All These Lives by Sarah Wylie Read Free Book Online Page A

was asking for. Besides, isn’t this Infopedia site supposed to be unreliable? Anybody can put in information.”
    “And that makes it unreliable? That’s prejudice.”
    Jack flips through the rest of the papers. Finally he says, “Well, it still doesn’t really answer Mr. Halbrook’s questions.”
    “God.”
    “What?”
    “God,” I repeat. “That’s his answer.”
    Jack stares at me. “I don’t understand.”
    “Where did math start?” I lean back till the front two legs of my chair rise up and the weight of the chair and me depend entirely on the wooden bookcase behind us. This isn’t technically allowed in the school library, but Mrs. Uri, our librarian, has her back to us. The only other class in here apart from our math class is the senior gym class, meaning a) resident hot P.E. teacher, Mr. Thomas, is here too, and b) Mrs. Uri will be directing all that austere energy toward protecting the paperbacks from sweat and athlete’s foot.
    “Everything supposedly starts with God, correct? So did math.”
    “Do you want me to write that down?” I ask when Jack makes no move to do so himself. “To be honest,” I lean in toward him and whisper conspiratorially, “I’m fairly certain that that’s the answer to all of Halbrook’s problems. Religion. It will help him find himself, make peace with the past and let go of his failed dreams and all that … It helped my mom.”
    Skipping breakfast once again has caught up with me, and my stomach growls its disapproval. I rummage through my backpack and pull out a half-empty bag of Doritos. They’ve been under my books since yesterday, so the chips are more like chiplets. “Want some?” Moist, sticky, tiny, delicious chiplets.
    Jack’s eyes scan the library nervously. “No, thanks.” I wonder if it’s getting caught with the chips he’s anxious about, or the fact that he has me for a partner.
    “Um, thanks for going to the trouble of printing this—”
    “No trouble,” I shrug.
    “—but we don’t actually … I think we’ll probably have to go more in-depth with this. Maybe we could even go to the public library and do some research.”
    Mrs. Uri’s head suddenly snaps in our direction. Perhaps I’ve been too loud with the chips.
    Her eyes lock on mine, willing me into a puddle of molten teenager. I don’t look away. A second later, she’s leaving her desk and heading across the room toward me, toward us.
    “Sure you don’t want any?” I slide the crumpled packet toward Jack. He doesn’t have time to protest.
    Mrs. Uri stops in front of us. She opens her mouth to speak, to yell and foam and teacher-curse the day I was born. Then, her face softens and the side of her mouth crumples. “Hi, Danielle.”
    “Hi?”
    She is still smiling, but her eyes travel to the table and the offending bag o’ chips. “You and Jenavieve—”
    “Jena.”
    “—Jenny—”
    “Jena.”
    “—look so much alike. I mean, for nonidentical—”
    “Fraternal,” says Jack.
    “—twins,” finishes Mrs. Uri. She keeps smiling at me, waiting: won’t I thank her? Being told you look like someone else is supposed to be the ultimate compliment, and yet it never really feels like it. Especially when it isn’t true. It’s just that seeing me reminds her of Jena.
    She can’t ignore the shiny chip bag anymore, and without looking at it, as if swiping a fly in her periphery or overcome by a tick, she slams her hand down on the table and wraps it in her palm. “You can’t eat in here, Danielle. Please don’t make me tell you again.”
    Still smiling, she turns, going back to her task of paperback sweat prevention.
    “I’m leaving,” I announce as soon as she’s gone.
    Jack holds out a single finger at me. “You were going to pretend it was mine.”
    “So if you don’t like my information, feel free to find your own. From, like, reliable sources. ” I stuff my mostly empty notebook into my backpack and hesitate. Who gets custody of the chewed-on,