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!
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