Egg-Drop Blues (6 page)

"Why?" my mother asked.

"I don't understand why they're still together. They should have been separated before now."

"Why?" my mother asked again. I could tell she was starting a slow burn. My mother doesn't half-step at anything. She plays hard, and when she gets angry, she gets really angry. I was hoping our teacher would say something logical before Mama blew it. From my own experience, I know that "just because" is something my mother hates to hear.

"It's always been done that way, so I'm sure educators have a good reason for it."

"What?"

"Well, I don't know. Why don't I research and let you know?"

"Fine. I'll be doing my own research, too."

The next day, when we got home from school, she had the dining room table loaded with library books.

"I found it!" she announced when we walked in the door.

"Good for you," Jury said, on his way to the kitchen. That was as much as he planned to say.

"What did you find?" I asked.

"I've been looking for something to explain why it's good to separate twins. Well, actually, I was trying to find something to justify not separating you."

I sat down. She looked like she was about to deliver a long explanation.

"Since they've always done it, there isn't much information to support it or refute it. But I did find a study done on year-round students. Since they go year-round, siblings and sometimes cousins have to be in the same room so they can be on the same track."

"Track?"

"So they'll have the same vacation time. I'd imagine it's really important to plan for your babysitters and family vacations."

I nodded.

"This study says there was an improvement in grades when siblings were in the same room, even when cousins and close family friends were together."

"Makes sense to me. Sometimes when I don't get something in class, I'll ask Jury when we get home. Sometimes I can just look at him during class and he'll help me get the answer." I was talking too much again. I could see she was getting too interested in what I was saying.

"How, baby?"

"Oh, sometimes I'll look at him and he'll point to the book, then I'll know that the answer is in the book. Sometimes he'll turn the book around so I can see the page that it's on. Sometimes he'll just shake his head no."

"What does that mean?"

"It can mean that it's a trick question and nobody knows the answer or it can mean that it's a stupid question and it's not worthy of an answer or it could just mean that he doesn't know."

"I think you two should stay together, don't you?"

"Definitely."

Later that day I caught heck from Jury about what I told our mother.

"What'd you blab about now?" he asked me after dinner.

"What do you mean?"

"Mama just cornered me and started slobbering all over me, mumbling something about me being a good brother. I'm not her brother—the path leads to you!"

He's still a good brother, but he's a lousy egg-drop partner. We had to start over from scratch. I didn't take the notes I was supposed to, so I had no idea how much tape I had wrapped around the egg after I put the bubble packing (the kind people like to pop) around it. The egg cracked the first six times we tried it.

"I don't care if I never see another egg salad sandwich," Jury complained when he saw me carefully gathering up the cracked eggs to take home to Mama. The other kids were probably starting to feel the same way. When Ms. Bailey saw us using boiled eggs, she asked about it and we told her what my mother had suggested. She thought it was a good idea, so she told the rest of the groups to boil their eggs and take the rejects home. Like us, the other groups are using the raw eggs to test a container that had already passed the first couple of drops. Even though the
school was providing eggs, we used so many that we had to bring some from home, too.

"You fetch today," I told Jury when we got to the roof on Thursday. I was tired of wrapping the eggs and going down to check them after the drop. Jury did seem to enjoy the actual drop, but who wouldn't?

"Why me?"

"I'm tired of doing all the work."

"Like it was my idea to be in this stupid rally."

"Okay, it wasn't your idea. I've got that. Does it mean I have to carry the whole thing?"

"Quit whining. I'll go get the stupid eggs, but I'm not staying past the late math class today!" At our school we have an early math class that starts at 8:00 and then the other half of the class comes at 9:00 and stays an hour for late math. They had to do this when the school became overcrowded. Angela, Tommy, and Faye are in the
GATE
class, which meets at 8:00, so they have to have late math. We're in early math, but for most of the school year now, we've figured out reasons to still be at school when they get out of late math.

"Fine."

"I know it's fine." He started walking in the direction of the ladder.

