Two Weeks Later

Sam

September 29th. Another big red X on my calendar this morning. Only 1,332 days until I graduate high school.

While that number may not look reassuring, that's counting all the weekends, summers, and holiday breaks. I just didn't have the patience for the math it would take to figure out the number of school days alone. Just like I don't have the patience for whatever math Mr. Smith is doing on the board right now, as I sit slumped in my chair with my earphones in.

Summer has come and passed.

The innocent can never last.

Wake me up when September ends....

Green Day's lyrics pound against my eardrums to the rhythm that the raindrops hit the window of the classroom. The entire world outside is a thick sheet of gray, and I stare into it, deep in thought.

A cliché scene, I know. One that Morton would undoubtedly make me rewrite if I included it in a story: main character stares into the rain, his countenance despondent, pondering dreams of something more than this out there. Cliché and depressing.

But I'm not depressed, necessarily. Just.....forlorn.

Is that the right word? Forlorn? Sad without reason, lonely without cause. The emotional equivalent of the mild but steady drizzle outside....maybe it's melancholy. I make a mental note to consult my thesaurus later.

Cody would probably know the right word, I think with a slight grin. It always comes back to Cody nowadays, and somehow this doesn't bother me.

Thoughts of the boy have been at the forefront of my mind since he sat next to me in creative writing two weeks ago, and has continued to do so since. Every weekday now we talk poetry, trade synonyms, read each other's writing....building a trust that's almost beginning to worry me. Especially since nearly all of my writing, if deciphered correctly, is a one-way ticket to my biggest secret....

A hand waves in front of my face, yanking me out of my thoughts and into the present.

"What?" I ask loudly as I pull out my headphones, but am embarrassed to find that my voice speaks out alone to my silent classmates and teacher. There are a few snickers. Rose is staring at me. So is the teacher, and everyone else.

"My apologies Samantha, I can see that you're very busy," says Mr. Smith, condescendingly. "I was just wondering if you would like to tell us the value of X?"

Shit, I didn't know he was doing example problems. I can't remember the last time I paid attention in this class. The last X I saw was the one I drew on my calendar this morning.

"Um...." I start to sweat, and the snickers around me grow louder. I study the scattered numbers and letters on the whiteboard, searching desperately for some semblance of rationality, but it's like looking at a foreign language. I can't even tell where the equation begins. What unit are we on again?

"We're waaaaiting," Mr. Smith sings, triggering more laughter from the class. My face heats up, both from embarrassment and anger. There's something like an amused glint in the teacher's eye, and I know that he feels no compunction about putting me on the spot. I want to punch his stupid face.

Instead, I turn to Rose desperately. To my absolute astonishment, she presses her lips together and shrugs guiltily. What?! Since when does she not know the answer???

"Some time today, Samantha?"

I grit my teeth. I'm about to march to the front of the room and ruin my almost-one-month streak of not having a detention, when an unexpected voice comes to my aid.

"X equals negative six-and-a-half."

Almost comically, the entire class turns in unison to look at Dan, who sits four (empty) seats to my left. Mr. Smith raises his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, is your name Samantha?"

His friends around him burst into mocking fits of laughter, but Dan just shrugs. "I was right, wasn't I?"

Smith reexamines the problem, nods reluctantly, and is quick to move on. "Alright everyone, turn in your textbooks...."

I stare at Dan. He meets my eyes and flashes one of his self-satisfied grins my way. Like Haha, I totally saved your neck! and he mouths something that looks a lot like, "You owe me one."

I glower at him before quickly looking away. Like hell I owe him anything. What's his deal, anyway? I haven't so much as spared him a glance since our fight in gym the other week, and all of a sudden he's speaking up for me?

I try not to read too much into it. Though I must admit, I have noticed that he also hasn't been joining in on his friends' taunts at me and Rose much anymore.

Hey, and speaking of my sister, shouldn't she have been the one to rescue me back there?

"Hey Rose," I whisper, turning to her curiously. "Since when do you not know—?" I stop suddenly when I notice that Rose's face is directed downward, illuminated by the soft glow of her phone. And she's smiling.

"Holy shit, are you texting?" I demand.

She snaps her head up and glares at me."Shhh! What are you trying to do, get me caught?"

I cringe at her menacing tone, glancing around frantically, but Mr. Smith has already settled his fat ass at his desk and isn't paying attention to anything outside of his computer.

"Sorry," I whisper back. "But....who were you texting?" I don't want to make her mad again, but it's difficult to hide the surprise in my voice. Since the day we got phones, I don't think either of us have texted or called a soul besides our parents and, primarily, each other. We've just....well, let's be honest, we've never had any real friends.

