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.
“Not even a little bit,” I answer.
He nods. “Figured as much.” Finishing his snacks, he balls up the plastic baggie and tosses it at the nearest trash can. It falls short by at least four feet. Grumbling, he walks over and scoops it up.
I hear Ari’s car coming before I see it. A few seconds later, the blue station wagon swings into the parking lot, never straying above the five-miles-per-hour limit posted on the signs. She pulls up to the bottom of the steps and leans out her open window, a party horn in her mouth. She blows once, unraveling the silver-striped coil with a screechy, celebratory blare.
“You’re free!” she squeals.
“Free of the overlords!” Jude responds. “We shall toil away at their menial drudgework no longer!”
We get into the car, Jude and his long legs in front, me in the back. We’ve had this afternoon planned for weeks, determined to start the summer out right. As we pull out of the parking lot, I vow to forget about Quint and our miserable presentation for the rest of the day. I figure I can have one day to revel in summer vacation before I set my mind to solving this problem. I’ll figure something out tomorrow.
Ari drives us straight to the boardwalk, where we can binge on sundaes from the Salty Cow, an upscale ice cream parlor known for mixing unusual flavors like “lavender mint” and “turmeric poppy seed.” When we get there, though, there’s a line all the way out the door, and the impatient looks on some of the patrons’ faces make me think it hasn’t moved in a while.
I trade glances with Ari and Jude.
“I’ll go pop my head in and see what’s going on,” I say as the two of them get in line. I squeeze through the door. “Sorry, not trying to cut, just want to see what’s happening.”