The Crossover

Girls

I walk into the lunchroom with JB.

Heads turn.

I’m not bald like JB,

but my hair’s close enough

so that people sprinting past us

do double-takes.

Finally, after we sit at our table,

the questions come:

Why’d you cut your hair, Filthy?

How can we tell who’s who?

JB answers, I’m the cool one

who makes free throws,

and I holler,

I’M THE ONE WHO CAN DUNK.

We both get laughs.

Some girl who we’ve never seen before,

in tight jeans and pink Reeboks,

comes up to the table.

JB’s eyes are ocean wide,

his mouth swimming on the floor,

his clownish grin, embarrassing.

So when she says,

Is it true that twins

know what each other are thinking?

I tell her

you don’t have to be his twin

to know

what he’s thinking.