Rose runs her fingers through her hair habitually, moving her bangs so that, if they were only a little longer, they'd fall in front of her left eye. Then she shrugs. "No one."

"No one?"

"Yeah. No one."

I raise an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing on my lips. "Oh? So you were just smiling down at your home screen then?"

She blushes. Then says, as if the idea just came to her, "I was texting Bri about our art project. Nothing important."

"Liar. If that was true, you'd have told me that first. Now who was it really?"

I don't mean to sound interrogative— I'm just curious— but she shoots back defensively. "Why do you even care?"

I give her a look, now void of any amusement. What the hell kind of a question is that? "....Gee, I don't know. I mean, it's not like we're at all involved in each other's lives, so I guess it was kind of stupid of me to ask."

"Sam, I don't need your sarcasm."

"Then just tell me. What are you hiding?"

"Nothing! What, do I have to tell you every little thing that's going on with me at all times? God."

....Ouch. Well, that fucking hurt. Not only because of her sharp tone, but because....well, haven't we always told each other every little thing that happened to us?

I try to communicate my pain with my eyes, but she is either completely oblivious or doesn't care, as she turns her attention to her math book and starts the homework.

I watch her for awhile, waiting for her to pull out her phone again, but she doesn't. However, I don't miss how it continues to buzz in her sweater pocket, the screen lighting up the thin red fabric. I know that she only doesn't reach for it because she knows I'm watching her.

So I turn away. And we don't speak for the rest of class.

------------

Rose

I avoid meeting Sam's eye for the remainder of algebra, as well as throughout speech class afterward. Inside I am wracked with guilt, but also just a tiny bit annoyed. Only slightly less than I was when I snapped at him, which didn't require much acting on my part.

I mean really, where did he get off demanding to know who I was texting? What, just because it's someone other than him, he has to be all nosy about it? Rude.

Buzz. I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my hoodie. Instinctively, I reach for it. Rose Parker and I have been texting almost nonstop since gym class. Mostly about random crap, but still, just talking to her is strangely addicting.

My hand freezes before it enters my pocket when I remember that 1. I'm still sitting by Sam, and 2. we're in Ms. O'Brian's class now. Ms. O'Brian, who has a zero tolerance policy when it comes to phones out during her class.

So I restrain myself from looking at it, even as I feel it buzz again, and try to pay attention to whoever is giving their speech now.

".....And that is why reading is a good thing that everyone should really do." The mousy girl at the front finishes in a monotone, lowering the paper she was holding in front of her face. The few people who clap for her do so halfheartedly as she sits down.

"Very nice, Chelsea," Ms. O'Brian comments, and I have to wonder if she's kidding. The woman has one of those personalities where you can never tell if she's being real or not, because she says everything with the same unreadable expression and tone. She marks down some notes on the score sheet in front of her before looking up once more to address the class. "Alright, who's next? Let's hear from someone who has never gone before."

That would be a lot of people. I am far from the only person in this class who is taking full advantage of the fact that reading our speeches aloud is not required until the end of the semester.

"Come on now," Ms. O'Brian prompts. "Remember, just because it isn't required, doesn't mean I don't recommend it. This is speech class, after all. Our goal here is to help you develop skills that I can promise you will need in your adult life, whatever your occupation may be."

Ms. O'Brian clearly underestimates my commitment to not talking if she can say that with so much confidence. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up, but whatever job I choose, I can promise that it will not require public speaking— particularly not about this week's topic: the importance of encouraging reading in public schools. (Barf).

Just when I'm afraid Ms. O'Brian's going to launch into another sermon about why we should all value public speaking, Sam's hand shoots up.

"Ah. Samantha—"

"Just Sam, please," Sam interrupts, causing Ms. O'Brian to raise an eyebrow and several students to snicker.

"Alright then, Sam. Come on up."

Sam made his way to the front of the room; ready, I could tell, to get this over with. But of course, nothing could ever be that simple for him.

"I must say, I'm glad you've finally volunteered," says Ms. O'Brian. "Every speech you've turned in so far has impressed me, and I am not impressed easily. I am honestly astounded that a fourteen-year-old can write with such eloquence."

Sam lowers his face to hide his flushed cheeks as our classmates' snickers increase in volume. Ms. O'Brian shushes them before nodding to Sam. "Whenever you're ready."

The girls in the front row all stare wide-eyed up at Sam in mock-engrossment, while struggling to contain their giggles.

Sam keeps his eyes on his paper, clears his throat, and begins:

"The phrase 'knowledge is power' is a cliché so overused that we have become desensitized to any meaning it might have once held. However, this does not erase the statement's simple truth...."