Before he got to the ladder, Mr. C. came on the roof. "So you're up here," he said.

"Who, me?" Jury asked, which was kind of odd because Mr. C. was looking straight at him.

I stepped closer. That man was holding my grade, and ultimately my future, in his hands. If he was getting ready to suspend my brother for some reason, I wanted to hear all the details.

"What's this about, Mr. C.?" I asked, surprising even myself.

"How long have you been up here?" he asked me.

"We came together," I said, nodding at Jury. I didn't know how he'd have answered the question, but I was pretty sure that this time I hadn't messed up.

"Why?" I asked again.

"I just sent a little boy to the hospital with his mother. He probably has a broken arm. I'm fairly certain he was playing your silly game."

"Wow—who was he?" we said in unison.

"That's not important right now. I just want to know if you know anything about the game."

"We were up here," I said.

"You can't get me on this one, Mr. C.," Jury said in a kidding way. I almost thought he was going to slap Mr. C. on the back. Mr. C. blinked
at Jury, and I could tell he was holding back a smile.

"While I'm up here, you might as well show me how your project is coming along."

The Mr. C. that Angela swears by was with us for the next fifteen minutes. He walked around and looked at everybody's containers. He asked a couple of us if we had any idea who might have vandalized the projects. Just before he left, he said to Jury and me, "Keep up the good work, boys."

"I thought he'd never leave. It might be too late for me to get in on the next game."

"What?" I asked my brain-dead brother.

"You know how it is when somebody gets hurt. We just pick up the game and move it to a new location."

"Excuse me, earth to planet Jury! Was I with a Jury pod-person when Mr. C. came, fully prepared to kick you out if you hadn't been able to prove you were up here?"

"And don't think I'm not more than a little annoyed that somebody organized a game without me."

Jury was having a conversation, but it wasn't with me. He shoved all of his junk into his backpack, and without so much as a "see you later" was off looking for a game.

Thursday night was serious study time for us. Mama cleaned up the kitchen after hearing Jury's little speech, which she called a tirade: "This is a conspiracy. The best shows on television always come on on Thursday night, the one night that everybody knows is reserved to study for the stupid Friday test." He goes through it at least once a month.

"I'll do the dishes tonight," she said, interrupting Jury. "You guys go study."

I went upstairs to study at our desk. I don't know what our parents were thinking about when they bought only one desk. But it turned out okay; I don't believe I've ever seen Jury studying there. When he studies upstairs, he usually sits on his bed, but most of the time he studies in front of the television. Angela says we're lucky that Mama'll let us do that; Mrs. Collins
won't let Angela. My mother says she was a fairly good student and she studied in front of the television, so she doesn't sweat us.

The night went fast. I reread the five chapters that made up the unit and listened to the tape while I was going to sleep. In fact, I must have fallen asleep because I don't remember turning it off.

It seemed like I was asleep for about an hour when I heard Jury's alarm. Since he got his new alarm clock-radio for Christmas, I'm up as soon as I hear the music turn on. Otherwise, I have an early morning attitude because I get angry listening to him hit the snooze bar over and over again.

I was dressed and finished with breakfast by the time Jury came downstairs. He's definitely not a morning person, but neither am I. One thing we agree on, we leave each other alone in the morning. Our mother leaves soon after Jury's alarm. She's a morning person. Since she started her latest diet, she exercises to a video in the morning. It uses a lot of old music from her generation and that's what I have to deal with if I come down too early.

By the time I got downstairs on test day, she was gone. She left us a note on the refrigerator: "Good Luck on the test!! Love, Mama." She likes
exclamation points. I thought the note was nice of her.

"How lame can you get?" Jury asked when he came down and saw the note. But he doesn't fool me.

I've got the best teacher in the world. Right after the bell for the late math kids rang, Miss Hoffer made an announcement. "I know everybody is a little concerned about their science test today. Instead of social studies, why don't you take out your library books or your journal, whichever you prefer. If you haven't studied, and I know all of you have, you can study for the test, but I'd prefer to see you doing something more relaxing."

