In history, we play what Mr. Gruener calls “semi-educational” board games—Risk, Battleship, Settlers of Catan. In English, Ms. Whitefield reads us a bunch of bawdy Shakespearean quotes. There’s a lot of insults and sexual humor, which she has to translate out of the old-fashioned English for us, but by the time the hour is over, my classmates are all cracking up and calling one another things like “thou embossed carbuncle!” and “ye cream-faced loon!”

It’s actually a really fun day. I even manage to forget about the biology debacle for a while.

As we’re leaving our final class, Mrs. Dunn sends us off with goody bags full of gummy bears and fish crackers, like we’re six-year-olds heading out on a picnic. I guess it’s our prize for bothering to come in on the last day.

“Sayonara! Farewell! Adieu!” she sings as she passes the bags out at her door. “Make good choices!”

I find Jude waiting on the front steps of the school. Students are drifting out in waves, electrified with their sudden freedom. The weeks stretch in front of us, full of potential. Sunny beaches, lazy days and Netflix marathons, pool parties and loitering on the boardwalk.

Jude, who had Mrs. Dunn earlier in the day, is munching his way through the plastic baggie of Goldfish. I sit beside him and automatically hand over my snacks, neither of which I find remotely appealing. We sit in companionable silence. It’s one of the things I love most about being a twin. Jude and I can sit together for hours, not speaking a single word, and I can come away from it feeling like we just had the most profound conversation. We don’t do small talk. We don’t need to amuse each other. We can just be.

“Feeling better?” he asks. And since this is the first time I’ve seen him since biology class, I know immediately what he’s talking about.