Though many of our classmates were turned off from the first polysyllabic word, there are a few who actually look impressed as Sam's speech progresses. Meanwhile, I can't help but cringe at the fact that he chose to do this. What is he trying to prove by committing social suicide?

Right, because you guys have so many friends to risk by embarrassing yourselves. A small voice reminds me.

As if to counter the self-deprecating thought, my phone buzzes again in my pocket. At this point, I can't be sure if it's alerting me of a new text or reminding me of unread ones. It physically hurts not to reach for it. What if Rose thinks I'm ignoring her? What if she's telling me something important?

I shake my head and try to tune back in to Sam's speech.

"....And thus, it is the albatross around the necks of the administration. American standardized test scores have fallen considerably, a fact we must bear in the faces of the increasing number of nations whose students surpass ours every year. We propagate an emphasis of STEM fields, but what meaningful sciences can be taught to illiterate students? It is with reading that...."

Fuck it, he lost me at albatross. Why does he have to go out of his way to sound so damn smart? I mean, I guess this is how he feels when I do better than him in math, but I'm not exactly volunteering to read my math homework aloud to the entire class.

Buzz.

Okay, maybe just one peek at my phone won't hurt.

But right when I glance up to see if Ms. O'Brian is looking, I notice her clapping along with some other students. Oh shoot, has it been ten minutes already? I start to clap along until I remember that I'm still pissed at Sam. So instead, I put my hood up and my head down as he returns to his seat, staring towards the front of the room with my face on my arms.

"Wonderful Sam, just wonderful," Ms. O'Brian praises him unabashedly. "Students, take note. This is what good presentation looks like."

Next to me, I hear Sam groan. He's not alone, as several students do as well.

"None of that, now. Your classmate did an admirable job and deserves commendation. In fact, you four—" she motions to the girls who were obviously mocking Sam before his speech "—can all take out a sheet of paper and write down five things that you think Sam did well. Be sure to turn it in before the end of class."

The girls grumble as they dig out their notebooks, shooting Sam death glares that even I can't miss.

"Oh, and George? First of all, hood off please."

Cringing and blushing simultaneously, I lift my head from my desk and comply.

"And second, I know you get the privilege of listening to your sister's marvelous speaking skills at home, but please show respect by being attentive in class as well." Her voice is stern with warning, and I know that there's no chance I can get away with looking at my phone now.

"Yes ma'am," I mutter, and apparently the sound of my voice was so unexpected that it inspires laughter from my classmates.

I hate everyone.

"All right, settle down. That's enough speeches for today. Time for some notes!"

Aaaand this is where I tune out again.

------------

By the time the bell rings, I've been slowly nodding off in my seat for the past twenty minutes. But at the beautiful sound of the end of the school day, my energy comes rushing back and I practically leap out of my seat.

No longer caring if Sam is watching me or not, the first thing I do in the hallway is check my phone.

-7 new messages from ROSE PARKER:

Hey, so when you're done with those Twenty One Pilots albums, I have more bands for you to listen to! :P

Like, I literally have a list.

Ugh, I'm in English and I'm soooo bored.

Whatcha up to?

You there?

Sorry, hope I'm not annoying you :/

OMG you're in Ms. O'Brian's class, aren't you? Lol, text me later.

I laugh. The speech teacher's strict no-phones policy must be pretty famous throughout the school.

I'm about to text her back when I notice that I have eight new messages, not seven, because one of them is from Mom.

MOM: Do you guys need a ride home from school so you don't have to walk in the rain?

"Hey Sam?" I say. We're already on our way out the doors.

He doesn't respond right away, making a point to keep his head down as he continues walking.

I sigh. "Sam,"  I repeat with emphasis.

He lifts his head slowly and blinks. "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you talking to me now?"

Oh, for crying out loud. "Dude, don't be immature. Mom wants to know if we want a ride home from school." I motion to the weather outside the double doors.

He shrugs. "I'm fine walking in it. Are you?"

I stare at him. "Sam, it's pouring out there."

"You have a hood."

"Uh yeah, but you don't!" He doesn't even have a jacket! As always, he's dressed in an extremely loose band tee, skinny jeans that hang a bit too low, and his worn pair of unisex combat boots.

He looks like he's about to argue with me further, but then he catches sight of something just behind me and his demeanor changes completely. "Hey Cody!" he says, his voice a lot higher than normal.

I turn, and there's the lanky brunet headed towards us, his bulky backpack worn with both straps. "Hey Sam, hey George," he greets us both, meeting our eyes as he does. I make a point to look away.

I haven't told Sam this, but Cody has stood up for me more than just that one time in English. In fact, every time I get teased in that class lately he shoots the bully down. And yet, I have never once thanked him, never once even tried making conversation with the boy who sits right behind me. He probably thinks I'm a total asshole.

