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2
ROSE
Doubt- Twenty One Pilots
61 days until Viktor…
The low sun of this November afternoon makes her hair shine like gold. She keeps staring at me, more particularly the bruise at the corner of my lips. Then her eyes dart to my twin, Jake, and back to what’s in front of her. He was beaten up only a few days ago and is sporting more purple and blue spots than I am.
She’s got a hallway pass in her hand and is waiting behind Hannah and Thomas Murray to talk to the school receptionist. Our new foster parents are signing us up for our last year of middle school in our new town. Stoneview. A smile slowly starts to spread on my lips.
I did it.
I got us out.
I can’t seem to think for more than two seconds of the fact that I shot my own flesh and blood. Or that by running away from Mateo Bianco, I also left behind the boy I’ve always loved.
I can’t think of any of that because something feels right. It makes my body light as a feather, tastes like cold water on a summer afternoon, and smells like freshly cut lilies.
Freedom.
If I could put a physical form to it, it would probably look like the girl waiting while Jake and I are sitting on the seats to the side. Her hair is bright, her skin pale. Her baby blue eyes keep darting to us and then she glances away. She looks so peaceful. She looks like a kid who had a normal childhood.
I want to be her.
The Murrays are invited to walk into the principal’s office, so we’ll just be waiting here until they’re done.
The girl moves forward.
“Hello,” she enunciates clearly as she shows her hallway pass. “Mr. Ashton said he was missing ten textbooks after lending them to Miss—”
“Ah, yes,” the receptionist cuts her off. “Wait here, I’ll get them for you.”
After two trips, the receptionist brought all the books back. “Are you going to be alright carrying them all?”
“Uh…” she hesitates. “I didn’t think of that.”
“I can help,” Jake says. “Is it far?”
“On the other side of the road,” the receptionist replies. “But…” Her mouth twists while she scrutinizes Jake’s bruises.
“I’ll do it.” I smile at the girl. “I’ll take five, you take five.”
I get up and grab the other half of the pile. “Thanks,” she whispers shyly.
We’re waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green when I talk again. “Do you go to the high school side?”
“Yeah,” she nods. “I’m a freshman. Do you go here? I’ve never seen you around.”
“I’m going to start eighth grade next week. Do you like it here?”
“I prefer it on days when my best friend doesn’t leave me behind to sit with a guy just so she can flirt with him.”
I blink a couple of times to try and get my head around what she just said. This sounds like such a stupid problem to have. Sonormal.
She’s mad that her friend is flirting with someone and not sitting next to her in class…
I love it.
