Kevin and Casey Tolley are twins. Double-trouble. I can never tell them apart. One of them has a chipped tooth, but I can’t remember which one. It doesn’t really matter, though, because neither one of them ever smiles anyway.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Livingston.” One of them stepped into our house. “Is Arcade here?”

“Yeah, we’re lookin’ for Arcade,” the other one grunted. He was holding a paper in his hands.

Loopy barked and then sneezed twice. He might be allergic to Tolleys.

Dad waved me over to the living room. “Son, you have visitors.” As if these were civilized people coming over for tea. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for work.”

I grabbed Doug’s sleeve and pulled him into the living room with me. “Stay close,” I whispered. We went out to meet team Double-Trouble.

“Hey, Kevin, Casey. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Doug said.

The Tolley on the left shook his paper in my face. “This is what’s up. We got another year with Dooley!”

I reached out to take the paper. It was the official MS 230 class schedule for Kevin Tolley. And it said that his homeroom teacher was, sure enough, DOOLEY.

“Hmmmmmm.”

“My schedule’s the same,” Casey said. “We won’t survive another year with Dooley! He never backs down with the homework. You better be in our class to help us, Arcade.”

Then he walked up close. We almost bumped noses.

Oh, no, not this again.

“Well? Are you in our class or NOT?” Casey stared into my eyes.

“I, uh . . . I haven’t checked email today.” I looked over at Doug, and he just shrugged. “I’ve been a . . . little busy.”

Casey backed up and sat down on our couch. “We’ll wait while you check it.”

“Where’s your computer?” Kevin looked around. He spied the laptop on the desk in the corner of the dining room.

Mom peeked out from the kitchen. “Do you need something, Arcade?”

I gulped. “Yeah, Mom. Did my school schedule come in your email today?”

Mom wiped her damp hands on a kitchen towel and walked over to the computer. “I haven’t checked yet. But I can now.”

The quicker the better. Get these guys out of here.

Mom opened her laptop, typed in her username, and scrolled through her inbox. “Ah, yes! Here it is. Schedule for Arcade Livingston, seventh grader at MS 230. This is so exciting!” Soon enough, the printer on the desk was spitting out my schedule. I walked over, said a silent prayer that I wouldn’t be in any classes with the Tolleys, and picked up the single sheet of paper that would define my first year in middle school.

The Triple T Token sizzled on my chest. I began to sweat.

This can’t be happening.

Homeroom: DOOLEY