# 16: One-Eyed Jack

So even with all the weirdo stuff that happens at Planet Nine Middle School, some things just plain make me curious. Like, why does Jack Syke always wear dark glasses? I'm talking, always. As in, he never takes them off. Ever. I mean, even to go to bed. How do I know this? Because he went to camp with a bunch of us last summer, and was in the same cabin as Wiley, Fatty, Deepak, Cody, Fart-Face Freddy, Zack, Marion and myself.At lights out, Jack would be in his sleeping bag on his bunk, with his sunglasses on.

On the first night, Deepak stared at him, then couldn't hold it in any longer. "Dude, is there something wrong with your eyes?"

Jack turned toward Deepak and shook his head. "No Man. Why?"

Deepak gave a nervous laugh. "Well...uh...you...um...you never, you know, take your sunglasses off."

Jack shrugged. "No biggie. I just feel more comfortable with them on."

At this point, we're all staring at him, even the really weird kids, like Zack and Marion. "You take them off to shower, right?" I asked.

Jack shook his head. "Nope. They're always on my face. Right where they belong. 'Night." Then he rolls over and goes to sleep. With, you guessed it, those big, dark glasses on.

Weird.

Well, anyway, I didn't really think much about Jack and his bizarro sunglass habit after that. At least not until now. Not after what I've just seen.

You see, we have a duty roster at school. One day each week, a different kid is responsible for cleaning out the science table in class, setting out the new exhibits, and labeling them. It's a lot of work, so the kid usually stays in during recess to get the job done. It's kind of fun to be the first to see all the new cool science stuff, so we don't really mind missing recess.

So anyway, today was my day on the job. The classroom was super quiet, which kind of weirded me out. Usually, you can hear the kids playing outside, which made you feel like you were still a part of it all, even if you were inside busy working. But today was different. The 8th. grade basketball team, the Charon Comets (named after the planet Pluto's moon, Charon) was in the gym practicing for the big game against the Spokane Supersonics, and everyone wanted to watch. I mean, this was the big game. The big one. If the Comets win this one on Saturday, they'll be the reigning Washington State basketball champs. How could you not want to see them practice?

So there I was, all alone in class. Not a peep anywhere to be heard. I whistled as I worked, just to hear something. The quiet was a little too quiet for me. I'd removed all the objects from the science table, and packed them into the tub that Mr. Kellogg gave me, before realizing I was out of sanitizing wipes to clean the table with. I headed to the science lab. Mr. Kellogg usually kept some cleaning products in the closet at the back, so I figured I'd find more wipes there. As  much fun as the job was, I was in a hurry to finish up, so I could at least watch part of the practice.

I turned the knob of the closet door, praying it wasn't locked, and was pretty relieved when it swung open. But any relief I felt vanished pretty fast when I saw what I saw.

Jack Syke was in the closet, his glasses in one hand, and a towel in another. It was pretty obvious he was cleaning them. I raised my eyes to his, and felt everything around me start to tilt. I clutched at the door to keep from falling over. And stared at the huge eye in the middle of Jack's face. Yeah, you heard me. At the huge eye, singular, on Jack's face.

Jack had one eye. I mean, one. And it was huge. It was bigger than two eyes put together, and sat over his nose, just like eyes are supposed to, only there was one on his face.

Oh Man.

As I stared at him, Jack hurriedly replaced his glasses on his nose, and just like that, he looked like Jack again. I mean, the Jack I was used to seeing. The Jack I expected to see.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the only sound that came out was a squeak. I cleared my throat and tried again. Same thing.

"Hey Beaks," Jack said, and I couldn't believe how calm his voice was.

"Hey...hey Jack," I said, at least I think I said. I don't know. Everything that happened then is still kind of a blur. "What...er...what's new?'

Jack shrugged. "Nothing much. Just popped in here to clean my glasses before heading out to watch the practice. You coming?"

"Sure. yeah." I babbled, nodding for all I was worth. "Gotta sup...support the team, right?"

"You bet," Jack said, folding the towel and setting it by the sink. With his back to me, I heard him take a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. He slowly turned back to me. "Beaks...?"

"Hey Dude, I didn't see anything. I mean, sure, I saw...your...uh..."

"Eye?" Jack supplied.

"Yeah. Yeah, your...um...eye., but ---"

"But what?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, it explains the over-sized sunglasses, right?" I smiled, at least I think I did, but my face felt kind of frozen, so who knows?

 There was a short silence as Jack stared at me. With his one huge, enormous, gigantic eye. I tried not to shift as he stared, but I sure did feel uncomfortable. Who knew one eye could look right through you like that?

"I guess the jig's up, then." Jack said softly, almost as if he were talking to himself.

I frowned. "What jig? What do you mean Jack?"

He shrugged."Just that everyone will know about me now, and I'm sure there'll be all kinds of creative nicknames used to describe me from now on."

I didn't get it. "Why would everyone know? What are you talking about? I'm not going to say anything."

Jack's eyebrows popped over his sunglasses, and again I felt the penetrating force of that one-eyed stare. "Seriously Dude? I mean, for real?"

"Sure." I nodded. "Why would I say anything? Your eyes...er...eye...is your business, not mine. Besides," I shrugged, thinking of all the characters at Planet Nine Middle School; Dead-Eye Danny, Millie Milkweed, Marion Dorsey, Euclid Hill...I mean the list goes on and on, and doesn't stop with the school. Pretty much all of Pluto is Weirdosville. "This is Pluto, Dude. Different is kind of our motto."

Jack's mouth dropped open for a second, then he laughed. He rubbed a hand over his hair, and took another deep breath. Except this time, he sounded relieved. "You still working on the science table?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Just came in for some wipes."

Jack grabbed a pack off a shelf and headed toward me. "Let's go Beaks. The quicker we finish setting up the new items, the quicker we can go watch the practice."

As Jack and I walked back to the classroom, I had one more question. "Hey Dude? So where'd you get those cool glasses?"

# 15: The Creature From The Black Lagoon, Revisited.

Hi Peeps! Hey, so it's spring break week here in Pluto. Wiggy's family's off on a Caribbean cruise (lucky duck), so it's just Fatty, Wiley and me hanging out. Dad's promised me that I can go to Space Camp this summer, so that makes up for us not going anywhere during school break.

We've been camping out a lot lately, even though it's still cold and wet, but hey, this is Washington State. It's always wet, even if it's not always cold. If we waited for a dry day, we'd be waiting a long time. Know what I mean?