Luckily, he has eyes only for Sam. "Are you guys heading out?" he asks him.

"Well, we were about to," Sam replies. "Why?"

"Actually....I was wondering if you wanted to come to the library with me this afternoon," says Cody, looking down. Is he....is he blushing? "I've been having trouble editing one of my poems, and I was wondering if you'd help me? You're good at poems—er, poetry. And uh...."

"Sure," says Sam, grinning as he awkwardly adjusts his hair. "I'd love to." Then he turns to me, his former irritation seemingly gone. "You'll tell Mom for me, right?"

Do I have any other option? "Yeah," I say quietly.

Cody's eyebrows shoot up. "Woah, is that what your voice sounds like?" he asks me jokingly.

Sam giggles. He actually giggles. I want to barf.

Instead, I ignore them both by pulling out my phone and texting Rose Parker real quick.

ME: That awkward moment when your brother flirts with his crush right in front of you and acts like a COMPLETELY different person.

Her response is almost immediate.

ROSE PARKER: Lol. I have a cousin who's like that with her boyfriend. All giggly and shit. I just want to be like "Bitch, you're so fake and everyone knows it."

I snort under my breath.

ROSE PARKER: Who's your brother's crush? Do I know her?

Ah, shit. Not eager for more lying quite yet, I shoot back, Hang on, I've got to walk home. Text you again later!

ROSE PARKER: K :)

"Are you okay walking in the rain?" Cody asks Sam. "Cause I could give you my jacket—"

"Nah, I'm good," Sam replies.

He'd better be, seeing as how the library is a closer walk from here than our house. Though I'll admit, at the rate he's going, I half-expected my brother to accept Cody's jacket just so he could smell it.

They both wave at me as they leave together, but I use my phone as an excuse to ignore them once again. I text Mom: I'm fine walking. Sam is going to the library to study, by the way.

Right. "Study". Add that to my mile-long list of lies I've told today.

I sigh as I put my hood up, then I walk out into the rain.

------------

Sam

It's a five minute walk to the public library, which resides just around the corner from our school, but we're drenched by the time we get there. I ring out my stupid hair by the doors, and Cody lets me use the inside of his jacket to dry off.

"Thanks," I say when he offers it to me, but I can't help feeling a little embarrassed. He's probably being so chivalrous because he thinks I'm a girl.

Inside, the library is mostly empty. The lady at the checkout desk sits with her feet up, reading a book of her own. A couple of middle-aged women scan the romance novels, there's an older man browsing through audio books, and a small group of college students occupies one of the large square tables in the study area.

Cody and I sit far from them all, choosing a table by the large window in the back.

"I always love sitting by a window when I write," I remark, gazing out at the gray sky as I set my bag down. "Nature is the only peaceful thing in this world."

"Is that the Robert Frost in you speaking?" he teases.

"Well, it's true. That guy always had it right...." I shake myself out of my stupor, afraid I'd start rambling. "Anyway. What poem are we editing today?"

He flashes me a crooked grin as he pulls out his blue creative writing notebook, still so crisp and clean. He opens it to the first page. "I haven't stopped thinking about this one since I wrote it. I don't know why, but it still doesn't feel right...."

I lean over to read it. The page is untitled, but I only have to read the first few lines before I realize that I'm looking at Blue Like Sunset. "Hey, I remember this one," I say casually, as if I haven't also been thinking about it nonstop since he read it aloud that day I first noticed him.

"Yeah. I've worked on it a bit since I wrote it, but I've been having trouble. This is the original version."

"What have you been having trouble with?" It's perfect. It was perfect the first time you read it.

"Just....making it feel right. You know how it is, writing poetry."

I do. I couldn't even count how many nights I've stayed up past midnight with my desk lamp on, staring down one line of a poem that just didn't want to behave, as Rose grumbled at me to go to bed. Oh, the trials of being a writer.

"Well....what about it doesn't feel right to you?" I ask. Because even now as I read it to myself, it is even more breathtaking than when I listened to him read it. This time, I can see the emotion thrust into every word by the way his pen reacted. The parts where the words where light and and at ease, where they almost dug through to the next page, and where they were so shaky they were almost illegible.

Always at the corner of my eye she lingered, always at the back of my mind.

Who was Sunset?

"I don't like how it doesn't have rhythm," Cody admits. "I feel like it should."

"Dude, it's called free verse. It works in this case, because the story behind the words is given priority over the structure."

