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    â€œYoo-hoo, Marie, come and take a look at my latest work of art. And while you’re at it, how about a glass of lemonade?” called my mother.
    Marie? John and Marie? Wait. It couldn’t be. I jumped off the bed and raced over to the window just in time to see Bob-o’s mother accepting a glass of lemonade from my mother. Or was it the other way around? Good grief, my real mother and my supposed mother, face-to-face in my own backyard.
    â€œI suddenly remembered that incredible barbecue sauce you made years ago and I thought, ‘You know, Lorraine, you should just call up that Marie Smith and ask her for the recipe. So what if you haven’t talked to her in umpteen years, we had babies together for gosh sake, she’ll give you the recipe.’ And I figured if I was serving your sauce, the least we could do was invite you and John over to sample it.”
    I couldn’t believe my ears.
    â€œLovely of you, Lorraine,” said Mrs. Smith, laughing nervously. “I’m just surprised you remembered the sauce—why it must have been almost twelve years ago that we all got together for that picnic.”
    â€œRight after the boys were born,” said my mother.
    â€œTime flies,” said Mrs. Smith.
    Personally, at that particular moment I felt as if time was standing still. They actually knew each other and they knew they’d both had boys at the same time. We’d all gone ona picnic together! It was shocking. Just then I heard a noise behind me and I spun around to find Bob-o Smith standing in my doorway with his finger up his nose.

CHAPTER NINE
    â€œT his is a no-picking zone, Bob-o,” I said.
    â€œHuh?” he said, still digging around in his nose.
    â€œDON’T PICK YOUR NOSE IN MY ROOM!” I shouted.
    Bob-o slowly removed his finger from his nostril, and as I watched in horror, he wiped it on the leg of his jeans.
    â€œDidn’t your mother ever teach you how to use a tissue, Bob-o?” I asked.
    He just stared at me.
    â€œLook, I don’t know what the deal is with you, but you’re standing here in my room so I might as well take advantage of that fact and drop my big bomb,” I said.
    Bob-o said nothing.
    â€œOkay, there’s something you should know, Bob-o. Something very serious and very weird and very, well, hard to believe.”
    Bob-o looked at me and started to scratch his nose.
    â€œPut your hands in your pockets!” I barked.
    He did.
    â€œOkay, here goes, I’m about to tell you something that is going to change your life forever. Something that you won’t believe at first, but I will be able to prove to you.”
    Bob-o blinked slowly behind his thick glasses. I took a deep breath.
    â€œWe have the same birthday, Bob-o—July fourteenth.”
    Bob-o wrinkled his nose but didn’t make a move to scratch it.
    â€œAnd we were born in the same hospital—Saint Matthew’s.”
    â€œSo?” said Bob-o. “My mother told me that in the car on the way over here. She saidthat she and your mom shared the same room at the hospital.”
    I don’t know which was more amazing—that Bob-o had spoken to me out loud in full sentences or the shocking thing he had just told me.
    â€œYou’re kidding!” I gasped.
    â€œI thought you said you had proof about something weird.” He turned around and headed for the door.
    â€œWait. My proof is standing out in the backyard right now. Come over here.” I grabbed the back of Bob-o’s shirt and pulled him backward toward my window. I spun him around and pointed to the patio, where my mother and father were getting ready to do the limbo while their guests, including John and Marie Smith, looked on politely. “Look at them,” I ordered.
    Bob-o watched silently as my father attempted to slip his bulging belly under the limbo bar (an old bamboo fishing pole held at one end by my mother).
    â€œSuck it in and