Sam

Math has been my least favorite class for as long as I can remember. It's useless and confusing and I hate it. Even in elementary school when we were learning multiplication and division and adding fractions, I was the last one to master it every time. Numbers just don't click for me like they do for most people, I guess.

Rose, on the other hand....god, I'd give anything to have her brains. Always the top in everything math and science related. People who don't bully her call her Georgie the Genius, and are only nice to her with the hope that she'll let them copy her homework.

Math has always been Rosie's favorite class. Even when she's having a horrible day, she says that doing math calms her. Which is why I know that something's seriously wrong when she walks in to algebra looking like she's about to cry.

Anxious to hear what happened, I motion her towards the seat next to me in the back of the class, but before she can sit down a boy I've never seen before drops into the seat like he owns it. He's extremely pale, even paler than me, with inky black hair, a pierced eyebrow, and a cocky smile.

"Hey," he says, his tone heavy with creepy flirtation. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Dan. I'm new in town-"

"Dude, that spot's taken," I snap at him, trying to convey my disinterest with every word.

"Yeah, by me," He flashes me a toothy grin that would probably make any pathetic teenage girl fall over giggling. I just glare at him.

"No, by my brother. Now move."

Dan glances up at Rose who is standing awkwardly behind the chair. He raises his eyebrows. "Ohhh, so you're the weird twins everyone keeps telling me about? The ones that have the creepy incest thing going on?"

What the fuck?

"Ew, no. We're just close-"

"Then why do you guys have to do everything together?" a random girl I don't even know butts in from across the room.

Because we need each other. Because we're the only ones who understand each other. "Because we're friends!" I yell, hoping to god that the teacher doesn't walk in and hand me my fourth write-up of the day.

"Pfft. Sure, whatever," the girl rolls her eyes and turns back in her seat.

"No, they can't have something going on," another nosy girl says to Nosy Girl #1. "They're both gay. Haven't you heard?"

Another nameless girl agrees with this statement. Blushing furiously, Dan leaps up from the seat and rushes to sit as far away from me as possible. Before long, the first three girls plus two others are gossiping loudly, sharing their own theories about what's up with the Wyatt twins as if they both aren't standing right here.

Without warning, my temper shoots up to boiling point. "SHUT UP!" I yell, and the girls stop talking at once. "WHY CANT YOU STUPID BITCHES JUST MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS??!"

At that moment, the teacher walks in late with a cup of coffee from the break room (which teachers in high school seem to love doing). "Who was screaming?" he asks.

All fingers point at me.

"You see me after class, missy."

I sink down into my chair, red-faced and defeated.

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

Rose

After math, I hang around by the door while Mr. Smith hands Sam a pink slip and lectures him about maturity and integrity and blah blah blah. More than once, I'm sure I hear him use the phrase "young lady" and I can see the pain in Sam's eyes. I can't decide who's having the worst day, me or him.

One thing's for sure, by the time we get to Speech class, we're both exhausted and ready to go home. It's been one hell of a first day for both of us.

Sam and I are claiming our usual seats in the back of the classroom when I hear Kelsey calling me from the front.

"George! Over here!"

I look up. Her and Brianna are both motioning me to an empty seat beside them in the very front row. I grimace a little, much preferring to stay in the back row where I'm not as much of a target.

But not wanting to be rude by turning them down, I give Sam an apologetic smile before making my way towards the front.

However, that's when someone grabs me by the chain of my necklace, which I've just now realized I forgot to tuck back under my clothes after gym.

"Are you fucking serious?" Edgar laughs, reaching for the heart charm and holding it out for people to see. "Is this the gayest thing ever or what?"

I can almost sense Sam ready to jump to my defense, but I hold up a hand as a symbol for him to back off. He's gotten in enough trouble today already. "Leave it," I whisper.

"Hey Sam, did you know that your brother wears your jewelry?" Edgar taunts. "I mean, I always knew he was weird but this is a whole new level of gay. Does he dress up in drag, too?"

"I'll kick your ass, Thompson, I swear to god I will," Sam hisses, ignoring my silent pleading. I hate it when he does this. I mean, I appreciate that he wants to stand up for me, honestly I do. I just wish that he wouldn't do it in ways that draw so much attention.

