The Tell-Tale Start (2 page)

Intrigue, coded messages, dark secrets…

And in at least one way, the boys’ minds were even
more
unusual than their famous uncle’s. If at this moment you could observe the insides of their sleepy heads rather than just the outsides, you’d discover the following:

Edgar was dreaming he was Allan.

Allan was dreaming he was Edgar.

The boys were jolted awake when their homeroom teacher, Mrs. Rosecrans, slammed her stapler on her desk (inadvertently squashing an unlucky ant that happened to be making its way toward the glazed doughnut Mrs. Rosecrans had set beside her attendance book). Now Edgar was no longer sure he was not actually Allan, as he had been in the dream, and Allan was not sure that he was not actually Edgar. They looked at each other and saw only their own faces looking back. It happened to them all the time.

No big deal.

No one could tell the difference between them because there
was
no difference—not even to Edgar and Allan. One moment one was Edgar, the next he was Allan. Same boy, different identity; same identity, different boy. Their thoughts and actions were not identical but coordinated, like moving parts in a single fine Swiss watch. Each always knew what the other was thinking, feeling, experiencing. Sometimes, they wondered if they
were actually one boy with two bodies. Or two boys with one mind.

“
So
sorry to have disturbed your beauty sleep, boys,” Mrs. Rosecrans said.

“Oh, that’s all right,” Edgar said, rubbing his eyes.

“You can just pick up your lecture where you left off and we’ll get right back to sleep,” Allan added.

The rest of the class laughed.

Mrs. Rosecrans didn’t think the matched set of Poes was funny, even if they
were
the most knowledgeable students she’d ever had. “So you two didn’t hear a word of what I just said?”

They shook their heads no, in unison.

She waved a note from the main office. “The principal wants to see you both, immediately.”

The boys’ classmates looked concerned.

But Allan and Edgar just yawned and ruffled their own already unruly heads of hair. “Why?” they asked.

“When it comes to you two, I can’t even begin to guess,” she answered.

The boys stood and gathered their books.

“Maybe Principal Mann needs our help planning the school’s curriculum,” Allan said.

“Either that or he wants our help writing his memoirs,” Edgar added.

Mrs. Rosecrans pointed to the door.

“Good luck,” the boys’ classmates whispered.

Edgar and Allan nodded appreciatively, though they didn’t think they’d need luck. The principal had always been putty in their hands.

The long hallway that led from Mrs. Rosecrans’s classroom to the main office of Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin Middle School was empty aside from a scattering of other students who were excused from class for one reason or another.

“Hey, Edgar and Allan, are you guys going to the principal’s office again?” asked perky Sherry George, who was on her knees painting
LUNCHTIME PEP RALLY
on a ten-foot-long strip of paper.

The boys nodded.

“Does he want to see you about the skeleton?” she continued.

“Could be.”

A few days before, the boys had slipped into the
biology lab during lunch period and artfully rearranged all the bones on the human skeleton. The result was a grotesque form that so startled and wrecked poor Mr. Parker’s nerves when he returned that he had to postpone that afternoon’s exam. The Poes’ less academically prepared classmates had been very grateful.

Another voice called from across the hallway, “Pssst, guys!”

It was Stevie “The Hulk” Harrison, one of their best friends, perched uncomfortably on a tiny chair outside Ms. Jenkins’s (“No talking will be tolerated!”) classroom. He motioned them over. “Does the principal want to see you about the rockets?”

The previous Thursday night, Edgar and Allan had stolen onto their rival school’s soccer field and dug half a dozen holes. Into these holes, they deposited six small rockets, covering their handiwork with a thin layer of turf. Late in Friday’s game, with the score tied 1-1, the six rockets simultaneously launched, ripping into the sky and bursting at their apex into a spectacular shower of red and gold sparks (Aldrin Middle School’s colors). Naturally, everyone gazed skyward—or almost everyone. When the wide-eyed fans, referees, and players eventually returned their attention to earth, they discovered
that Stevie “the Hulk,” who’d been in on the plan, had just kicked the ball into the net for his first-ever goal, a game-winner, unopposed.

Who knew the two most valuable players weren’t on the field but in the stands, putting away their remote launchers?

The twins continued down the hall to more questions:
Could it be this? Could it be that
?

“Could be,” the Poes acknowledged every time.

Edgar and Allan had a lot of school spirit.

Mr. Mann stood beside his cluttered desk, his eyes narrowed to slits, his broad chest puffed out like a rooster. “Close the door behind you and don’t give me any of your guff,” he snarled.

“‘Guff’?” Edgar asked.

“It’s what you’re both full of,” Mr. Mann said.

“That’s funny,” Allan answered. “Last time we were here you told us we were full of ‘baloney.’”

“And before that it was ‘beans,’” Edgar added.

“And before
that
,” Allan said, “you actually told us we were full of—”

“Stop!” Mr. Mann demanded, pointing to two chairs.
They had often seen his face grow red with anger, but at this moment it was a brighter shade than the boys had ever witnessed—something like the color of a baboon’s butt. “Sit down.”

Allan and Edgar sat.

“Do you boys know the meaning of the word ‘incorrigible’?”

“Of course,” Allan said.

“‘Incorrigible’ means to be incapable of being corrected or reformed,” Mr. Mann said, ignoring him.

“Yes, it’s Middle English from the late Latin,” Edgar said.

“
Incorrigibilis
,” Allan added. “From
corrigere,
meaning ‘to correct.’”

The principal’s mouth opened slightly. “You know Latin?”

The boys looked at each other. “Sort of.”

“But we don’t teach Latin here,” Mr. Mann said. “Have you studied it at home?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘studied,’” Allan said.

“More like ‘played around with,’” Edgar added.

“Dead languages are one of our hobbies,” Allan explained. “You know, ancient Greek and Sanskrit…”

Mr. Mann was flabbergasted (as usual). Then he
gathered himself. “Never mind about the languages! Your cleverness has never been in question. You two are descended from one of our country’s great literary geniuses, so maybe you’ve inherited something of his proficiency with words, to say nothing of his—”

“His madness?” The corners of Allan’s mouth turned up in a slight grin.

“Now, I didn’t say that,” Mr. Mann countered.

“But you thought it,” Edgar said, with an identical smirk.

Mr. Mann shook his head. “You two may know Latin, but you don’t read minds.”

“That’s true,” the boys said. Excluding each other’s mind…

They stood.

“Well, it’s been a very pleasant visit, Mr. Mann,” Edgar said. “But we should be getting back to class now.”

“Yes, it’s important we attend to our studies,” Allan continued. “But thanks for inviting us to your office. We always enjoy discussing etymology.”

The principal’s face reddened from the shade of a baboon’s butt to that of French teacher Mme. Guimont’s lipstick. He clenched his fists. “Sit down right now and behave!”

They sat.

“You boys are incorrigible,” Principal Mann repeated, catching his breath.

“If you actually think we’re incorrigible…” Edgar started.

“Then why are you bothering to talk to us at all?” Allan concluded.

“Because I’m expelling you,” he answered.

“What?” Identical expressions of surprise crossed the boys’ faces.

“The decision is final,” Mr. Mann continued. “We’re making special arrangements. You see, you’re being expelled from the entire school district. Effective immediately.”

WHAT THE POE TWINS DID NOT KNOW…

A NOTE RECEIVED THAT MORNING, NOW

FOLDED AWAY IN PRINCIPAL MANN’S WALLET

MR. MANN
returned to his chair, settled back, and sighed. “Look, boys, we’ve given you every last opportunity.” He nervously wiped sweat from his brow.

What could a principal have to fear
? the boys wondered.