We've been camping twice this week. The first time was last Saturday, the first day of spring break. The three of us met early at my house, with all our camping gear. Dad grumbled that it takes an army to get me out of bed for school, but that I'm up at the crack of dawn during vacation time. Can't argue with him there. Mom was pretty cool about us going camping down by Crater Lake. I think it was because she looked forward to not having me and the guys hanging around playing video games and eating everything in sight, like we usually do when there's no school. Plus, she said the fresh air and exercise would be good for us. I just smiled and nodded. No sense telling her that we'd be sprawled out on our sleeping bags playing video games.

Anyway, we had a great time camping last Saturday. The weather actually turned out pretty neat. It didn't rain once the entire time, and we were able to build a fire and toast marshmallows and hot dogs and tell scary stories until way past bedtime. It was excellent. Except for the creepy sounds we heard when we eventually did crawl into our sleeping bags. I wouldn't have been that scared if it hadn't been for Fatty chirping up every few minutes that we were going to get eaten. That kind of image tends to stay with a guy in the middle of the night, out in the open. After Fatty yelped out for the fourth time, Wiley finally decided enough was enough. He told Fatty if he didn't shut up, we were going to throw him in the lake, which was like 0 degrees. That did it. Fatty finally stopped whimpering, and we were all able to get some sleep. The next morning, we ate baked beans and hard-boiled eggs, and thought we were pretty cool for putting together such an excellent breakfast. We had a pretty awesome day hiking and looking for arrow heads, and making traps for squirrels and rabbits, although none of them worked, before heading for home around sundown. We decided when we reached my driveway that we would do it again on Friday.

It's Friday, and here we are at Crater Lake again. Only this time, something feels different. You know, off? Like a feeling you get when something's wrong, but you can't quite put your finger on it? Yeah, that's how it feels. Fatty's setting up the tent, which is big enough to hold a family of four really big people, and Wiley's out looking for dry firewood. Me, I'm down by the lake, trying to catch a big ol' fish for dinner. Only it's not as easy as it looks on those wilderness shows on TV. I've already lost two worms, and am sitting here on the shore on a big ol' rock, with the fishing line in the water, with my last worm wriggling on the end of the hook. It's cold and wet today, not like last weekend when we camped. I've got my rain slicker on, but the rain keeps trickling down my face into my neck, making me shiver.  This camping trip is starting to suck, big time. I shiver, and hunker down, keeping my head down so no more rain slides down my neck.

I see them now. The tracks I mean. I'm staring at the ground around me, which is wet and mushy. I can see my tracks clearly, slowly filling with water, and some paw prints that look like tiny human feet. Raccoon tracks. But then I see the other ones. These tracks are big. And look human. Except they have webbing in-between the toes. I mean, like real webbing.  And they are coming from the direction of the lake onto land. Not the other way around. I swallow. No way,  Man. There's no way they're real. I forget about the fishing rod and jump down off the rock to get a closer look. I stoop over, and peer closer.

There's no way around it. They're real. Real big tracks of human-looking, enormous feet. With webbing in-between the toes. I backtrack to where they come from, and sure enough, they end right at the water's edge. I straighten, and my heartbeat goes up a couple of notches. Yep. Whatever he...it was, it came right out of the water onto land. I look around, eyes darting to every corner of the woods. Suddenly, it feels like I'm being watched. My appetite for fresh fish is suddenly gone. All I want is to hightail it back to the campsite, grab Wiley and Fatty and our bikes, and get the heck out of Dodge. (I don't really know what Dodge is, but my dad says that whenever we go to the movies and it's time to head for home, so it's good enough for me).

A rustle in the trees to my left grabs my attention, and I whip my head up, scanning the tree line. It's hard to see with the rain in my eyes, so I'm blinking hard and staring. I don't see anything. Only dark shadows that look like they might leap out and grab me. I feel sick. Like I might hurl my PB&J sandwich out, which won't be a pretty sight. I mean, have you seen what a partially-digested PB&J sandwich looks like? Not good.

"Who's there?" I say, trying to sound older than I am. "Fatty? Wiley? Man, if that's either of you jerks trying to scare me, it won't work." I don't mention that it's already worked and I'm pretty freaked out and I want my mommy. There's no answer. In fact, there's no sound at all. Not even the buzzing of insects or the chirping of birds. The silence around me is pretty deafening, and I press my frozen fingers against my ears, trying to shut out...what? The silence? "You hear me guys? Not funny." The rustling starts up again, and I bolt into action. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm sprinting toward the campsite, yelling for all I'm worth. I don't even know what's coming out of my mouth, only that it's loud and sounds like gibberish.

When I reach our camp, both Fatty and Wiley are on their feet and staring at me as if I've lost my marbles. Maybe I have. It's hard to tell.

"Beaks? What the hey?" Wiley blurts out. Fatty is just staring at me, eyes bugging out. I can tell he's already scared, even though he has no idea what's going on. But that's only normal. Fatty jumps when a dry leaf hits the ground.

"Some...something," I pant, doubling over and breathing hard. I have a stitch in my side which makes it hard for me to straighten up. "Web...webbed feet. Big. From the lake." I gesture toward the water, and use my hands to show the size of the tracks I saw, but they look confused. What the heck's the matter with them? Don't they realize some kind of water monster is gong to eat us for dinner? I take a deep breath and try again. "Dudes, there's some kind of tracks leading away from the water. They're huge and they have...I dunno...some kind of...of webbing between the toes. Like real webbing."

They're still staring at me, except now Fatty looks kind of green, like he might actually hurl for real. Then Wiley rolls his eyes and snorts. "Come off it Beaks. What're you saying? That there's some kind of sea-monster that lives in Crater Lake that's running around on dry land?" He snorts again and elbows Fatty, who jumps (told you). "Come on Fats. Let's go check out these 'footprints.' He uses his fingers to make quotation marks around "footprints," which irritates me.

"Go ahead," I say, angry, now that they don't believe me. "I'll just stay here by the fire. But don't blame me if you get dragged into the lake and eaten alive."

Fatty turns even greener. He turns to Wiley, clears his throat. "May...maybe Beaks' is right," he croaks. "Maybe we should just pack up and go straight home."