Luckily, the bell rings and the teacher enters before things could get anymore out of hand. Still laughing, Edgar finally relinquishes me and returns to his seat towards the front. Deciding that there's no way I'm sitting up there now, I turn around and go back to my chair next to Sam.

"Good afternoon, everyone," says the all-business woman at the front of the room. She's extremely tall, wears slacks and a blazer, and has her dark hair up in a tight bun. Everything about her gives the impression that this is not someone you want to mess with. "My name is Ms. O'Brian, and welcome to speech class."

"Oh, and by the way," she walks towards Edgar and places a pink slip on his desk in front of him. "What I saw as I walked in just earned you a detention."

Edgar's face goes red and he looks down, and I hear Sam scoff from beside me. Obviously he's grateful that it wasn't him getting in trouble, for once.

"First thing you need to know about me is that I do not tolerate bullying of any kind in my classroom," Ms. O'Brian continues. "Nor do I entertain any of the social drama you teenagers seem to enjoy. You are in here to learn, and that is all. Any personal problems you have, you can drop them off at the door and pick them up when you leave to go home."

I can't help but smirk at the way this part of her introduction seems to be directed at the left side of the room, where all the "popular kids" are gathered. I'm hopeful that this can actually be a class where Sam and I can both feel safe.

"I am perfectly aware that the majority of you do not want to be here," Ms. O'Brian goes on in the same monotone, as she begins passing out sheets of paper to everyone. "But as you all know, this class is required to graduate, so I expect you to put forth your best effort regardless."

Edgar almost makes one of his snide comment, but Ms. O'Brian shoots him a look and he quickly shuts his mouth.

"Now, on to the syllabus that you all should have in front of you by now. I'd like you to silently read along as I go over it...."

But Sam appears to have already read ahead, and looks a bit troubled. "Uh oh," he whispers, careful to keep his voice at a level that cannot be heard. "Um, Rose?"

"What?" I whisper back.

"Look at this." He points to the part of the page that describes the curriculum:

In this class, you are required to complete a written speech over an assigned topic every two weeks. At the end of each two-week period, we will have a day purely for reading speeches aloud. However, you do not have to read yours aloud if you do not want to, as long as you turn in your written copy to me at the end of the day....

I look up at Sam and shrug. "So?," I whisper. "I'm good at writing. II mean, not like you are, but I'm alright. 'll just choose not to read mine aloud."

He shakes his head and points to the very last paragraph, which I hadn't read yet:

FINAL PROJECT

For your final exam at the end of the semester, you will be required to give a ten minute long oration over a topic of your choice. This must be given aloud, in front of the entire class. NO EXCEPTIONS!

I gulp, the reality of what I will have to do suddenly hitting me.

I do not like to talk; this is a fact. For as long as I can remember, I have avoided speaking unless absolutely necessary, using Sam as my voice in most social situations. Because of this, of course, I have been dreading speech class since the day I found out it was a graduation requirement.

However, I was fully prepared to fight to the death over having to speak out loud in front of everyone, even if it meant forging a doctor's note or slipping the teacher a twenty dollar bill. But something tells me Ms. O'Brian would not be swayed by either of those things. Even if I elect not to speak for the entire year, there will be no escaping the final exam.

It isn't until I feel Sam squeeze my hand under the table that I realize I'm on the edge of a panic attack. "Hey," he whispers. "You'll be fine."

I nod, even though I know it isn't true, and return my attention to the teacher to distract myself.

"....And again," she is saying. "You are not at all required to speak before the final exam. However, I highly recommend that you do, so that you know what you need to work on before you're actually graded on it."

I have to admit, that makes sense. But I'm still not going to do it. Nope, not a chance.

"Now, that's enough of that. Time to take some notes!"

There's a collective groan from the class that Ms. O'Brian ignores. She is clearly aware that she is the only teacher who is assigning notes on the first day of school, and doesn't give a damn. "To start things off, we will be learning about the different types of speeches...."

Everyone reluctantly pulls out their notebooks to take notes, but I just put my head down on my desk in defeat. I have no interest in learning about the different types of speeches. I've had a very long day.

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

Sam

The bell signaling the end of this torturous day rings at 3:30, and I swear to god Rose and I are out the door and half a block away from the school before most people have left their classrooms.

"God, what a fucking day," I mutter, pulling my hair out of it's messy bun. It flows down past my shoulders in annoying waves. I want to leave it up, but my dad told me a few days ago that he wants to see me wearing it down more often. He says it makes me look more like a girl.

