Deadly Design (9780698173613) Read Free

the lawn toward the front door.
    The windows are open on Connor’s Jeep, and the wind has made his hair into a perfect blond mess. My hair is usually just a mess. My face isn’t quite as full as his either. Being an athlete, he packs a lot of food away. He’s always drinking protein shakes and downing giant spoonfuls of peanut butter.
    He’s tan too. The lamp in my basement bedroom doesn’t do a lot for my skin tone, but when Connor’s not in school, he’s outside. Sometimes I look at him, and I can’t believe we’re identical twins. Even if I spent hours at the gym or running outside in the sun, no way would I look like him—like Apollo coming down from Olympus to let the mortals bask in my awesomeness.
    I reach for the doorknob.
    â€œKyle.” Connor runs up onto the porch. “We’re going to go walk around the park for a while and then grab a bite. You want to come along?”
    â€œNo thanks,” I say, opening the door.
    â€œYou sure? We can shoot some hoops or something. Mom texted me that she’s making tuna casserole. Between you and me, I didn’t get the text. Why don’t you come with us?”
    I look at Emma. “I better eat here. Evidently I don’t socialize enough with the family.”
    Connor follows my eyes. He looks at Emma, at the smirk on her face, then back at me. “Did I miss something?”
    â€œNot a thing,” I say. “You two go ahead.”
    â€œWe can bring you back something if you want,” Connor says.
    â€œI’m good, but thanks.”
    I start to step inside, but he’s still standing there. I turn, and he’s looking at me, looking right into my eyes. He does this sometimes, a lot of times. He looks at me like he’s waiting to see if I can read his thoughts, like he wants to tell me something, but it’d be so much easier if he didn’t have to use words. But I can’t read his mind. Even if I could, I think I’d be afraid to. Connor’s mind has to be full of amazing things, like state championships and political issues he knows inside and out because of debate and maybe even plans to someday cure cancer.
    My thoughts are more of the Nazi zombie type. I just want to kill shit.
    Connor sighs, his eyes finally leaving mine. I’ve failed the test again. If he had a better twin, a more worthy twin, we’d be able to have psychic conversations, and I’d ace every test in school because he could “think” me all the answers.
    Emma takes Connor’s hand, and they start to walk toward his Jeep. I start inside again.
    â€œAre you sure?” he says, his body sideways like he’s torn between coming inside with me or going with Emma. “It’s tuna casserole. We could get a pizza.”
    â€œI’m good,” I say again, and I hate how he’s looking at me, like I’m rejecting him. With all his admirers, does he really need one more, and does it have to be me?
    I have to get away from him. His aura, or whatever the hell it is, is too damn bright. My skin, my pale epidermis, is starting to burn. Connor needs to leave. Then I just have to get through dinner, so I can shrink back into the shadows of my basement sanctuary.
    Emma pulls him toward the Jeep, and he follows. He walks her to the passenger side and opens the door, but before getting in, she looks back at me and smiles.
    I remember the first time he brought her home. He was a freshman, and I was in that hell called middle school. They’d walked to our house after school on a Friday because Mom was going to serve as chauffeur for their first date. Connor and Mom went into the kitchen to discuss rules and curfews, and Emma sat down next to me on the sofa. We watched television for a few minutes and then she started talking to me. She asked me if I liked sports, and when I said no, she asked me what I did like. I started talking about gaming, and she seemed interested. Interested