Wiley rolls his eyes and grabs Fatty's arm. "Stop being such a scaredy-cat. We're just gonna go check it out. And besides, he left the fishing pole behind. We gotta get it or my dad's gonna freak." He yanks Fatty away before the poor guy can protest. I shrug and move closer to the fire to dry off. Let them go. What do I care? If they want to get dragged into the lake by some lake-monster, that's their problem. But I keep looking after them anyway, wishing they would turn around and come back.

When I hear footsteps approaching the campsite, I sigh with relief. They're okay. Awesome! Maybe now we can pack up and leave. I'm suddenly not a big fan of camping out anymore. I jump up. "What happened you two? Chicken out from checking out the tracks?" I peer into the darkness, trying to make out their shapes. I see Wiley first. Only he's way too big to be Wiley, so it must be Fatty. Except...wait. Fatty's not that tall. What...?

Then I see him...it. The creature. The Creature From The Black Lagoon. At least that's what it looks like. He's a very dark green. Almost black in the surrounding darkness. And he's covered with scales that gleam in the light from the fire. And his eyes. Oh Man. His eyes are huge. Like saucer-size huge. And they're glowing, reflecting back the firelight. And his mouth, it keeps opening and closing, like a fish out of water. Only there's no sound coming out of it. I open my mouth and try to scream. Only there's no sound coming out of mine. And I'm pretty sure my mouth is also opening and closing.

So there we are, the lake-monster and me, staring at each other across the fire. My life flashes before my eyes, but it's over real quick, 'cos I'm only twelve, and the only thing left to do is pray for this to be a dream. He moves suddenly and I jerk, scrambling to my feet. I am breathing so hard it's almost painful. I try to move my feet, but they're frozen to the ground. At this point, I realize I'm pretty helpless, 'cos I can't scream and I can't move. I watch as he lumbers around the fire, and it's only then that I see he has a big pole with him. For a split second, I think he's going to hook me on the end of his pole and carry me off for dinner. But then I see it's my fishing pole. Then I see something silvery wriggling at the end of it, and I realize it's a fish.

The creature holds out the pole to me. And waits. I swallow. What the heck? Is he...really offering me a fish? He stands motionless, his mouth opening and closing, watching me with those over-sized glowing eyes. He wiggles the pole, and stares at me. Waiting. Somehow, my feet shamble toward him. I reach for the pole slowly, wondering if it's a trick. My fingers close around it, and he lets go and steps back. I can smell him. All fishy and kind of brackish. (That's a word I learned a while back, and I finally get a chance to use it).

Then he turns kind of lumberingly, like you'd expect Frankenstein's monster to move, and shuffles into the woods. I listen until I don't hear him anymore. But I do hear the others making their way back. I turn and wait for them, feeling a little dazed. If I didn't have hold of the pole and the fish flopping at the end of it, I'd think I dreamed the whole thing.

"Beaks...what?" Wiley says, staring at the pole, then the fish, then me.

"Hey? What gives?" Fatty says. "Dude, did you just pull a fast one on us?"

I shake my head. "It...it came up to me...and...and just handed me the pole with the fish on it." My voice sounds strangled, even to me.

Wiley shakes his head. "Sure it did. Woooo. The monster from Crater Lake lives. And just caught us dinner."

"Not cool Dude," Fatty says, stomping up and grabbing the pole. "Now we're gonna have to wait like forever before the fish is cooked, 'cos I have to gut and clean it first. And I'm starving."

No surprise there. Fatty is always starving. "But...but," I say, sounding like an outboard motor.

"Drop it beaks," Wiley growls, stomping toward the tent. "I'm gonna grab some beans." He disapears inside the tent, then pops his head back out. "Nice fish though. Didnt realize you were a fisherman. My dad's gonna be real impressed when I tell him you caught a big one. He thinks you're all brains and that's about it." Wiley grins and disappears back into the tent.

"But...but I didn't catch it," I stammer. "It was really here --"

"Drop it Beaks," Fatty grunts, slicing open the fish. "Great fish, Man. We'll have to come back again next weekend."

I'm thinking, not a chance, as I stare off into the woods. Deep inside the thicket, I see a soft glow. And realize we have company as we settle down to a yummy fish fry.

# 14: Half Past Dead

So there's this kid in my Social Studies class, Whit Whitman. He's a pretty cool kid, all things considered. I mean, with all of the weird kids and goings on in Pluto, it's kind of neat to have a kid who's just...well...normal. Kind of.

Whit's been living in Pluto longer than most of the denizens of our fair but bizarre town. His parents moved here when he was two, so he's grown up surrounded by the weirdness that is us. Maybe that explains why he's always so calm about everything that happens. And yeah, weird happens in Pluto on any given day, at any given time. But looking at Whit, you'd never guess he lives at the center of all things strange and bizarre.

Whit looks like the all-American boy from those old TV shows way back in the fifties and sixties. You know, blonde, blue-eyed, freckles. The works. He's also a good student. He gets pretty much straight Bs, with the occasional A thrown in. In Social Studies, we're both at the top of our class. Well, if you take Zack Zanto out of the picture. That guy gets straight A pluses without even trying, but then again he is an alien. Everyone knows it, but no one'll say it out loud. I dunno. I think we're all afraid that if we acknowledge it out loud, we'll all be swept up in some kind of beam to a spaceship hovering about just outside earth orbit. Zack's an awesome guy though, for an honest-to-goodness space alien, so everyone pretends not to know that he's from Outer Space.

Anyway, back to Whit. Like I said, he's a pretty cool kid.

Until a couple of weeks ago.

Something happened to Whit then. Something that changed him. And I don't mean changed him like argh...he's a monster! I mean, changed him like, he's different from anyone else at school. Yeah, yeah I know. At Planet Nine Elementary, everyone's different from each other. Like in a major way. But that's not what I mean. I mean, something happened to Whit that's changed him so he doesn't eat and drink anything...and I mean...anything...in the cafeteria, anymore.

At lunchtime, he shuffles in, and I do mean shuffle. Like he's kind of dragging one foot behind the other. Before last week, Whit walked normally. In fact, he was a pretty cool athlete. Looking at him shuffle into the cafeteria, you'd never guess that he used to go out for track. He was pretty fast too. He still holds the record for the fastest time at our school.

Wiggy, Fatty, Wiley and I are sitting at our usual table by the window, and Wiggy is staring at Euclid emptying the salt shaker into his mouth (we're pretty sure Euc's an alien too), when Whit shuffles over.

"Hey," he mumbles.

"Hey," we chorus back.

