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PROLOGUE
TOMÁS
1985
I loved being a twin. People say fraternal twins aren’t as close as identical, but to me, that was crap. Tiago was my brother and my best friend, and sometimes it felt as if he was a part of me. I knew what he was thinking or feeling, and I could often guess what he was gonna say before he even opened his mouth. Like we were the same person.
It wasn’t until we were in kindergarten that I realized being a twin made me different. Tiago was my brother, my other half, and I’d known nothing else. But when we started school, I discovered not everyone had a brother or sister and we were the only twins in town. How weird that something as natural to me as breathing was special to others. But I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.
“Settle down, everyone,” Mrs. Taylor, our English teacher, called to our sixth-grade class. “I graded last week’s papers, so I’m going to hand those out.”
We’d had to write a paper on a current event or topic, and I’d picked the famine in Ethiopia. I’d seen images on TV of those starving children, and it was the worst thing ever. My mom cried and hugged us extra hard that night, and I thought I understood why. The TV had shown moms holding tiny kids that looked like skeletons, though some had weirdly round bellies. That was a side effect of hunger, I’d learned. I’d written about the song “We Are the World” and how I hoped that the money raised with that song would make a difference. It had to, right? I mean, the song was sappy, but a lot of celebrities were taking part, like Michael Jackson and Bruce Springsteen, who I thought was pretty cool.
“Great job, Brianna,” Mrs. Taylor said as she handed Brianna her graded paper. She’d gotten an A. Good for her.
“Tomás, solid job. You could’ve used a few more sources, but you did well.”
My eyes eagerly searched for my grade. B+. I’d take it.
“Tiago…” She lowered her voice. “Come see me after class, honey, would you?”
Uh-oh. He’d done his paper on New Coke, the new flavor Coca-Cola had introduced. It had been thin, since there wasn’t much to say about it, so had it been too short?
She placed his paper facedown on his desk, but once she passed, he lifted it carefully and took a peek, and I caught a glance too. F. Crap. Tiago’s face fell, and he quickly put it back down and looked at me. I put my hand on his. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure something out.”
He nodded, but the worry on his face stayed.
I didn’t understand why, but for some reason, Tiago had a hard time reading and writing. My mom kept practicing with him, but he never got any better. It wasn’t that he was stupid, but somehow his brain couldn’t make words from the letters. He’d have to sound each one out like we’d learned in first grade.
When the class was finished, Tiago and I stayed behind. No way was I gonna let him do this alone. But Mrs. Taylor didn’t seem to mind I was there. She sat at a table across from us, her eyes kind as she looked at my brother. “Reading is hard for you, isn’t it?”
Tiago nodded.
“Do you practice at home?”
“Every day,” he whispered. “My mom reads with me for an hour.”
“Hmm, I see. And do you speak English at home or Portuguese?”
“Both. My mom speaks Portuguese with us, and my dad English. But we only read in English. My mom says it might get too confusing otherwise.”
The truth was that Tiago had a hard enough time reading in English without adding a second language to the mix. I could read and write Portuguese, but Mom hadn’t even tried with him.
Mrs. Taylor sighed. “I’m going to have to call your parents about this. I’m sorry. We need to do something about this, or you’ll never be able to pass sixth grade.”
She was gonna hold him back? The panic on Tiago’s face matched what I felt inside. They couldn’t separate us. “I’ll help him, Mrs. Taylor,” I said. “I’ll practice more with him. He can do it. He’s not stupid.”
Her face softened. “I never said he was, honey. I think he may need to be tested for something called dyslexia.”
An icy fear settled inside me. “What is that? Is that bad?”
“It means he can’t process words the same way you and I can and he needs more help to learn to read and write better.”
More help was positive, right? If that meant Tiago would do better in school, then that was a good thing. “When can he get tested?”
She smiled. “That’s something I’ll have to discuss with your parents. But I love that you’re willing to help him, Tomás. You’re a good brother.”
Tiago was my twin. I’d do anything for him.