He looks down and sighs. "I know. I guess it's just....I mean," he bites his lip and changes course, pulling his eyes back up to meet mine. "Your poems tell stories too, I know they do. But yours also have structure that does justice to them. I need to know how you do it. Because this one here," he taps his notebook irritably. "Could never do justice to her."

I desperately want to ask who she was, this girl whom he obviously loved. Instead, I read the poem again, then twice more after that, letting nothing but the sound of heavy raindrops and distant thunder pass between us for a few moments.

I chop it up in my head for further analysis.

....Those golden drapes were constantly closed– though I begged her to draw them–to hide those intricate windows to her soul, almost violet in some lights. Rarely did I dare to part her curtains of silk myself, for the brightness they hid was a gift I did not deserve.

So she was blonde with beautiful hazel eyes. That much spoke for itself, creating an acidic feeling in my chest that must have been jealousy as it did so. But despite her obvious beauty, she was quiet and introverted, and probably someone who pushed people away.

Her countenance always a mystery, her voice as present as God, She spoke to me with shapes and numbers, laughed with smiles and winks. There was so much light.

This part, I can not decipher for the life of me. I decide that it must be a reference to some inside joke that would never make sense to me anyway, and that it might be better not to ask.

But she doesn't speak anymore.
She doesn't laugh anymore.

She died? Or maybe she left him. I don't want to think that Cody has ever had to deal with the grief of losing someone, but remembering the pain in his voice when he read this aloud makes me think that he has.

....She is trapped in her own existence, like the fading blue of twilight, or invading blue of day. This ever present blue of Sunset infects the world around her, leaving not a single beauty untainted.
The day has ended, so has she.
A midnight blue.
Like Sunset.

"She did die." I conclude, then blush when I realize I said it out loud. Way to be sensitive, Sam.

I look at Cody to make sure I haven't offended him, but his expression is solemn. He stares out the window, his coffee brown eyes glazed over.  "In a way," he says, without elaboration.

"Who was she?" I finally ask, and I'm surprised by my own nerve to ask it. I guess curiosity always wins over cowardice in the end.

Understandably, Cody doesn't respond right away. He looks to be fighting tears. I wait patiently as he takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. I recognize that tear-fighting technique all too well.

"Sam....would you say that we're friends?"

I don't hesitate. "Yes."

"And friends keep each other's secrets?"

This time I do hesitate, but only for a second, and only because I'm thinking of my own secret. "Of course."

Finally he speaks. "She's my little sister," he says at last. "But no one else can know about her, alright?"

I am surprised by his answer, but more surprised by the fact that he's speaking in present tense. "She is your sister?"

"I see how that can be confusing," he sighs. "I guess she's technically still my sister. Though I refuse believe the empty shell I visit in the hospital once a week to be her anymore. Not like she's so much as opened her eyes since the accident."

I just sit there in shock as I process what he just said. I don't know what to say. What can you say to that?

"I'm sorry." Cody looks down, embarrassed. He lets his bangs fall in front of his eyes and doesn't shake them out. "I just wanted help with the poem. I have no idea why I'm telling you this."

"Hey, if you want to tell me, that's cool," I assure him. "But if you don't, that's okay too." I suddenly wish that the rain wasn't pounding against the window so relentlessly. As much as I love thunderstorms, I also know how gloomy weather can sometimes make people feel so hopeless.

But it seems to have the opposite effect on Cody, as his eyes appear to dry up as he stares out into it. "My family moved here this summer to be closer to the hospital where they're keeping her," he tells me. "So far, no one else in this town even knows I have a sister. I don't want them to know. I just....god, I just hate the fucking pity. There's always pity when they find out."

He pulls his feet up onto his chair, wrapping his arms around his legs. "Sorry," he repeats. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Just please don't tell anyone. I'd much rather leave Morton and our writing class thinking it was some sappy love poem. That Sunset is some random teenage girl instead of my nine-year-old little sister." His voice breaks on the last word.

I nod, my chest aching for him. I can only imagine what it would be like to lose a sister, and just thinking about it makes me want to call Rose and tell her that I'm sorry, and that I love her.

Instead, I redirect Cody's attention to the notebook in front of us. "I really do love the original. I don't think you should change it at all. But if you want to write a new poem with more structure, I can help you with the editing process."

I can tell that he's still slowly coming back from memory lane, but he does offer me eye contact and a barely-there smile. "Okay."

------------

Rose

I usually like to get my homework out of the way first and foremost, but texting Rose Parker has become a priority.

Mom tried to fuss over me when I came home soaking wet. ("Oh, I hope you don't get sick! I shouldn't have let you walk home. Are you cold? Do you want some soup?") But I excused myself to my room right away, claiming that I have a TON of homework to do. This wasn't lie; it's not like I told her I was going to do it.