Silence. The four of us look at each other, then up at Whit, still standing there, kind of hunched over. He is looking at us with eyes that look like they've kind of sunk into their sockets. Come to think of it, he doesn't look so good all over. The four of us shift in our chairs, waiting for Whit to say something, until I can't take it anymore.

"Man, you need some sun," I blurt out. "Look at you? You're all pale and...stuff."

"Yeah Whit. And what's with your foot?" Wiley says. "You should have the school nurse check it out."

Whit blinks at us, shakes his head. "Wouldn't do any good," he says. His words are slurred so it's kind of hard to understand him.

"Ummm...you gonna join us?" Wiggy asks, pushing his meat sauce around on his plate.

"Whit shifts his attention to the meatballs. "Those look good," he mumbles. "Kind of like brains." A gross-looking blackish tongue flicks out and he licks his lips.

"Did-did-did you s-say b-b-b-brains?" Wiggy stammers.

"Yeah," Whit says. He rubs his stomach with a hand that actually has dry skin flaking off it in chunks. It's gross. "Nice juicy cow brains. Man, there's nothing better." There is actual drool sliding down a corner of Whit's mouth.

Just like that, my appetite is gone.  I push my plate away. "Ummm...Whit? Is everything okay? I mean, you...you don't seem like yourself. You know?"

Whit turns those weird, dead eyes on me, and I have to grip my chair to keep from springing up and taking off for home. "I know Beaker," he says. "I know." He flashes me a smile, and I notice his teeth are all yellow and stuff. Like he hasn't brushed them in a while.

He moves away from the table and we all stare after him. Then, suddenly he turns, and Wiggy jumps. "I'm not myself," he says. "I'm better." And he smiles again.

As he shuffles off, we hear him muttering "braiiiinnss, braiinnss..."

# 13: WHICH WITCH IS WHICH?

So exam time is upon us at Planet Nine Elementary. Gross. So, anyway, Fatty, Wiggy and I decide to go to the library to bone up on our science knowledge for the big science test tomorrow morning. Wiggy is not too happy about it, and neither is Fatty. Actually, none of us are.

You see, we’re all pretty convinced that Miss Direcque, the town librarian, is a witch. Not a nasty, mean, crazy woman who you’d call a witch, but an actual, broomstick-flying, spell-casting witch. Except for the hooked nose and warts. She doesn’t have those. Which is too bad. I mean, if she did, it would make it that much easier to see, right off the bat, that she is a witch. Know what I mean?

So anyway, school’s out, and nothing weird happened. Well, not that weird anyway. Which is kind of weird in itself, since really weird things happen at Planet Nine pretty much on a daily basis. The only thing that happened that was kind of weird was during lunchtime in the cafeteria, when Felix Fine curled up on an empty lunch table next to the windows and went to sleep in the sunbeam streaming in. I swear you could hear him purring halfway across the room. Like I said, not full out weird, but kind of weird.

So, there we were, in the library, sitting at the only table available. Which happened to be right across from Miss Direcque’s desk. Looking around, I saw that people were crammed in at all the other tables, practically on top of each other. She must freak a lot of people out, even the weird denizens (that’s my new word for the day) who live in Pluto, if they’d rather be squished together than sit across from her. Who knew?

“Dude?” Wiggy whispers, nudging me. “She’s staring at us. Oh snap! She knows we know.”

I glare at him. “She knows we know what?” I hiss, shoving his elbow away. “C’mon Man. We’ve got a test to study for.” I grab one of the books and start flipping pages, wishing Wiggy would shut up already. Not that I was scared or anything.

Wiggy glares back. “That’s she’s a witch, dummy. Check it out. Those weird eyes of hers are…I dunno…kind of glowing.”

“He’s right Rod,” Fatty chimes in, and his voice is shaking. “They are kinda glowing.”

I roll my eyes. In my mind I see the possibility of that B+ slowly slipping away. I sigh and look up.

And my gaze collides with Miss Direcque’s piercing stare. My stomach flips, making me want to hurl right there in the town library. When she sees me staring back, she smiles. Only it’s not a warm, welcome, good-to-see-you-how’s-your-folks kind of smile. It’s the kind that makes you want to run for the hills, screaming for your mommy. I swallow. “Should…should me move, maybe?” I croak, unable to tear my eyes away from hers.

“To where?” Fatty asks. “Every other table is jam-packed with people. This is the only place left.”

“Maybe we should go study at my house,” Wiggy whispers, still shaking. “Dude, she’s looking at you like she wants to turn you into a toadstool or something.”

“Shut up,” I say, finally tearing my eyes away from the creepy librarian. “A toadstool? Really? Geez, Wiggy. It’s really sad that all your knowledge of witches comes from Bugs Bunny cartoons.”

“Aha! So you admit she’s a witch,” he says, ignoring my insult.

“I admit nothing,” I say, using the voice my dad uses when he refuses to admit he’s wrong about something. Nothing irritates my mom more.

“Clam up,” Fatty snaps in a stage whisper. “She knows we’re talking about her.”

Keeping my eyes glued to my book, I start taking notes. For a while, there is complete silence at our table, which doesn’t happen very often. Whoever said that girls talk more than boys hasn’t been around enough boys. We never shut up. I mean never. Whenever one guy stops talking, another starts up. It’s a never-ending round of yammering voices, blabbing about everything under the sun, from aliens to zombies.

Just when I start thinking that the B+ might be within my hot, sweaty grasp, Wiggy yelps. I mean really yelps. Like a little puppy that’s just received a big scare. Then he starts imitating an owl.

“Who-who-who,” Wiggy stammers.

“What now?” I mutter, tossing my pencil down.

Wigggy’s mouth is working like a fish out of water; only no sound is coming out.

“What the heck dude?” Fatty snaps. “Are you choking? Rod, is he choking?”

“How the heck should I know,” I snap back. We are clearly all on edge here. I’m going to go out on a limb here and profess (another word I like) that the study session for the big science test is not going well.

In answer, Wiggy points toward the circulation desk with a quaking finger. Fatty and I turn as one, and this time I’m pretty sure I’m going to hurl.

Miss Direcque is standing there, behind her desk, exactly where she has been for the last twenty minutes. Only, it’s not her. It’s…I don’t know who it is. It’s someone who looks exactly like her. Same navy blue dress, buttoned all the way up to her scrawny throat. Same weird eyes, one blue, one green which our buddy, Wiley, says is a sure sign of a witch, same tight bun, bundles on top of her head like a big fat donut. Only the bun isn’t pitch-black, which is what color Miss Direcque’s hair is.
No sir!

