CHAPTER 7It was almost noon that Saturday. Spotty was in his room pretending to study, but the notebook on his desk was entitled “The Secret Journal of M. Thomas Jessup.”
Spotty adjusted thick-lensed glasses on his pug nose, opened the notebook to a section called “General Commentary on the Weird Paradox of My Life,” and wrote:
“I’m laughing again, secretly of course. The popular scream now among teenagers is ‘Oh, identity crisis.’ They don’t know what it is, but they’re all suffering from it.
“I know what it is, though. But how can these foolish kids have an identity crisis when they talk, dress, think, try to look alike? I mean, they don’t want an individual identity. If one of them really had a unique identity of his own, he’d be rejected as an outcast from the group. He’d be differe
