Down the Rabbit Hole by Charlotte Abel Page B

of being identical twins if we can’t use it to our
advantage?”
    “What advantage? Why do you
want to be me?” Franklin narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to
the side. “Or is there some reason you don’t want to be
you?”
    “I need to talk to
Naomi.”
    “So?”
    “She won’t answer my calls
or texts or let me inside her house. She won’t even look at me.”
Jonathan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand.
“She un-friended me on Facebook.”
    “Not my problem.”
    “Come on Frankie. I’d do it
for you.”
    “How is pretending to be me
going to change anything?”
    “There’s a party out at the
mine tonight. If I can just talk to her—”
    The wheels of Franklin’s
chair clattered across the hard wood floor as he pushed away from
his desk. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “You
mean seduce her.”
    “No. I mean talk to her. I
just need her to understand how that whole thing with Harleigh was
nothing but a mistake. I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was
doing.”
    “That’s no excuse and you
know it.”
    “If that doesn’t work, I’ll
do the concerned brother routine… I’m so worried about Jonathan.
Please, just talk to him. He may be suicidal.”
    “You’re pathetic, but you
aren’t suicidal.”
    “I can’t live without
Naomi.”
    “That would be easier to
believe if you hadn’t boinked her best friend.”
    “I didn’t boink Harleigh. I
just made out with her. And like I told you … I was
drunk.”
    “And like I told you …
that’s no excuse.” Franklin turned back to his book. “Besides,
Naomi’s going out with Rich Blanchard now.”
    Rich was a senior and the
state heavy-weight wrestling champion. He had the strength, thick
skull and temperament of a silver-back gorilla, but only half the
intelligence. There was no way Naomi actually liked him. “She’s
just trying to make me jealous.”
    “Probably. She’s a
manipulative bitch that doesn’t care who she hurts as long as she
gets her way. Find someone else — half the girls at school are
already in love with you.”
    True, but Jonathan didn’t
want anyone else. He didn’t want to start over either. It had taken
him two months to get his hands under Naomi’s shirt and another
three weeks before she let him unhook her bra. If he hadn’t messed
up with Harleigh, he was sure that he and Naomi would have had sex
by now.
    Jonathan would have just
grabbed a pair of Franklin’s baggy jeans and one of his nerdy polo
shirts out of the laundry without asking if the neat freak hadn’t
already put his clothes away. He hopped onto Franklin’s bed and
bounced on his toes. He couldn’t think unless he was in motion and
he definitely needed to think of a new plan …
    Jonathan dropped to his
knees, then bounced back to his feet. “I could talk to Heather
while I’m impersonating you. Ask her to homecoming or
something.”
    It was ridiculous the way
Franklin turned bright red and stuttered every time he tried to
talk to the girl. There was nothing special about Heather Compton.
She wasn’t ugly or anything, but she wasn’t exactly hot either —
not like Naomi.
    Franklin slammed his book
shut. “You can’t hit on Naomi and Heather at the same
party.”
    He had a point. Jonathan
stopped bouncing. “Unless … you go to the party and pretend to be
me. Lay low until I ask Heather out for you and convince Naomi to
talk to me. Once I’m done, we’ll sneak inside the mine and change
clothes. You can hang out with Heather while I make up with Naomi
in the back of the Rover.”
    The corners of Franklin’s
mouth did that subtle little twitchy thing that meant he was going
to start stuttering. No one besides Jonathan ever noticed the
twitch. They’d both stuttered as little kids. Jonathan out grew it,
Franklin didn’t. Stress made it worse, especially around girls.
“The f-first t-time I open m-m-my m-mouth, everyone is g-going to
know I’m n-not you.”
    “You don’t have to