The Trouble with Mark Hopper (6 page)

“You haven't even met him.”

“Doesn't matter. I already know I like him more than you. Now when I say I have a brother named Mark, maybe people will think it's him.”

“You're a jerk.”

“Just kidding, baby brother,” Beth said. She stroked her gum-covered finger along Mark's cheek.

“Ugh, gross!” Mark shouted. He jumped off the couch and froze a few feet away with a scary thought. He had been looking forward for years to being old enough to enter a statewide middle school competition called the Mastermind tournament. Mark was sure he could win, even though he was only in sixth grade. He spent many nights dreaming about winning the tournament and having everyone praise his brilliance until he had to insist, halfheartedly, that they stop. But this other Mark Hopper could screw it all up.

“What if he enters the Mastermind tournament?” Mark said to Beth, envisioning the other Mark being presented the Mastermind trophy and staring at it with surprised eyes. “If our applications get mixed up, he'll cancel out all of my hard work!”

“Hmm,” said Beth. She tapped her gummy finger against her lips in thought. “I think you need to find out more about this Mark Geoffrey Hopper guy before getting so worked up. And then—once you know what you need to watch out for with him—do whatever you need to to take care of it.”

“That's actually a pretty smart idea.” Mark blurted out. Upon seeing his sister's smirk, he quickly added, “Of course I thought of it myself five seconds before you did. You just said it first.”

Beth rolled her eyes.

“But it still is pretty smart,” Mark granted her.

She shrugged. “I'm high-school-smart now. That means I'm mature.” And with that, she stuck her gum-covered finger into Mark's ear.

“This other Mark Hopper is giving me a bad reputation,” Mark explained to Beth and Grandpa Murray later.

“Everyone is new,” Beth reasoned. “So there shouldn't be too many people who know about him.”

“You don't understand,” Mark said. “This guy is really something. People who don't know about him now will in a few days. And I bet they won't like him.”

“How much would you bet?” asked Grandpa Murray. He was always up for a bet.

“Everything,” Mark said. “Everything I own. Plus one million dollars.”

Grandpa Murray let out a low whistle. “I'm not taking that bet.”

Mark nodded solemnly. “He's that bad.”

“I don't advocate violence,” Grandpa Murray said, “but I think you should pop him one.” He punched one hand with the other.

“Oh, come on, Grandpa,” said Beth. “How will that help?”

“It'll make Mark known as the
tough
Mark Hopper.”

“But Mark isn't tough.”

“Sure he is. He just
looks
weak so bullies don't know what they have coming.”

“No, I'm not tough,” Mark said, patting Grandpa Murray on the shoulder. “And even if I was, what if people got it messed up and thought the other Mark beat
me
up?” Mark's eyes became wide. “What if he does beat me up because I took his binder?”

Beth raised one eyebrow. “That's ridiculous. The binder had your name on it. It was an honest mistake. He would have done the same if he had found your binders in his locker. Besides, from what you said, it sounds like he doesn't fight with anything but his mouth.”

“His big, fat mouth,” Mark mumbled.

“Mark,” Grandpa Murray whispered. When Mark looked, he punched his fist into his hand again.

“Grandpa!” Beth said. She gave Mark a half-full smile. “Don't stress about him. At least not yet. I'm sure people will realize you two are nothing alike. Or maybe he was just high-strung because it was the first day and there were problems.”

Mark returned her smile with a half-empty one. “On his binder he wrote ‘private and none of your business.'”

“All I'm saying is maybe he's not really
that
bad. Wait and see.”

“I guess I'd better get to my homework,” Mark said.

“Do you have a lot?” Beth asked.

“Yeah!” complained Mark.

“I have a lot, too!” Beth sighed and said dreamily, “I love my new school!”

Grandpa Murray shook his head. “I love you, Beth,” he said. “But you're really weird.”

For the next couple of weeks the two Mark Hoppers scoped each other out, which was not too difficult because, though they were finally given individual schedules, they had two classes together in the morning, plus homeroom. In the afternoon they were in separate classes until seventh period, when they would come together in gym class and each regard the other based on what he had heard about his behavior throughout the afternoon. Mark would usually feel pretty down by seventh period—he would have overheard some boys imitating Mark's smarmy way of answering questions in class or he'd have walked into computer class sixth period and seen Mark still there from fifth period, kissing up to the teacher while the other kids made fun of him. His mood wasn't helped by the fact that the other Mark would glare at him and sigh audibly every time he ran a lap or threw a ball. He made a conscious effort to try to like Mark, or at least not hate him, though Mark made no such effort with Mark. Nothing Mark said or did was acceptable to Mark, and vice versa, and they both hated thinking that everyone else thought of them in terms of the other.

And everyone did confuse them because it was so confusing. Mrs. Frances, who had them both in her homeroom, plus Max Hooper, just couldn't get it. Teachers who arranged their students alphabetically had an especially hard time because it meant that Mark and Mark would be sitting right behind each other. But it didn't even help when teachers sat them apart.

For example, in social studies one day, Mr. Rocco asked the class if they knew what the ancient Egyptians used the pyramids for. Both Marks raised their hands.

“Yes, Mark,” said Mr. Rocco, pointing to the Mark on the right side of the classroom near the windows.

“The mummies of the dead pharaohs,” said the Mark sitting on the left side of the room by the door.

“I called on the other Mark.”