I wish I could scream, Obviously! That's the fucking point!

Meanwhile, Rose is removing the necklace I gave her this morning. She hands it back to me reluctantly, and I put it on my own neck with just as much reluctance.

"I wish I could keep that," she says about the necklace. "I wish I could wear it every day and never have to take it off."

Her eyes are so full of despair when she says this, reminding me quite suddenly of the way she looked when she came into math class. I need to know what happened.

"Hey, you never told me what happened to you in gym class," I remark, trying to sound casual.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Rose, come on, just tell me."

"I don't want to talk about it," she repeats in the same tone.

I frown. She hasn't done this to me in a while. "Rose," I insist, despite her obviously growing discomfort. "You can tell me. I swear I won't do anything, I just want to know-"

"I don't want to talk about it!" She practically screams, halting in her tracks. "Just shut up, okay?!"

I'm speechless. What the hell did I do? I can't help but feel slightly offended, seeing as how I'm sure her day couldn't have been worse than mine, but it wouldn't do any good to snap back at her. We continue our walk home in silence.

We open our front door to find that, just as we had expected, Dad came home early for our birthday.

"Surprise!" He says, even though he does this every year. Still in his uniform and reeking of the army, he wraps us both in a hug. Even though he has recently been promoted to head of the security department at the local military base, he still has to wear the dumb uniform. 

"Hey guys!" Mom calls from the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready soon. I'm making both of your favorites!"

This means barbecue chicken with mashed potatoes for me, and spaghetti and meatballs for Rose; two completely normal meals when served by themselves, but that are always combined specially for our birthday.

Rose and I drop our stuff off by the door and follow our dad to the living room to talk. This is not so much a birthday tradition as it is a first-day-of-school tradition. He wants to hear all about our day. In other words, it's lying time.

"Sammie, you let your hair down!" Dad remarks proudly as we all take our seats on the couch.

I just nod, resisting the habitual impulse to tie it back up with the hairband around my wrist. Oh, how I wish I could just chop it all off.

"So, how was school?" Dad asks. "Do you guys have a lot of classes together?"

"Just three," I say. "Biology, algebra, and speech."

"That's right, you have to take speech this year. That'll be a tough one for you, huh kiddo?" Dad says to Rose, chuckling.

Rose shrugs.

"Well, at least you'll have your sister there to help you out," he tries to reassure her. "She's always been the wordy one, hasn't she?"

Rose shrugs again.

"Hey, I understand. Your mom's a lot better at communicating than I am. It must be a woman thing." He chuckles again, and this time Rose doesn't even grant him a shrug.

I try to think of other things to say, while still leaving out the part where both of us felt like we were in hell. "Um, our teachers are pretty cool," I say, which is definitely stretching it a bit. "I mean, the speech teacher is kind of a hard ass, but in a good way. At least she won't let anyone screw around in class."

"And how was gym?" Dad asks, having only the vaguest idea of how much we hate that class.

"Fine for me," (outright lie). "And for George....well, he hasn't told me."

Rose, who had been staring down at her shoes for awhile, snaps her head up and shoots a glare at me. We both know that it's my job to speak for her like she's already told me all about her day, but I'm still kind of pissed at her for screaming at me on the way home. Anyway, it won't kill her to contribute two words to this god damn conversation.

Dad stares at her expectantly, and she blushes. As usual when faced with an unexpected question, she seems to have completely forgotten how to speak. "Um....f-fine?" She whispers.

Dad raises his eyebrows. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Um, fine," she states in a normal tone this time, still blushing furiously.

"Just fine?"

"....yeah?"

Dad keeps staring at her, waiting to hear more. I immediately feel guilty for doing this to her. God, I'm such a dick.

Knowing that she'll have a panic attack if the spotlight doesn't come off her soon, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Can I please get a haircut?"

Dad turns straight back to me. "What?"

"I-it's just that....in gym class-" I try to connect my outburst to the previous conversation. "I was running, and it kept getting in the way."

"So tie it back," he says simply.

"But it's just so annoying!"

"Samantha, we've talked about this," his tone is irritatingly firm. "We both know that if we even let you get a trim, you'll walk out with a pixie cut. The answer is no."

