Izzy

I start every morning the same way. First, I get up to my alarm clock at six, despite my body protesting, and then I take a shower, apply a light layer of makeup, and pull my hair into a neatly gelled-back bun per the Leighton Academy dress code.

I've done this routine for the past four years, and I've always ensured to never miss a step. If I did, I'd risk being caught, and the repercussions of that would be too much to bear. I have to be perfect at all times. No mistakes.

Dressed in a khaki knee-length skirt and navy blue polo with the school emblem embossed on the chest, I head downstairs for breakfast: a banana and a protein shake. My mom is already cleaning the kitchen from last night's dinner of steak and vegetables, looking pristine and put together just like me. We are one and the same. At least, so everyone thinks.

She smiles when she sees me. "Ready for that huge test today? It's in biology, right?"

I eagerly nod as if the thought of taking a test excites me. As if reading and studying are something I'm passionate about—anything to make her believe me. "I've studied for days. Of course, I'm ready. I have to be if I'm going to be half as good of a doctor as you, right?"

She places her hand on my cheek, stroking the skin with the pad of her thumb, and just for a second, I start to regret this facade that I've been faking for years. It's not entirely my fault though. My parents have unintentionally put expectations on me that I'll fall in my mother's footsteps. Growing up, they assumed I'd love to read books just like her. After all, I'm their only daughter, so a part of me feels like my mom was hoping for her mini-me. I won't break that dream of hers, so I'll keep the facade going for a little while longer.

"Nobody is expecting you to become a doctor," she reassures me, almost as if she can read my mind. "You can be whatever you want."

Ha. Yeah, right. I remember the first time I brought home a paper that wasn't an A. My parents didn't harp on me per se, but I could see the disappointment in their eyes even if they didn't say it. That was the last time I ever brought home anything less than exceptional.

I'm saved by the presence of Everett, my fifteen-year-old brother as he stalks into the kitchen with his brooding aura of gloom that he always seems to carry. I think it's because Dad travels a lot. He's not here most of the time, and although Everett would rather be burned at the stake than admit that's the real reason behind his misery, I know the truth.

Mom eyes him with a sideways glance, attempting to decipher what kind of mood he's in. "Good morning," she says cautiously.

He pops out an airpod and lifts an eyebrow. Heavy rock metal blares through the speakers. "What?"

"I said good morning," she repeats. "Do you have everything you need for school today? I won't be home from work until late."

Shocker. Being one of the best pediatricians in the State requires brutal hours. It's nothing we aren't used to. In fact, we use it to our advantage quite a bit. Between her long hours and my dad playing professional football, our decadent over-the-top mansion is almost always adult-free.

"Yep." He pops the airpod back into his ear and starts to chug a Gatorade, focusing his attention on me. "Ready to go?"

I nod eagerly, desperate to get to school early. Mom's gaze softens over the two of us, tears welling in her eyes as she pulls us in for a group hug. "Such big days for you both," she says. "Izzy's first day of senior year, and your first day of freshman year... I don't know where on earth the time went. Connor is starting third grade for crying out loud! Your dad is so proud of you both. He told me last night that he'll Facetime you later."

Same old, same old. Due to his schedule, he is hardly ever able to call us when he says he's going to, and when he can, we're always busy doing something. Everett with his video games and me with cheer practice and competitions, it's almost impossible to find a good time for all of us. We're lucky if we talk to him twice a month.

And it's not as if we have bad parents. They're loving and supportive, and they'd do anything for us, but their careers require a lot of time and energy away from us, too, and it hasn't gone unnoticed. Everett is hit the hardest, and maybe it's the big sister in me, but I'm protective over him. I don't like seeing him hurt.

"I love you both so much," she says, her voice muffled by my polo. "Let me know how your first day goes! I'll try to text after I drop Connor off. He doesn't have to be at his school for another hour yet."

"Love you too," I say, but Everett remains silent with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently. It kills me to see how much effort my mom puts in with him only to see her get shut down every time, but I wish she'd realize it's not her fault. He just misses Dad, and he takes it out on her.

I grab my keys off the hook by the door and step into the garage, Everett following close behind me. This is the first year we'll be carpooling since he's going to the same school as me now, but he won't be surprised when my facade falls. He's seen it his entire life behind closed doors.

"What the hell are you wearing?" He eyes my knee-length skirt in disgust, clambering in beside me in my brand new Audi I was gifted by my father for my sixteenth birthday. "Last time I checked, we don't attend church."

"Ha-ha," I mock. "You know I won't be caught dead wearing this, but I had to put on a good first impression today. It's the beginning of a new year. Mom has to think I'm still on the straight and narrow. Not that she even noticed my skirt with your attire going on."