It is bright flaming red.

We all stare. We are all breathing like we’ve run a marathon, even though none of us knows what that feels like. I feel dizzy. The room is tilting slightly, and I’m pretty convinced I’m either dreaming or I’m going to pass out. Fatty clutches my arm and I jump, which wakes me up pretty quick.

“Dude, her hair! It’s…it’s…”

“Red,” Wiggy whispers, quaking so much his teeth are chattering. Or is that mine? I can’t tell.

“May…maybe she’s wearing a wig,” I say, clearing my throat.

Fatty’s fingers tighten on my arm. “Why the heck would she randomly put on a wig?’ he hisses.

I shrug. My arm, where Fatty is clutching at it, starts going numb. “Maybe she’s doing it to scare us,” I suggest. “You know, to teach us a lesson?”

“A lesson?” Fatty and Wiggy chorus.

“Are you daft? Why would she do that?” Fatty yells, forgetting where we are.

“Shhhh,” a voice hisses.

And there she is, looming above us.

In the blink of an eye, Miss Direcque, or whoever this red-haired woman is, is at our table, leaning toward us.

“May I remind you young gentlemen that you are in a library,” she growls, her strange green and blue eyes snapping from me to Fatty to Wiggy, who’s slid so far down in his chair, he’s practically under the table.

“So—sorry,” Fatty croaks. “We-we-we---"

“Yessss?” “We…uh…we were wondering how you changed your hair color so quickly,” I stammer. Fatty gives my arm a grateful squeeze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, straightening back up, and smoothing a gnarly hand over her hair.

And just like that, her hair is jet-black again.

“Oooohh,” Wiggy moans. “I-I think I’m going to be sick.”

Miss Direcque glances at me and flashes that eerie smile of hers that never fails to send all kinds of shivers down my back. “I think you young gentlemen should take your friend home. Looks like he needs medical attention.” And she turns away, her black heels clicking against the wood floor as she returns to her desk.

We don’t need to be told twice. We grab our books, our backpacks and Wiggy, and haul our butts out the door and down the stairs. We don’t stop until we reach Wiggy’s house and stumble inside, breathing hard enough that we’re all bent over, coughing and gagging.

“I knew it!” Wiggy blurts, once he catches his breath. “Mrs. Carruthers was right. Remember when she claimed she saw Miss Direcque flying over Meteor Park last year?”

Mrs. Carruthers was my old neighbor, and the sweetest woman who ever lived. But she was also like 150 years old. I think she’s the oldest person I’ve ever known. So, when sweet, old Mrs. Carruthers says she saw the town librarian flying over the park on a broomstick, most people just smiled and nodded. I mean, isn’t that what old people do? Their minds start to go at some point when they reach 100, right? So, when they say or do weird things, like going to the grocery store in their bathrobes, like old Mr. Johnson does every now and then, everyone understands.

“She’s old,” I remind the others, wheezing.

“Fine, Smarty,” Wiggy croaks. “Then explain how Miss Direcque changed her hair from black to red to black again, in front of us!”

I open my mouth. Shut it. Open it again. “I don’t know,” I finally say, shrugging. “It’s just...it’s Pluto,” I finish lamely, unable to come up with a reasonable explanation.

Wiggy stares at me, his eyes bugging out. “It’s Pluto?” he screeches at me. I cringe, stepping back behind Fatty. “That’s the best you can do after what we’ve just seen?”

I smile weakly, trying to come up with some kind of explanation, but my mind goes blank. Fatty comes to my rescue, which surprises the heck out of me. “Hey Man? Calm down, okay? We don’t have an explanation for what we saw. But think about it. If we had to come up with a rational explanation for every weird, nutty thing that happens in Pluto, our brains would seriously explode.”

Wiggy scowls at him for a moment, then he sighs. “Yeah. Yeah Dude. You’re right.”

We sit at his kitchen table with cookies and milk, and eat in silence. Then I stand. “I’d better get home, guys. My mom’ll start to freak out if I’m not back soon. And, oh crap, we didn’t get any studying done for the test tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Fatty groans. “Stupid science test. What a drag!”

Yep, even in a cool place like Pluto, school can be a drag.

