Almost Identical #1 Read Free

out laughing. “A match match, get it? Man, I crack myself up.”
    â€œApparently it doesn’t take much.”
    â€œCome on, Sam. You have to admit that’s funny. Or at least
punny
.” Unbelievable as it seems, he laughed again at that not-even-a-little-bit-funny remark.
    â€œYou and your ace sense of humor can leave now,” I told Ryan. “I have to get dressed. And by the way, thanks for scaring me to death.”
    â€œNo problem, Sam-I-Am. Any time.” Ryan flashed me a smile and then—you’re not going to believe this—he winked at me. You heard me. My
brother
winked at me. Obviously, he was trying to work out some cool, new move that he could use on the girls at school, but I’m sorry, it is unacceptable to try it out on me. Totally unacceptable.
    â€œI think you have something in your eye,” I said. “It looks really painful.”
    Then he winked
again
as if it weren’t bad enough the first time. I had no choice but to throw my pillow directly at his head.
    Ryan’s really athletic and has great reflexes, so he had no problem ducking out of the way. Instead, it hit the shelf on the wall behind him and knocked over three tennis trophies, a coffee can filled with my seagull feather collection, two tubes of suntan lotion, a jar of pennies, and a portable fan. This seemed to tickle him to death, and he left laughing like a two-year-old. I could hear him hollering to my dad, “Sammie will be out in a minute. She’s got a little mess to clean up first.”
    Boys can be so easily amused.

    I was late, so there was no time for good grooming. I pulled my hair into a ponytail without even brushing it, threw on some white shorts and a bleached-out tank top, grabbed my tennis shoes and socks, and hurried into the kitchen.
    Our kitchen is more like a nook than a real kitchen, because the house is very small—way too small for all of us. Charlie and I share the front bedroom that looks out on the beach. It’s so tiny that our beds practically touch. Mom and Dad’s bedroom used to be a locker room and still has old wooden lockers all along one wall. Ryan sleeps on a foldout couch in the living room, which I sometimes wish would fold up with him in it.
    Our old house in Culver City was much bigger, but we had to sell it when my dad lost his job last year. While we were figuring out where to live, my dad’s college buddy, Chip Wadsworth, asked him to be the athletic director of his beach club, the Sporty Forty. They call it that because the club has been owned by the same forty families since, like, forever. They’re all pretty rich, but none of them can play tennis like my dad, who was almost a professional until he messed up his knee and had to have surgery. When Chip said we could live in the caretaker’s cottage for free, that sealed the deal. Dad said we could save a lot of money while Mom went to cooking school, and when she came back, they would open a restaurant together and we could move into a real house again.
    So one month ago we moved into the caretaker’s bungalow of the Sporty Forty, and two weeks ago, my mom left for Boston.
    Even though we’re totally on top of one another all the time, living at the Sporty Forty is a pretty sweet arrangement. I mean, Charlie and I can see the waves breaking from our bedroom window. We can go to the beach all the time and use the club facilities, too. It has two tennis courts, so Charlie and I can practice whenever the members aren’t using them. And there’s constant beach volleyball for Ryan, who, besides being an idiot boy, is a major volleyball champion and all-around jock.
    GoGo was in the kitchen when I came running in. She helps out at the club when there are parties and stuff, so I figured there must be a party that day. GoGo used to have a little shop near the Venice boardwalk called Moonstone, where she sold beautiful silver jewelry she made by hand. But