Jury's hand shot up.

"No, Jury, you cannot talk or play games in here or outside. You can read or you can write in your journal." Everybody started laughing. Even Jury laughed, so that must have been what he was going to ask.

I'm rereading one of my favorite books,
Bunnicula
by Deborah and James Howe. It's the first chapter book I ever finished. I've read it once each year since the first time I read it at the end of fourth grade. Plus, I think it's a really funny story.

I was lost in the story when I heard Ms. Hennessey's voice. I don't know how long she'd been in the room, but Miss Hoffer hadn't left yet so I figured it wasn't very long. They were talking about something really quiet. Just before Miss Hoffer took her grade book and left the room, I heard her tell Ms. Hennessey, "I'll pray for her; it'll be all right." She touched Ms. Hennessey's arm lightly. I couldn't help but wonder if somebody in Ms. Hennessey's family was sick.

Ms. Hennessey asked Faye to pass out the papers. As Faye walked by she gave me a quick pat on the back. I must have been looking pretty scared.

I eyed the test. It was three pages long, handwritten. I hate when teachers don't type their tests. Most of them have pretty decent writing, but it's confusing enough without adding handwriting to the problem.

I didn't look up again until Ms. Hennessey said, "Okay guys, put down your pencils."

It was funny. I felt like I was floating or in a time warp or something. The light in the room even looked brighter.

"That was quick, wasn't it?" Ms. Hennessey asked the class. I think she was being sarcastic, but to me it did feel quick. Most of the kids
moaned or mumbled under their breath. Ms. Hennessey laughed.

But in spite of the time warp problem, I was sure I'd passed. It was a new feeling. Sometimes I'd hear Tommy, Faye, and Angela talking about tests: "I aced it," they would tell each other. I always envied their confidence, but now I was having that same feeling. It was—what—kind of scary?

During the test, I did some things my mother and Mrs. Norville showed me. At one point when the question didn't make any sense, I turned the test paper upside down and read it that way. It forces you to see each word. I talked to myself quite a bit, too. I'd say things like,"Okay, Judge, why don't you eliminate the answers that don't work." One of the multiple choice questions was: "The formation of sedimentary rocks is closely associated with——." The choices were: a) water, b) lava, c) sand and d) chemicals. I asked myself, "What is the definition of sedimentary rock?" Of the four choices, only water came up in the definition. I asked myself a few more questions, and again, only water came up in the answer. I chose water. The whole thing took all of two or three seconds, and for all I know that could be the way normal people think anyway, but it was new for
me. Over time, facts have proven to be unreliable for me—at test time, all of a sudden I didn't know the stuff I thought I knew. I was sure about an answer only when the question was almost identical to the fact as I learned it. In other words, the only way I could have been sure about my water answer was if the question was asked using the definition I learned.

"How'cha do?" Jury asked during the first recess.

"I actually think I did all right."

"Yeah, it wasn't as hard as I expected. I think your stupid recording helped."

"Is that a thank you?"

"Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?"

"What?"

Instead of explaining, he ran off to start a game.

After our last class, we went to the roof and I got some good news—our container finally survived three drops in a row. We're using the plastic egg container, wrapped in three layers of bubble wrap and then jam-packed with Jury's confetti. An engineer from the air force came to speak to us about impact and aerodynamics. Miss Bailey was concerned that we were losing sight of the science aspect of the egg drop. Actually,
the engineer's lecture was all right. On the walk home that day, I pictured myself in an air force uniform teaching kids how to gauge the force of an impact. It was something I would not have imagined prior to my feeling confident that I passed my science test.

Every other Friday night is our eat-out night. It used to be on Saturday, but that day was crowded with other stuff. Sometimes we eat in and have pizzas delivered. When my mother was still dating her old (in actual years) boyfriend Frank, he managed to convince her that eating out two or three days a month was too expensive for a single mom. I know she's lonely and she worries that she's too fat to meet another boyfriend, but I sure am glad Frank is out of our lives.