Now cleaned up and in dry clothes, I lay sideways across my bed, my school stuff sitting untouched on my desk. I just finished telling Rose how Sam ditched me after school.

ME: So yeah. Apparently all his crush needs to do is smile at him and he'll go all goo-goo eyed and leave me to walk home alone without a thought.

ROSE PARKER: Wow, what a jerk. Hasn't he ever heard of ' bros before hoes'? Lol.

I know that she was just trying to make me laugh with that line. And I did laugh, but only because the phrase is inapplicable on literally all levels.  I am not Sam's "bro", nor is his crush female. But better to let Rose continue to live in blissful ignorance than tell to her so.

ME: Ikr? But anyway, yeah. Now I'm just lonely and bored :(

ROSE PARKER: Aww :(((. I'm sorry. But speaking of being lonely and bored, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out this weekend?

I'm so taken aback that I nearly drop my phone. I have to read the text twice. Is this really happening? Have I actually reached this level of friendship with someone, to where they actually want to see me outside of school? What???

ME: Really? Like, and do what?

ROSE PARKER: Um...idk. I don't really do this a lot, tbh. But you're really cool, and the only person I've ever met who I'd consider hanging out with.

ROSE PARKER: Oh, and not like a date or anything, just so we're clear. Purely as friends. Not that you ever thought of it as a date, I'm sure, lol.

ROSE PARKER: Sorry, am I being too weird?

ROSE PARKER: U there?

Mom is peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink when I burst in, causing her to shriek and drop the peeler on the floor. "Jesus Christ! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Sorry!" I say, hardly able to express my apology through my excitement. "I just....I have a friend who wants to hang out this weekend."

She blinks. "You do?"

I can't really be offended. It's not like this has happened before. "Yeah. I mean, we haven't picked a time or place yet, I just wanted to ask you if it was okay first."

"Um...yeah, of course," I can tell she's still slightly in shock. "Who is this friend of yours?"

"Her name is Rose Parker. She's really awesome, and we have so much in common, and—" I cut myself off. It's only when I notice the amused glint in Mom's eye, complete with a sly smile, that I realize my mistake.

"Ohhh, so your friend is a 'she' then?"

Oh god. "Mom, it's not—"

"I'm not saying anything!" she interrupts, putting her hands up in an innocent motion. "Just let me know when you pick a day. I hope you have a nice time."

Satisfied, if a bit annoyed, I race back to my room where I left my phone on my bed. I glance at Rose's last text.

ROSE PARKER: ?????

ME: Sorry. I just went and asked my mom. She said yes :D

ROSE PARKER: Oh, okay. Phew! Sorry, I'm just always worried that I've put my foot in my mouth somehow. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a tad bit socially awkward :/

ME: LOL. Aren't we all, though? :P

ROSE PARKER: I guess that's true.

ME: So where do you want to meet?

ROSE PARKER: Ooh, I know this great cafe downtown! We could meet for lunch on Saturday?

Great, now my mom will really think it's a date. But I can't refuse, nor do I want to.

ME: Sounds awesome!!!! :D

Right after I hit send I blush. Really Rose, four exclamation marks and a smiley face? Could you be anymore subtle?

But luckily, she seems equally excited.

ROSE PARKER: Yay!!!! Can't wait :D.

ROSE PARKER: Oh, and I was going to ask you this at school but I forgot. Do you have a picture of your brother? I still have no idea what he looks like!

God dammit, not this again. Ever since I told her I have a brother, she's been dying to meet him. I feel like her simple curiosity has only grown because I so obviously evade the subject of him in conversation.

ME: Lol, we're twins. Obviously he looks like me.

ROSE PARKER: Yeah, but didn't you say you were fraternal? Really, I just want to know if I've seen him around without knowing he was your brother. Don't you have a picture of him in your phone or something?

I scoff. I don't even have a picture of myself in my phone. Neither does he, for that matter. It's kind of hard to be photogenic when you hate everything about your appearance. I don't think either of us have taken a selfie in our lives.

But I can't exactly explain it that way to Rose.

ME: I told you, he's very antisocial. Even more so than me. He hates being in pictures

ROSE PARKER: Right, I know. Sorry I keep bugging you about this, it's just driving me crazy at this point that I've never met him.

And you never will if I can help it, I think, though I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. At around 500 students total, our school isn't exactly large enough to get away with not meeting everyone in your grade at least once. It's only by pure luck and chance that Rose Parker has yet to come across the name Samantha Wyatt.

I can only hope that when she finally does, I'll have come up with a good explanation for why I lied to her.

------------

Sam

"So when I want a poem with a good flow but no rhyme scheme, I like to focus primarily on two things: repetition and alliteration," I'm telling Cody when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. "Sorry, hang on." I check the message.