# 12 Millie Milkweed, Mermaid!

So not much has happened around here lately - unless you count Mrs. Carruthers, our old neighbor, screeching about seeing Miss Direcque, the town librarian, riding a broomstick above Meteor Park (yeah, Pluto tends to overdo the outer space references) a couple of weeks ago. She swears that when Miss Direcque saw her, she actually cackled.
Weird.
So anyway, Millie Milkweed (swear to God that's her real name), who's in my Honors Physics class, was acting kind of strange in class yesterday. I don't usually pay attention to strange things in my classes, given that the majority of kids in my school...actually...in the whole town, are by definition wacky.
Millie is no exception.
I was busy trying to figure out the assignment Mr. Stratum had just given us, when I noticed out the corner of my eye that Millie was acting kind of bizarre. I would have ignored it, except for the fact that Zach Zanto commented on it.
"What's with her?" he hissed, raising one silvery-blond eyebrow.
I glanced over at Millie. If Zach, who I KNOW is an alien (though I haven't been able to prove it yet), thinks Millie is weird, then Man, she's got to be behaving even weirder than usual.
I paid attention.
Zach was right. Millie was fidgeting from side to side, and I swear she was rustling. I don't mean her clothes were rustling. I mean SHE was rustling, like dry leaves on a windy day.
Can't be, I thought, and turned back to my work. I noticed Zach was staring at her unblinking with those bizarre otherworldly eyes of his.
"Hey Man, we gotta finish this by the end of class," I whispered.
"Already done," he said, not taking his eyes off Millie.
I shrugged. Whatever. And got back to my work.
At least  I tried to. Between Millie's rustling, which was steadily getting worse, and Zach's freaky staring, I couldn't concentrate. Giving up, I threw my pen down and turned to Millie.
"Psssst! Hey Millie?"
I know she heard me, but she acted like she didn't. Her fidgeting was getting worse. By now most of the class was staring at her.
"Millie?" I said again, a little louder this time. I glanced quickly at Mr. Stratum, but he was busy writing some formulas on the board.
She froze. I mean literally froze. Her body stopped in mid-shift, her eyes locked in place, and she looked as if she were holding her breath.
I leaned over and shook her arm. It felt crepey, like Christmas tissue paper.  Creeped out, I snatched it away.
She turned slowly toward me and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand out like an angry porcupine.  She opened her mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a long sigh, like the sound of the ocean on a quiet day.  You know, that whooshing sound the sea makes?
"Millie!" I said again, "Are-are you all right? You look...um...kinda...I dunno..."
She got slowly to her feet. "Wa...ter," she whispered, in a voice as dry and dessicated as a corn husk.
"There-there's a drinking fountain down the hall," I said, wondering why it was that every weirdo in Pluto ends up in my classes.
She gave me a weak smile and turned toward the door. We all turned to watch her leave. She hobbled slowly toward the door, each step worse than the one before. By the time she reached the door, she was dragging her right foot behind her.
I made a snap decision and raised my hand. "Sir? Mr. Stratum?"
He turned from the blackboard. "What is it Mr. Beaker?"
"I think Millie Milkweed needs help Sir. May I go after her?"
Mr. Stratum looked in surprise at Millie's empty desk. He nodded. "Go ahead. Escort her to the infirmary, but make sure you come right back."
"Yes sir." I sprang up and galloped out the door. Millie was nowhere in sight. I wandered the halls for a while, but couldn't see her anywhere. I ran to the infirmary, but the only sick person there was Deadeye Danny.
He was sitting on one of the bunks, drinking something that looked like a beetroot smoothie, but when he caught me staring at him, he stopped and slowly lowered the glass. He smiled at me, his pure white  teeth glistening in the ray of sunshine filtering in through the blinds. Jeez, his incisors were long, or was I just imagining that?
"Hey Beaker," he said. "How goes it?"
"Fine, fine," I said, nodding. "I'm fine. Just fine." Could I have been any more of a Dork? "Er...how are you?"
Danny's grin widened, allowing me a clearer view of his teeth. Those incisors WERE sharp;  and long. They were way longer than they needed to be.
"I'm good," he said, raising his glass to me. "Just peachy." He took another long swig and smacked his lips. "Ahhh, that's good." Then he frowned at me. "What are you doing out of class Beaker? Don't you know it's not wise to wander the halls by yourself?"
"Yeah...um...yeah," I said. I cleared my throat. "Actually, I'm looking for Millie Milkweed. She...uh...she hasn't been by here, has she?" That's not her you're drinking out of that glass, I thought. Pleae tell me it's not.
"She did come by here, but I suggested she try the Whirlpool tub in the girls' locker room."
I stared at him. "Pardon?"
He smiled and swigged the rest of his drink down. When it was empty, he set it down with a satisfying thump. Satisfying on his part, that is. Me, I was still trying to figure out what he said.
He glanced up at me and slowly got to his feet. "You still here?" he said. "I suggest you beat a hasty retreat to the girls' locker room and check on Millie."
I didn't wait to point out that boys weren't allowed in the girls' locker room. I turned and did what he said, beat a hasty retreat toward the locker rooms. Our new gym and the boys and girls locker room were brand new, with everything an athlete could want in them, including therapy tubs with those jets in them for sore muscles. The money was donated by old man Centennus, who lived alone way up on Echo Hill. He was the town gajillionaire and was always donating money for something new for the town. He was weird as heck, but nobody complained because he did so much for Pluto.
When I got to the locker rooms, there was nobody around. I checked the gym. Nothing. I waited, hoping some girl would come by that I could ask to please go in and check on Millie.
After five minutes, I decided maybe I ought to get back to class before Mr. Stratum foisted more homework on me for goofing around. I was halfway back to class when I heard a squelching sound behind me. I turned to see Millie walking up--scratch that--she was skipping toward me as if she hadn't a care in the world.
I stared at her. She smiled at me, looking all pretty and shiny, like a brand new penny.
"Hi Rodney," she said, linking her arm through mine. "What are you doing out of class?"
"I was...I was..." The squelching sound continued as we walked. I stopped and looked at her feet. Her shoes were soaking wet. As a matter of fact, she was wet all over, and my arm which was linked thorugh hers, was getting pretty wet too.
"Millie, what the heck--"
She glanced down. "Oh this? It's nothing. One of the faucets in the bathroom sprayed me. No big deal."
She was lying. I mean, you don't get soaked like that, from head to foot, just from a leaky faucet. She looked like she dove, head first, into a pool of water.
Or a bathtub. Wait! What was it Deadeye Danny said? Something about telling her there was a tub in the locker rooms?
"Come on," she said, tugging at me. "We don't want to get yelled at."
I let her lead me back to class.
"Tell me Rodney," she said, looking out the windows as we walked, "Do you believe in mermaids?"

# 11 Zach Zanto, Space Cadet

Zach Zanto! Have you ever heard a cooler name? Ever? I haven't. Far as I'm concerned, a guy with a name like that is destined to be cool.

No one really knows anything about Zach, which isn't saying much since this is after all Pluto, Washington. Weird is normal here, so no one asks a whole lot of questions. It's the greatest place in the world to live, especially if you or your family don't fit that whole Brady Bunch persona. (That's my new word...persona). Anyway, no one really remembers when Zach started school here. A bunch of us tried to figure it out one day during recess, but no one could actually remember Zach's first day. I mean one day he wasn't there, and the next day he was. We just can't figure out when. Weird huh?

I got to know him a little better this semester since he sits next to me in Honors Physics. There's only nine of us in the class, so our teacher, Mr. Stratum (yep! That's his real name), has us all sit in a semi-circle facing his chair. Zach sits to my left, and Millie Milkweed sits on my right side. You know the funny thing about Millie, and I don't mean funny ha-ha, I mean funny strange? She...oh...never mind! That's another story. Back to Zach, like I said, he sits next to me now, and at first I never noticed anything weird about him...at least...no weirder than usual. Then things started happening.

I started paying more attention to Zach when I noticed his silvery blonde hair making a crackling sound.You know that staticky kind of sound you get on the radio in your mom or dad's car when you're trying to get a decent station and they don't have satellite radio? It's annoying, like a bunch of angry bees getting ready to charge you. Well, that's the sound that was coming from Zach's hair. At first I thought he had one of those old-fashioned radio headsets with him, but when I looked closer to see if he was wearing ear buds, I realized his hair was moving. Yeah, you heard me! I said his hair was moving. At first I figured maybe the wind was ruffling his hair, right? I mean, how else would someone's hair move? Then it slowly dawned on me that the windows were shut tight because it was the middle of winter. There was no wind! What the hey, Man?