“Oh, sorry.” Mark smiled sweetly, though his sweet smile looked more like a twisted smirk. He knew perfectly well that Mr. Rocco had called on the other Mark, but he wanted Mr. Rocco to know that he knew the answer, and he wanted to answer before the other Mark could get it wrong and embarrass them both.

Mr. Rocco sighed. “Mark?” he said to the other.

Mark's shoulders dropped. “That's what I was going to say,” he said. “It's where they put the mummies.” He hoped Mr. Rocco knew that he had really known the answer before the other Mark had said it.

“That's correct,” said Mr. Rocco. “Please, Mark,” he said to the one who deserved the reprimand, “don't speak out of turn.”

Mark waited a few seconds before looking up from his notebook. “Oh!” he said, smiling again. “Do you mean me-Mark? It's just so confusing.”

The rest of the class snickered. The other Mark sank into his seat, wondering if an eleven-year-old could legally change his name.

 

When Miss Payley handed back quizzes in math, she called the two Marks up to her desk so that they could figure out whose was whose. Mark recognized his handwriting instantly, but before he could take his quiz and quietly go back to his desk, the other Mark grabbed his own and held it up. “This one is mine, Miss Payley,” he said loudly enough for the entire class—maybe even the entire school, Mark thought—to hear. “
I
got a hundred. The
other
Mark got a seventy-two and drew a stupid little cartoon in the corner of the paper.”

Mark felt his ears turn bright red and stared at Mark with his wide blue eyes.

“Mark!” Miss Payley said sternly. “We don't compare grades in this class. Especially not aloud.”

Mark shrugged and crossed his arms. “Sorry.” He knew it wasn't exactly nice to say things like that, but how else could he make it clear that he was the smart Mark? He was also kind of glad no one could see Mark's drawing, which was actually a very good sketch of a hand holding a pencil. But it was still stupid to draw it on a math test, Mark thought. It was things like that that soiled the name Mark Hopper.

Miss Payley told him to come talk to her after school, and Mark stomped back to his desk with his face bright red. This other Mark was definitely ruining everything for him. He had
never
gotten detention before he appeared. He wondered if an eleven-year-old could legally change his name. He'd change it to something distinct, like Einstein. Einstein Hopper—how perfect would that be?

The other Mark went back to his desk with his wide eyes glued to the floor. He couldn't believe how much the other Mark was ruining everything for him. Why was he being so mean? His seventy-two on the math quiz didn't help his mood, either. Beth had helped him study and everything. He flipped to the back of the quiz, taking in all of the red marks, and he found a note from Miss Payley: “Please come talk to me after school.” His mood sank even further. He looked at the quick sketch he had drawn while trying to figure out one of the word problems. It wasn't stupid, he wondered, was it?

He felt something hit him in the back of the head. He looked around. A boy named Jonathan was grinning at him and pointing at the floor. There was a piece of paper folded into a tight triangle. Mark pointed at himself with wide eyes, and Jonathan nodded. Mark checked to see that Miss Payley wasn't looking before he picked up the note. “The Cool Mark Hopper” was written on the outside in spiky handwriting. He felt his ears turn red once more as he carefully unfolded it. “Stinks you have to have the same name as that jerk!” the note read. Mark turned around and nodded at Jonathan, who laughed in response.

“What's funny?” asked Miss Payley.

Mark turned back around to pay attention. For the first time since he found out about him, he thought that this other Mark might actually be good for something.

After class, Jonathan caught up to Mark. “Did you go to elementary school with that other Mark, too?” he asked.

“No,” said Mark. “I just moved to Greenburgh this summer.”

Jonathan patted him on the back. “Aren't you in art eighth period?”

“Yeah,” said Mark.

“Are you going to join the art club?”

“Yeah!” said Mark, his eyes wide. Then, trying to pull back his enthusiasm, he shrugged. “Are you in it?”

“I'm going to the meeting after school to see what it's all about.”

“I want to go,” Mark said, thinking about his meeting with Miss Payley and feeling his mood dampen again. “But I might be kind of late, and I don't know how long it's going to last.”

“Well, I'm definitely going, so I can let you know what happens and sign you up. Do you have lunch now?”

“Yeah.”

“Me, too. Let's go.”

 

Ashamed at having gotten detention, Mark was mostly quiet the rest of the day. He didn't raise his hand once during computers, and he barely spoke at all while doing group work in science—though strangely enough, the other kids in the group seemed to like him more for it. One of them, a pretty girl he thought was named Julia—though maybe it was Julie or Maria—even asked him if everything was okay. “Of course everything's okay! Mind your own business,” Mark snapped back at her. She held up her hands in surrender and walked away, and Mark rolled his eyes.

He sat at Jasmina's lunch table, like he did every day. As he ate his turkey sandwich, he listened to the conversations around him and wondered how all of these people seemed to have so many new friends already. Well, he had Jasmina. And he had the Mastermind tournament to plan for. It was good that he didn't have more than one friend yet, he reasoned. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to prepare fully because he'd be so busy socializing.

He heard a familiar voice from a few tables away. It was the other Mark Hopper talking easily to a group of boys. He was showing them what seemed to be a drawing. Mark pretended to stretch and looked over. It was a complicated sketch of an old man. Mark figured he must have traced it—no one in sixth grade could draw that well—but the other boys seemed to be impressed anyway. If that wasn't bad enough, after Mark finished saying something, the other boys laughed and responded. The other Mark Hopper had friends.

“Mark.” Jasmina snapped her fingers in front of Mark's face. “Earth to Mark.”