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turned. He was leaning over, pulling a white headband out of a canvas bag.
    He had missed the whole thing!
    Finally Jared turned around. “Hey, Ross,” he called. “Are you going to play or not?”
    I ran over to him. “Th-that wasn’t me,” I said.
    He narrowed his eyes at me. “Excuse me? I thought we were playing a practice game.”
    â€œIt wasn’t me,” I repeated shakily.
    The guys in the next court had stopped playing. They were staring at me now.
    I saw Coach Melvin jogging over from the other end of the courts.
    â€œThat boy—” I said to Jared. “Did he tell you his name or anything?”
    Jared laughed. “I don’t get the joke, Ross.”
    â€œIt—it wasn’t me!” I cried shrilly.
    Jared shook his head. “Well, he looked like you, and he talked like you, and he sounded just like you. And he played like you. So …”
    â€œWhat’s the problem, Ross?” Coach Melvin hurried up to us, gazing at me sternly. “What’s happening?”
    â€œUh … nothing,” I said. “Really. Nothing.”
    I felt dazed. Kind of dizzy.
    The bright sunlight turned white … white … whiter. It flashed in my eyes.
    What’s going on? I wondered.
    Who is that kid?

“Sharma—hey!” I saw her on the steps in front of school and ran over to her. “You stayed after?”
    She nodded. “I had a makeup test in government. It wasn’t too bad.”
    â€œThat means you aced it,” I said. Sharma is a total brain, but she doesn’t like kids to say it. Her idea of a bad test score is anything below 110!
    â€œAre you walking home?” I asked. “Can I walk with you?”
    She nodded again. She pulled a bug or something off my tennis shirt. “How was tennis practice?”
    â€œTotally weird,” I said. As we started to walk, I decided to tell her the whole story. I had to tell someone!
    â€œThis kid is my exact twin,” I told her. “But he keeps disappearing before I can talk to him. Today, he was at tennis practice, playing with Jared. But it wasn’t the first time I saw him. I saw him in Max’s pool Friday night. He was swimming right at me!”
    Sharma laughed. “You make up the dumbest stories.”
    â€œNo. I’m serious!” I said. “He is my exact twin. In every way. He even wears the same clothes as me.”
    â€œGive me a break,” Sharma said. “You should be a writer, Ross. You have such an awesome imagination.”
    I groaned. “But I’m not making it up. Why won’t anyone believe me?”
    â€œBecause it’s crazy?” Sharma suggested.
    We stopped at a corner. “I’m telling the truth,” I insisted. “I saw this boy twice. And he was me. Really.”
    Sharma narrowed her eyes at me. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
    â€œGhosts? No,” I said. “Why?”
    â€œWell, I saw this movie on TV about a girl who kept seeing her twin. And her twin turned out to be her ghost. The ghost came back from the future because she wanted to possess herself and take over her own life.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make any sense at all,” I muttered.
    â€œI know,” Sharma said. “But maybe the boy you keep seeing is your own ghost.”
    â€œBut don’t I have to die to have a ghost?” I asked.
    Traffic drowned out Sharma’s answer. Cars whirred through the intersection. The afternoon sun was lowering behind the hills. People were speeding home from work.
    The light turned green. I started to walk.
    â€œHey—stop!” Sharma pulled me back. “Where are you going?”
    â€œBut the light—” I protested.
    â€œYou’re so busy making up invisible twins, you don’t know what you’re doing!” Sharma said.
    â€œHe’s not invisible,” I told her.
    The light turned red. Sharma tugged me into the street.