Everett is in his Leighton Academy uniform as well, but he made little twists to it. His fingernails are painted black, and he's wearing black combat boots. I watch as he pulls out a leather jacket stuffed in his book bag and slips it on, the silver chains clattering against each other. Normally, this is the kind of boy people stay clear of, but luckily for my brother, he got my father's genetics.

Chiseled jawline, prominent cheekbones, and the same brown shaggy hair that made girls drop to their knees for my dad in high school. My father, from what I've been told, was the most popular kid in school. He fucked anything with a pulse until he finally realized his feelings for my mom, who was his best friend's little sister. Talk about yikes.

He was defiant, the life of the party, and a boy that all girls couldn't resist.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Regardless, Everett doesn't need to worry. With those piercing blue eyes, he'll fit into high school with no problem whatsoever—especially with me as his sister.

Everett ignores my comment and blasts his music louder as I reach into the console to grab a makeshift makeup bag that contains my cigarettes and lighter. Everett knows the drill and rolls down his passenger side window to ensure the stench doesn't remain in the car, the warm September breeze of Los Angeles blowing through his locks.

'You really need to stop smoking," Everett says. "They're going to find out sooner or later."

"Over my dead body will they ever find out, and you sure as hell better not tell them shit, Everett."

He arches a brow in defiance. "Or what?"

"Or I'll tell your best friend's girlfriend you're secretly in love with her."

His nostrils flare, the tips of his ears turning red. "I don't fucking love her. I despise her."

"Really? Because whenever I see you around her you get this little pink tint to your—oh! There it is!" I pinch his cheek where the skin has flushed, laughing when he smacks my hand away and curses under his breath.

"You're lucky we're here," he says through gritted teeth.

I park in one of the reserved senior spots and hop out to grab my cheer bag from the trunk. Slinging it over my shoulder, Everett follows as we make our way into the school. Nobody is here yet since it's so early, but I get here at this time for a reason. If people saw me in my little nun skirt they'd have a heart attack.

"I would tell you to be cool today, but you seem to have the whole brooding in misery thing down pretty well. You might just have a girlfriend by the end of the day."

"Keep insulting me and I'll make it one of your best friends on the squad. What's her name? The redhead?"

I punch him on the shoulder. Hard. He winces and clutches it as we walk past the main foyer. He'd never fuck one of my friends, but after he hit puberty, he wasn't my lame, tiny brother anymore. He'd shot up to six-one, and he hit the gym every day this past summer to get his anger out. He almost looked like a senior himself, and Willow definitely noticed when she saw him swimming in our pool a couple of months ago. He knows that if given the opportunity, she'd most definitely fuck him, and it boils the blood under my skin.

"Touch her and you die." I stop outside the girl's bathroom and run my eyes over him. Normally I can tell when he's nervous or overthinking, but he seems cool, calm, and collected. "Text me if you need anything today, alright?"

He nods, so I take that as a good enough answer and carry my duffel bag into the handicapped stall. Like every morning for the past three years, I unzip my bag and pull out all the products I'll need to finish getting ready. First, I change into a short khaki skirt that's hemmed up much further than the school dress code allows, and I tug on a polo that's a size too small so that it emphasizes my chest just right.

Most people would think I dress like this to appease others, and to some extent, maybe they're right. I love boys. I love flirting and teasing and getting them right where I want them, but I don't dress like this for them. I work out for the body that I have, and I love to show it off. I'm confident in my skin and there's nothing wrong with that. If anyone told me to change I'd tell them to fuck off.

Next, I apply my makeup, beating my face to the gods. I'm glowing and radiant by the time I finish, ripping out the hair tie keeping my bun in place. My blonde curls come crashing down against my shoulders, my fingers running through them to make them look sexy and untamed.

Then, I pull on a pair of combat boots similar to Everett's before I pop my belly button and nose ring into place, both of which my parents still don't know about.

I stuff the gross uniform I wore this morning back in the duffel bag and exit the stall to check myself over in the full-length mirror. Yes.

Perfect.

If my parents ever saw the real me, I'm pretty sure they'd both die of a heart attack or a stroke. I'm not a book nerd, I hate to study, and following the rules has never been my strong suit. I've always craved to feel free. I want to do as I please.

It's funny, really, because if my parents let go of this dream that I'm exactly like my mom, they'd realize that Everett is the one they should have been pursuing. He may wear a lot of black and act like a brooding dick, but he's got a heart of gold that is much purer than mine.

My mother was a straight-A student at the top of her class, but deep down, she was a loner who kept to herself, and I don't understand how they don't see that in Everett. I've never been like him. I've always been free-spirited, and outgoing, and I've always loved living on the edge.

Then again, maybe I've just been putting on this facade of mine for so long that I can't see what they see anymore. Maybe I'm so good at brainwashing them that they continue to ignore the one truth they both refuse to face.

I'm my father's carbon copy, and I don't plan on changing for anyone.

Not even them.