"Mixed Up" by Gordon Korman, Chapters 13–22

We’re not imagining it, we’re not hallucinating, and we’re not confused.

Toward the end of class, we’re partnered up and sparring when Adele Pulaski’s foot slams into the side of my head so hard that I see stars.

A computer stores information in electronic bits. The human brain uses something similar—a combination of electrical and chemical signals. Nerve cells work together in patterns called synapses. So when you remember something, your brain just triggers these synapses to call what’s stored there back up.

There are whole maps of different regions of the brain with names like cerebral cortex and hippocampus, which sounds like the college hippopotamuses go to.

He grimaces, like talking about it causes him pain.

“I have to ask you something,” he says earnestly. “Something maybe only you can answer.”

Reef gets oddly formal. “Okay. Thank you very much.”

Just as I’m enjoying the anticipation of knocking Declan into next Thursday, I realize that I don’t dare.

The supervisor inclines his head in the direction of a tall, rangy kid, maybe a little older than me.

I venture back there during one bathroom break, and see Declan fiddling with locks.

I’m getting on my bike, not relishing the thought of the long ride back to my side of town, when I see Declan slouching down the street.

That makes me snicker—the notion that Reef might experience a recollection of sitting on a bike across from his own house, memorizing his address, which he already knows.

“You thought maybe you did steal that pocketbook until I told you that you didn’t. And there are things that I can’t know without you.”
“Oh, sure,” he scoffs. “Name one.”

Reef and I are connected by a phenomenon that, as far as we know, has never happened to anybody else in the history of the world.

“It sounds big,” I say slowly, “but I guess we really don’t know anything yet. There must be millions of other kids born on that day, but we’re not getting their memories.”
“Maybe we’re the closest two,” he muses.

He gives me a tour of the vegetable garden, which I’ve already seen a hundred times in my mind. I even identify a couple of grubs that might pose a danger to the leafy stuff.

A local high school held a charity car wash over the weekend, with the proceeds going to the food bank.

“They’ve got snacks in the locker room,” Declan wheedles. “Cheez Doodles—good stuff.”

The first thing they teach you in technology class is what happens when computers get too much corrupted data.
They crash.

Willis is in charge of laundry at the Helmer house. I never get to sleep in on Saturdays because he shows up at the crack of dawn to ransack the hamper.

So I made myself a study guide featuring Willis, Jenna, and their three kids. Under Jenna, it says Mom’s best friend. Under Willis, I put Thinks he’s in charge. From Liam and Carolyn, I drew arrows to a single comment: Meh. Declan has the most notations: Goes to your school, Jerk, and Don’t trust him.

“Are they all...twins?” Theo asks in an amazed voice.
It’s a ridiculous question, but I understand exactly what he means. You can’t tell one from the other. They’re trussed up in blankets till they’re the size of a football, so all you can see are scrunched red faces.

It’s impossible to tell the boys from the girls except by the blue or pink stickers on the Plexiglas bassinets.

“We need some information.”
The man’s brow furrows. “Are you family? Big brothers?”

Theo looks crestfallen. “Well, is there anyone older we can talk to? You know, who might have been working here back when we were born?”

“There’s been a lot of turnover in the maternity ward in the last ten or twelve years. The hospital had personnel problems, and most of the staff moved when they opened up City General. But back then, the head nurse was Nancy Turnbull.”

A quick search of the city phone directory reveals eleven Turnbulls, none of them Nancy.

He clears off shelves to make room for his daily nap, folding up a delivery truck’s tarpaulin to use as a mattress.

She bristles. “This is a food bank. We don’t judge people here. Just because Konrad got into trouble at school doesn’t mean he’s looking for trouble here.”

One night, as soon as I get home from Breezeway, I call Reef and update him.
“He does work?” he repeats in a dubious tone. “Doesn’t sound like the Declan I know.”

“I saw them together. I’ll bet Declan’s scared to death of him.”
I’m skeptical. “And he’s showing his fear by doing his job?”

But I can’t calm down. I’ve just learned something monumental.
I know how we’re going to find the nurse who was working at Memorial Hospital the day Theo and I were born.

“Save your strength,” I advise. “You have to harvest the last of the potatoes today.”
His reply is wary. “I don’t remember anything about that.”

I rush over and peer through the blinds. Declan is directly below, speaking urgently into his phone. Soundlessly, I ease open the sash and eavesdrop.

Declan is sputtering now, apologizing for trying to back out, swearing loyalty to the plan, all but blubbering.

I’m taken aback. Is that how he sees me? Jenna’s pet?

Lately, I’ve been having more and more memories of the woman I know is his mother. That must mean he’s losing them. I know I should share them with him, but he’s so touchy on the subject that we always end up fighting.

As I ring the doorbell, my guts are churning like a storm at sea.

We’ve done it—we’ve found the neonatal nurse who was on duty when Reef and I were born.

I think of Jaws, my rabbit nemesis who curls up on Reef with something approaching love. What is it about Reef and the four-legged? Does he have some special aura or something?