A tear hits the page and I wipe it away.
Sometimes I wonder if Clare would like me more if we were identical twins. It seems like such bad luck that we aren’t. Clare and I weren’t even born on the same date. We don’t even share the same star sign. Only I was born under the twins. Clare was born under the bull.
Maybe there was a mistake in the hospital and my identical twin is with Clare’s identical twin right now.
The first night Adam babysat, the three of us watched a documentary on the Dionne quintuplets. The Dionne quintuplets were the very first quintuplets known to have survived infancy. They lived in a nursery for only the five of them and wore identical dresses in five different colors. At night they slept together in a long room with five identical beds. The room was full of toys. People came and watched them play on the playground from behind a glass mirror. It was called Quintland. They became instant stars.
After that I thought people might be interested in us.
I asked Clare, Do you think people would pay to see us?
She blinked at me.
It was because they were identical quintuplets, Adam said. That’s very rare.
I meant if we were identical twins. Do you think they would then?
Clare blinked at me again. She was doing it on purpose.
That was a long time ago, Adam said. Things have changed. There are laws against that kind of thing now.
Oh. I was kind of disappointed.
It’s messed up, Adam continued. The Ontario government made them “wards of the king” and took them away from their family and put them on display like animals. They made money off them as a tourist attraction.
Still, I liked the idea of being famous. But maybe I already was. Maybe there was a hidden camera floating above my right shoulder. When Clare wasn’t with me, I skipped to school sometimes. So it would be more entertaining to watch. I picked flowers and talked to them so the viewers could know what I was thinking.
One day I was bending over the garden talking to a flower and someone said, Are you talking to yourself?
I looked up and the sun was in my eyes, but I could tell it was a group of girls in my grade and the grade below me.
I’m not talking to myself. I’m talking to the flower.
They all started laughing.
That is so weird, Sharon said. You know flowers can’t understand you, right?
I didn’t want to explain I was pretending about the camera so I just walked away. But after that all the kids started calling me weird.
You don’t want to be like everyone else, Mom said. It’s a good thing to be yourself.
It was the first time she didn’t tell me the truth.
Clare
After Audrey leaves, I pause the Nintendo and just kind of stare at the screen. Then I throw my controller onto the floor. I know I’m being a jerk, but I can’t stop myself. Now when I see Audrey, I just fill with rage.
Not that I was a particularly good sister before. Adam used to tell me to be nicer to Audrey. One time she tried to join us when we were playing Mario Wii and when I told her we were busy trying to pass a level, Adam jumped in and stuck up for her like he always did. He told her she could play instead of him.
“That’s okay,” she said, and went back upstairs.
After the basement door closed behind her, Adam said to me, “You shouldn’t act like that. She looks up to you.”
I rolled my eyes. “You mean she looks up to you.”
“No, I’ve seen it. She idolizes you. She wants to be like you.”
My hand kind of faltered on the button and Mario plummeted to his death. It was like Adam was saying she couldn’t be like me. Then Mario returned to the screen, floating in a bubble. Adam-as-Luigi jumped up and freed him. I started playing again.
“You don’t understand,” I said finally.
“You’re embarrassed of her. I get it. Mom and Dad make you take care of her all the time, and your friends bug you about it.”
I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t that simple, that I wasn’t just trying to be cool. Sure, it bugged me that whenever I went out, Mom said take your sister like she was a friggin’ jacket, but that was the easy part. The hard part was that I cared about Audrey so much, it hurt. I flinched whenever she was called on in class because I was terrified of watching the other kids make fun of her. Audrey is my twin. I feel her pain like my own, and sometimes it’s a lot to bear.
But I didn’t know how to explain any of that, so instead I said, “It’s not that simple. You all think of me as some popular girl. You don’t get that I’m just trying to survive.”
“We all feel like that, Clare,” Adam responded. “But it’s not worth hurting people you care about just to fit in.”
“Stop judging me.”
“I’m not judging you.” He shoved a hand through his hair and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “I guess I’m just saying life is short. Don’t look back and have regret.”
“I’m not being mean to her,” I muttered, hating the idea that Adam was looking down on me.
“You’re not being nice, either. And one day you might actually miss her.”
I purposefully jumped off a cliff and tossed the controller aside, ending that particular conversation. But Adam never stopped trying to make us get along. Behind me the curtains around his room flutter, and it feels like he’s here with me again.
“Adam?” I whisper. “Can you hear me? If you can, give me a sign.”
The curtains continue to flutter, fed by the vent, and I feel my heart sink because I’ll never be able to talk to him again. I’ll never be able to ask him.
Now that he’s dead, does he finally understand how I feel?
* * *
The next morning, I wake up to Mom banging on my door. It’s the same routine every school day: my alarm goes off, I hit snooze after snooze until Mom eventually bangs on my door and yells at me through the wood that I’m going to be late. She doesn’t understand I’m a normal teenager because Audrey wakes up at 7:00 a.m. sharp every single morning.
The first thing Mom says when I walk into the kitchen: “You’re not wearing that to school.”
I feel my entire body tense and grip the handle of my bag tighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s start with the shorts.”
“Everyone wears these shorts.”
Mom leans back against the kitchen sink and crosses her arms. “Ripped shorts with the pockets hanging out? I doubt it.”
I plaster on my fakest sweet smile. “Well, maybe when you drop me off at school, you can take a moment to look around a bit.”
It’s meant to be a jab. Mom has spent the entire semester focusing on everything Audrey—talking to Audrey’s teachers and making sure Audrey’s doing okay. She’s always worried about Audrey “doing okay,” as if she’s afraid Audrey is somehow going to get worse. I don’t even see how that’s possible.
Mom mimics my fake-pleasant smile. “Well, things might be changing. Then I can keep an eye on both my girls again.” She glances over at Audrey, who is wearing a sweater Mom knitted for her and baggy jeans and staring at the back of the cereal box. Her mouth is moving slowly, but no words are coming out. She’s probably trying to read the French.