It's from Rose: Dude, you planning on coming home anytime soon?

The first thing I do is roll my eyes. Wow, so it's not okay for me to ask about who texts her all the time, but she gets to nag me about how late I stay out? How is that fair?

Just then I get another text, this one from Mom: Samantha??? Some updates would be nice.

I glance up at the time. "Shit, is it really 6:30?"

Cody glances up as well, setting down his pen to shake out his hand. "Whoa, where did the time go?" he laughs.

I laugh, too. Neither of us seemed to realize how much fun we were having until now. And of course, now it has to end.

"I'd better head home," says Cody, packing up his stuff. "This was great though. We should do it again sometime."

My heart hammers against my rib cage. Does he mean that spending time with me was great, or that he appreciated my poetry advice? Does he want to see me again to hang out, or just to help him with his poem some more?

Dammit, why can't real people be as easy to read as fictional characters?

"Yeah, we really should," I reply.

We shoulder our backpacks and follow each other out into the fading twilight. The storm has passed, leaving behind a damp ground and chilly air. I start to shiver the second we're out of the building. Stupid thin t-shirt.

Before I know it, I'm enveloped in warmth as Cody throws his gray hoodie over my shoulders.

"I don't need—" I start to protest, but he cuts me off.

"Sam, please just take it," he insists.

I sigh in surrender, tightening the jacket around my shoulders and putting up the hood. When he's not looking, I turn my head slightly and breathe in deep. His scent is coconut shampoo mixed with rain, old books and pencil shavings. I think I'm in love.

Shit, who am I kidding? Sharing poetry with him in writing class, losing track of time at the library, sniffing his hoodie.... I am straight up infatuated with Cody Foster.

When we reach the school, it's clear that he's turning left while my house is two blocks down the hill. I have never been so reluctant to say goodbye to someone. "So....I guess I'll see you at school tomorrow. Oh, and here's your hoodie back—"

I start to take it off but he waves his hand. "Nah, you can give it back to me tomorrow. Stay warm on your way home."

I smile in thanks, and am about to turn away when he stops me. "Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?" I say, turning probably a little too fast.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down awkwardly. "Um....tell George I said he needs to stand up for himself more. Those guys in our English class are douchebags, and I know he has it in him to tell them so."

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks fast towards his house. I stare after him, but it's not long before I lose sight of him in the growing darkness.

------------

Rose

Sam walks in the door only a few minutes after Dad, who is waiting for him in the entryway next to Mom, while I awkwardly eat my tomato soup in the kitchen. I can see the whole thing unfold from where I'm sitting.

"Young lady, where have you been?" Mom demands the second Sam's feet touch the mat.

"Didn't George tell you I was at the library?" Sam asks, narrowing his eyes in my direction. I shrug my shoulders at him like what? I did exactly what you asked.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you can stay out for three hours without texting or calling to let me know you're alright!"

"Oh my god, I was at the library." he snaps back in annoyance. "Not doing crack in an alleyway."

"Don't you be sarcastic with your mother," Dad jumps in. "She has every right to be upset with you. And whose jacket are you wearing?"

Oh, this is gonna be good, I think as I sip another spoonful.

"It's my friend Cody's. He gave it to me so I wouldn't be cold on the way home."

"Who the hell is this Cody?" Dad demands, crossing his arms.

"My friend, who I was studying with. God, what's with the third degree tonight?"

"Did you know she was with a boy?" Dad asks Mom.

"No, George just told me she was going to study...."

Suddenly, all eyes are on me with my spoon halfway out of my mouth. I slurp loudly, my eyes wide and innocent.

"George, did you really let your sister leave school with some random boy?" Dad turns on me. "I thought I taught you better than that. What if something had happened?"

"He's not 'some random boy'." Sam interjects angrily. "He's my friend. We were studying. You can call the library and ask if you want, because we literally sat in the same spot and did nothing but write for the entire time!"

"That doesn't change the fact that I need to approve of any boy you plan on being alone with, and you know that." Dad asserts. "Now what's his last name?"

"Foster."

"Uh huh, and what grade is he in?"

"Oh my god Dad, I swear—"

As I realize how quickly this is turning from entertaining to ugly, I decide it's time for me to step in. "Cody's in our grade, and he's actually really nice," I offer, recapturing my family's attention. "I was worried about Sam too, so I already, uh...checked the kid out. He sits near me in English and he's pretty smart, plus he defends....some people. From bullies, I mean."

Silence as Dad takes this in, nodding slowly.

"So yeah," I finish lamely. "He's safe. Brotherly approval, and all that."