I stared at Zach, or rather, Zach's hair, moving around his head, making that strange buzzing sound, and I must have looked pretty freaked out because Mr. Stratum asked me in a very loud voice if I was all right. I didn't answer because I didn't know he was talking to me, and anyway, I seemed to have swallowed my tongue.

"Mr. Beaker!" Mr. Stratum barked, making me jump.

I blinked, looking around. "Yessir?"

"Please tell the class what you find so fascinating about Mr. Zanto's hair?"

"Wh-what?" I croaked, knowing my face was turning tomato-red.

"You've been staring at Mr. Zanto's hair for a full five minutes. Please enlighten the rest of the class as to why."

I swallowed, wishing I could dive under my chair and have it gobble me whole. "I just...I just..I mean..I don't..." I stammered. Oh brother, could I sound any more of a loser? I mean, what was I supposed to say? Zach's hair is ALIVE! Check it out!

"As I suspected, you haven't paid any attention to the problem we're discussing. Since I can only assume you already know the answer, perhaps you'll be good enough to share it with us."

I stared at the jumble of numbers and equations in front of me, trying to make some sense of it, but a part of me was acutely aware of Zach's grey eyes on me, watching me closely. I don't know how, but I felt like I saw something I wasn't supposed to and that Zach was far from happy about it. A cold shiver went down my spine, and it took all of my will power not to leap up and run screaming from the room.

I must have muttered the correct answer because Mr. Stratum grunted and moved on with the class. I let out a big gust of air and before I could stop myself, I glanced over at Zach. He was still watching me closely...only...and I swear on my great-grandma's grave this is true -- his eyes turned from a dark grey to the same color as his hair.

That cold shiver I felt earlier? It washed over me like a cold shower as I stared into those unearthly silvery eyes. I struggled to remember. Were his eyes always that color and just looked darker depending on what angle you saw him from? Maybe he normally wore darker clothes that made his eyes seem greyer than they are? No! Staring at him then, unable to tear my gaze away, I knew, I just knew that his eyes had changed. And there was something else that convinced me I was right. Zach was smiling at me as if he knew I knew.

And it was the kind of smile that froze you in your tracks.

As soon as class was over, I grabbed my books and hurtled out of the room as if a hungry bear were after me. I didn't even wait for Mr. Stratum to hand out the homework assignment. I hightailed it to the cafeteria, bursting to tell Fatty and Wiggy and the other guys about what I saw, but as I turned the corner that led to the cafeteria I skidded to a stop.

There, right in front of me, was Zach. And he wasn't even breathing hard.

"How--?" I croaked.

He shrugged, smiling that same knowing smile again. "I took a short cut."

I shook my head. "A shortcut? But...there isn't one from the Physics Lab. What--"

He laughed, cutting me off. "Obviously there is Beaker. How else would you explain how I beat you here?"

He had me there. "I guess you're right," I said, but I wasn't convinced. To paraphrase my favorite detective of all time, the great Sherlock Holmes, something was amiss here. "Um...did you want something?" I asked, hoping it wasn't my head.

He held out his hand. "Here. You ran out so fast you forgot your homework."

I took the paper he held out to me, wondering if maybe I overreacted a smidge. "Oh...yeah...thanks. Um...Zach?"

His eyes drilled into mine. "Yes Beaker?"

"Your eyes...um..."

His smile widened, making my legs quake. "They're...uh...kind of silver..."

"And?"

"Well...I...uh...I could have sworn they were grey before..."

He stared at me a moment before answering. "Before what Beaker?" he said, so softly I barely heard him.

"Be..before class," I stammered, feeling like an idiot.

He didn't say anything, just continued to stare at me. Then he took one step closer to me and looked me eye to eye. "This is my true eye color Beaker," he said in that same soft, but somehow menacing tone. "In fact, we all have the same eye color where I come from."

I swallowed. "Wh...wh...where do you come from?" I asked, terrified of what his answer might be, but desperately needing to know.

He didn't say anything. Instead he glanced out of the window and pointed up at the sky with one long index finger. I was suddenly reminded of ET and thought that maybe his finger was going to light up or something. I held my breath and waited.

His strange, silvery eyes turned back to me. "Come over to my house some night when the sky is clear and I'll show you," he said. Then he turned and walked into the cafeteria, whistling the theme from "2001: A Space Odyssey."

# 10 : Will The Real Fart-Face Freddy Please Stand Up!

So, Freddy Jacoby's dad is a Geneticist, which, best I can figure, is a doctor who fools around with your genes and stuff. According to my dad, who by the way, is a pretty cool scientist, Dr. Jacoby's supposed to be this genius-type guy who's done amazing things to change the world, but you'd never know it by looking at Freddy.

Freddy's nickname is "Fart-Face Freddy," on account of how he's always burping and belching up a storm all freaking day long. Mom says burping is rude, and Dad says it's because it's like an upside-down fart, which is how Freddy got his nickname. I'm not sure who started it, only that he's been Fart-Face Freddy for as long as I've known him, which is actually not that long. He and his dad moved to Pluto about six months ago, as if things here weren't weird enough.

It's not like nobody likes Freddy. He's a pretty regular guy for the most part. It's his dad who's downright loopy and gives everyone the willies. Here's a for instance: Freddy missed school for a couple of days on account of he had the flu, so our homeroom teacher, Miss Regus, got some homework together for him from the other teachers and asked Fatty and me to take it to him after school since it was on our way home. Neither of us really wanted to go to Dr. J's house -- there's always weird sounds coming from his basement and sometimes even smoke billowing out the basement windows -- but we didn't want to say no to Miss Regus. She kind of looks like Angelina Jolie from a distance.

So there we are, standing outside Freddy's house, staring at the front door. As usual, all kinds of high-pitched, squeaky sounds are coming from the basement, and this time the house even shakes slightly. Fatty and I look at each other and decide to do "Rock, Paper, Scissors" to see who got to go up to the front door and ring the bell.

Why the heck did I do Rock? Paper always covers Rock. Always. When it comes to R/P/S I am the worst person in the world to play it. I always lose. Which is how come I'm standing at Dr. J's front door, trying to get up the nerve to press the doorbell. Before I can talk myself into it, the door is yanked open and Dr. J. himself is standing there, staring at me with those "mad scientist" glasses of his, which make his eyes look like they were ten times too big for his face. His black hair is streaked with grey and standing straight up, like he stuck his fingers into a socket and got a big ol' electric charge. He looks exactly like what you'd expect from a mad scientist, even though he's really a Geneticist. Like my gran-gran always says, "Six of one; half a dozen of the other."