"But why can't I get a pixie cut?" I whine, internally flinching at the term. I don't want a pixie cut. I want a regular boy's haircut.

Just then, Mom calls out "Dinner's ready!"

"This discussion is over, Samantha," Dad says, standing up. (Is it just me, or did he emphasize my full first name?). "I understand that you've always been a bit of a tomboy, but you're growing up. It's time you start behaving more like a young lady."

On his way to the dining room, he pauses by Rose. "You, on the other hand, need a haircut," he says. "You're starting to look like a girl." He jokingly punches her in the shoulder, then leaves the room chuckling.

We follow him, and I can't help but notice that Rose looks quite a bit more cheerful.

I smile. Dad may have thought that he was teasing his "son" with that last comment, but little did he know that he had just made his daughter's day.

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

Rose

After dinner, we do the birthday cake thing. This year, it's a large, marble cake with chocolate frosting. Happy Birthday Sam and George! is written elegantly in between fourteen candles.  As our parents sing the stupid song, I can't help but feel jealous, as I do every year, that Sam gets his name written correctly purely because Samantha wouldn't fit on the cake.

After the cake thing, our parents finally let us escape to our room to do our homework. (Even though Ms. O'Brian was the only one who actually gave us any).

Once we reach our bedroom and shut the door, we both exhale loudly from exhaustion. And it truly is exhausting to keep up the expected personas in front of our parents. I don't know about Sam, but sometimes I'm not sure if I can keep up this charade until I'm eighteen.

Almost immediately once we shut the door, Sam starts tying his hair back again. He frowns in the mirror on our wall, obviously disappointed by his reflection, but I can't help but wonder if he's still mad at me.

"Thanks for bailing me out back there," I tell him. "Both times."

Sam sighs. "It's fine," he says. "I shouldn't have thrown you under the bus earlier."

I shrug. "I shouldn't have yelled at you on our way home. We cool now?"

He smirks. "Yeah, sure. We cool."

I hit him with a pillow, laughing at his imitation of me. "Hey, can I copy your speech notes? I kind of zoned out in that class."

"Yeah, I noticed. You had a good excuse, though." He bends down to dig his notebook out of his backpack, and it's then that I catch sight of my own reflection in the mirror, remembering what my dad said earlier. Am I really starting to look like a girl?

I smile at the thought. My dark brown hair is almost past the nape of my neck, and I purposely wear my bangs in the most feminine way possible. I'm thankfully quite scrawny, and my skin is still fairly smooth. If I were to wear a dress, would strangers assume me to be female?

I refocus on my hair, imagining a universe where my parents didn't care how long I let it grow. How long, I wonder, would it take for it to reach the length of Sam's? Or of the lovely Miss Vaughn's? I can see it now: I would let it grow and grow until it falls down my back and over my shoulders in waves, resembling a silky chocolate waterfall, framing contoured cheekbones and red painted lips....

"Earth to Rose!"

"Huh?" I snap back to reality and find myself back staring at my reflection: an extremely disappointing sight after my elaborate fantasy.

"Do you want to copy my notes or continue zoning out?" Sam asks, holding his notebook out to me.

"Sorry," I mutter, even though I actually just want to sleep. Somehow, I'm feeling more depressed now than I've felt all day.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam asks, all humor gone from his voice.

"I'm fine," I say, trying and failing to sound that way. I accept the notebook, only to have Sam take it right back from me.

"No, you know what?" He says, throwing the notes aside. "You don't need that bullshit."

But-"

"Relax, it's kindergarten stuff," he assures me, grinning. "You don't need it. What you need-" he reaches under the bed and pulls out the makeup kit. "Is this!"

"Dude," I laugh nervously. "I can't do it while it's still light out. What if Mom and Dad walk in?"

"Then they'd be in for one hell of a shock, wouldn't they?"

I laugh louder, now more excited than scared. But still. "I don't know...."

"Come on," Sam begs. "Let's do the whole nine yards! We'll play the game we played when we were kids: I'll wear your clothes and you can wear mine, and if one of them walks in on us, we'll come out!"

I'm smiling my widest now, filled with nostalgia at the mention of our oldest game, but still indecisive.

"It's been a hellish day for both of us," Sam reminds me. "We deserve this."

He's right. "Okay," I give in. "Let's play dress up."

And that's how we waste away the final hours of our birthday.