"....Alright then," Dad says to Sam, finally conceding. "I guess if your brother trusts him. You said you're not dating though, right?"

"I swear, we're not," Sam growls.

"Okay then. Good. Just don't forget to check in with you mother or me the next time you go out. You're a growing young lady, and we worry about you out there all alone." He dismisses Sam to our room, and either doesn't notice the angry stomping up the stairs or chooses to ignore it.

"Teenage girls," Dad grumbles, sitting down on the couch next to Mom.

"Well on the slightly different topic of teenage boys," Mom segues, shooting me a teasing glance. "Guess what your big man George is doing on Saturday...."

My blood boils. I rise loudly and put my dish in the sink before following Sam's path upstairs.

"First date, huh son?" Dad laughs after she tells him.

"Oh don't get mad George, we're just teasing!" Mom calls after me.

But I don't want to hear it. Fuck it, fuck them, fuck this vicious double standard that I did not ask to be apart of. It's all so unfair.

But even more unfair is the fact that, for Sam and me, it's flipped. I should be the one getting yelled at for breathing in the same direction as the opposite sex, while he gets patted on the back for it.

Not that the standard isn't completely fucked up on its own, but if it has to exist, it could at least exist the right way for us.

------------

In our room, I find Sam sitting slouched over on his bed as he curses out our parents under his breath. This wouldn't concern me too much....if he wasn't also clutching a rather large pair of scissors in his right hand.

"Sam, no!" I run and practically tackle him, causing us both to fall to the ground.

"OW! Dammit, Rose. what are you—?"

"You'll be okay, it'll be fine!" I assure him as I try to wrestle the scissors out of his hand, but he holds on tight. "God, I'm sorry I was a bitch to you at school today, alright? I love you, you don't need to do this. You'll be—"

"Rosie, chill out, would you?" he laughs, yanking his arm out of my tight grasp. "I'm not going to hurt myself."

Oh. I sit up. "Then why....?" I motion to the scissors.

He stands wordlessly and walks toward our mirror, an area of our room he rarely ventures to. It's only then that I notice he's taken his hair out of it's usual bun so that it hangs halfway down his back. He grabs a chunk of it in his left hand and holds the scissors to it with his right. "This is the only other way I can show them I'm a boy," he whispers. "It's the only thing I haven't done yet, just short of telling them to drop the 's' when they call me she...."

He shakes his head and releases his hair. He returns to the spot on his bed where I found him, still clutching the scissors tightly. "I just wish I had the balls to do it," he sighs.

"No pun intended?" I ask.

He laughs softly, releasing the scissors so they fall to the floor. I bend to pick them up, making sure to place them in the top drawer of my dresser when he's not looking.

I notice that Sam also took off Cody's jacket at some point, as it sits bunched up on top of his pillow. "You're not seriously going to sleep with that, are you?" I ask, motioning to it. "I think that crosses the line just a bit, bro."

"It's not creepy if he never finds out about it," he jokes before reaching over and moving the jacket from his pillow to his desk. "Oh and by the way, he told me to tell you that you need to stand up for yourself more."

I feel my face grow hot. "He really said that?" I guess he's super tired of standing up for me all the time, though I still don't see why he does it in the first place.

"Yeah, I don't know," says Sam. "Though I have to agree with him. But you already know what I think you should do, and you never listen to me, so...."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, sorry I never take your self-defense advice, Detention McGee."

"Hey, I resent that!" he complains. He's mostly facing the wall still, but I can see a tiny smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"I'm sorry, but didn't you get four detentions on your first day of school?"

"Yes, but they were all revoked on grounds of sympathy, and that was a month ago!"

I laugh. "Was it a month ago? Well somebody call Guinness World Records."

His tiny smile breaks into a wide grin and we both burst into laughter. I don't think either of us even remember why we were fighting earlier.

"Hey, speaking of world records, I don't think I've ever seen a girl with such hairy arms," he says, reaching over to pinch me. "Do you have a condition of some kind?"

I bend over cackling. I can't be offended; everything's funny now. "You have the biggest tits I've ever seen on a man!" I manage to spit out amidst my own laughter. "Girls all over the world want to know your secret!"

We're laughing so hard now we can hardly breathe. We chase each other around the room, pinching and teasing each other.

"I bet you wish you had my boobs!"

"I bet you wish you had my dick!"

And nothing is offensive or triggering because, in this moment, we both understand each other so damn well. We can laugh with each other without feeling laughed at. This is such a rarity for us, to both be in good humor at the same time. I have missed laughing with my brother so much, and I just want to enjoy it.

If only I didn't have this nagging sensation that, after tonight, we won't be laughing together again for a very long time.