"Hi...er...hi, Dr. J-Jacoby." Geez Louise, is that girly voice really mine?

He peers at me, then at Fatty quaking behind me. "Felicitations Boys," he booms, making me jump. Fatty lets out a little yelp.

"Uh...sir?"

"Hello...welcome," he says, thrusting his hand out. I stare at it, feeling all gurgly inside, like I'm going to barf. His hand's got something green and jelly-like dripping from it. What the hey?

"Is...is...is..." I stammer.

"Spit it out, Son," Dr. J. barks, and I jump again. His voice sounds like a foghorn.

"We have Fart...I mean...Freddy's homework," Fatty stammers from behind me.

Dr. J. claps his hands, making the green stuff on them fly off in different directions. I close my eyes, praying none of it lands on me. I don't want to metamorphize into some big, green, alien glob.

"Come in! Come in!" he yells, hauling me in by my hoodie, and yanking Fatty by the arm. "Freddy will be delighted to see you. It hasn't been much fun for him the last two days, what with the fever and vomiting and diarrhea, you know?"

We nod, and I'm pretty sure Fatty is as ready to blow chunks as I am. "Yessir," I mumble. "Um, is he okay now? Maybe we should just leave this with--"

"Nonsense! Nonsense!" the good doctor yells, grabbing us both by our hoodies and shoving us ahead of him up the stairs. "Go on up. First door on your left."

We almost trip in our hurry to get away from him, and burst into Freddy's room without even knocking. Freddy, who's propped up in bed reading a bunch of comic books, almost jumps out of his pjs.

"Geez! You guys almost gave me a heart attack," he croaks, then starts to cough like he's going to hack up a lung. We wait until he finishes, then I hold out the homework packet.

"Miss Regus sent this for you," I say. "Merry Christmas."

Freddy peers at the folder in my hands, then groans. "Homework? You gotta be kidding me?" He looks so upset I feel sorry for him.

"Want some company?" I say, before I can stop myself.

"Freddy's face lights up like fireworks on the 4th., and I'm glad I said it. Ignoring the look on Fatty's face, I mosey on up to Freddy's bed and plop down near his feet. "So watcha been doin' the last two days?"

Freddy's face scrunches up like a squeezed sponge. "Mostly barfing my guts out, but it's not so bad. Dad got me a bunch of my favorite comic books, plus all the soda I can drink. And I get to stay in bed all day and watch as much TV as I want."

"Wow!" Fatty says, finally finding his voice. "You get to watch TV all day, and read comic books? Way cool!"

Freddy grins. "Yeah, my dad's pretty cool."

That isn't exactly the word that pops into my head when I think of Freddy's dad, but okay. I mean he's the guy's dad, right? Speaking of which, I figure this is the perfect time to find out more about the weirdness that is Freddy's dad. "Say, what's your dad working on?" I say as casually as possible. "I mean, his hands were covered in some green goop when he answered the door. What gives?"

Freddy rolls his eyes. "Who knows? I mean Dad's always working on something or other."

"So what's a Gene...uh...?" Fatty asks.

"Geneticist?" Freddy offers.

"Yeah, that. What's he do exactly?"

Freddy shrugs. "Oh, you know? Gene-splicing. Cloning. That kind of thing," he mumbles, thumbing through the homework packet. "Man, look at all the math," he groans.

But Fatty is clearly fixated on the subject of Freddy's dad. "Cloning?" he croaks, glancing over his shoulder like he expects to see Dr. J. standing there with a scalpel, ready to gouge some skin out of him. "Uh, Rod? We gotta go. My mom's gonna be wondering where I am."

Yeah, right. "Fine," I say, rolling my eyes. "See you at school tomorrow Freddy?"

"Maybe," he says. "Depends on whether I get this homework done in time."

As we're leaving, Freddy calls out, "Oh, by the way, don't forget to say hi to Seymour."

"Okay," I say, as I close the door behind me.

"Who's Seymour?" Fatty asks as we make our way back downstairs.

"Beats me. Maybe he's got a cat."

As we reach the bottom step, the door to the basement opens...AND FREDDY SAUNTERS OUT!

"Oh! Hey guys," he says, grinning and walking up to us.

"It's a clone," Fatty yells, and for a second we both just stand there staring at the dead-ringer for Freddy coming toward us.

The Freddy clone frowns at us. "What?" he says, and that does it.

Before anyone else can say anything, Fatty and I are out the door, screaming our lungs out. We don't stop until we've run about a half mile, when Fatty collapses to the ground, out of breath.

"It's...a...a..." he croaks weakly.

"...A freakin' Freddy clone," I finish for him, doubled over, panting. "Oh snap! Freddy's dad's like some kind of Frankenstein."

"None of us are safe," Fatty wheezes, getting to his feet. "Come on. We gotta tell Barney."

Barney is Fatty's older brother, and a cop. He's in the family room, watching "Cops," and almost falls off the couch when Fatty and I run in screaming his name. When we tell him what we saw, Barney looks skeptical, but promises to check it out. He grabs his keys and tells us to stay put until he gets back.

While we're waiting for Barney, I call Mom to tell her where I am, then Fatty and I grab a snack and we watch an "X-Files" rerun. It seems like forever before Barney returns, but finally the front door opens and Barney comes in. Fatty and I jump up, ready to hear all about the cloned army of Freddys in Dr. J.'s basement lab.

"Well?" we say together.

In response, Barney strides up to us, and smacks us both upside the head.

"Ouch," I yell.

"What was that for, you jerk?" Fatty screams at him.

"For sending me up to the Jacobys for nothing," Barney says.

"You mean you didn't see Freddy's clone?" I ask.

"No," Barney says, finishing off the rest of my sandwich. "But I did meet Seymour, his twin brother who lives with their mother in New Orleans. When he heard Freddy was sick, he came up for a visit."

Twin brother! Fatty and I look at each other. Hey, it's not our fault that we thought Seymour was a clone, right? I mean, no one, not even Freddy, told us that he had an identical twin brother who lived with their mom in New Orleans.

You would have thought the same. Right? Am I right? I mean, come on...this is Pluto!