Ah, eighth grade year. I remember it well, almost as though it was yesterday. Or even today, just before lunch. As a matter of fact, I remember it with such startling clarity that I can even remember the look on my sister's sweet, sweet face when she got me out of bed the morning of our first day.
"Hey, stupid, wake up!"
Ah, she has ever been the more diplomatic of the two of us.
~~
Now, to the best of my understanding, this is where I jump in and explain the events leading up to important part of the story. However, that year's happenings hold very little meaning in the grant scheme of things, so in lieu of a long winded explanation, I'll give you the abridged version.
My sister Shira and I had just moved into the neighborhood at the tender age of thirteen, the prospect of a new life and a brand new school proving to be a real treat after thirteen years of the same old house. Mom seemed pleased with the area too. After all, her in-laws weren't in the area (there was also the guarantee of a family tree that actually branched if we moved far, far away from everyone who was even remotely related), and Daddy finally had a job he didn't hate. What more could you ask for with just a few months of searching? Yes, things were really looking up.
We started school shortly after moving in, and ran into ninety percent of the town's teens there. Now, that wasn't to say that it was a small town, really. It was decently good-sized. However, most of the population consisted of young couples or senior citizens. Little brats and grown up kids. And in the middle, a handful of teenagers born to parents who started to early or too late.
It kind of felt like we were members of a special club.
Needless to say, we turned some heads on our first day. Then again, I can't think of a crows that wouldn't turn to stare at their new classmates. Blonde-haired, green eyed new classmates, and, forgive my arrogance, attractive ones at that. Throw in the fact that we were identical twins, and we were assured our seat as center of attention throughout that year.
What our new schoolmates were probably expecting (because face it; all teenagers believe there is some accuracy to the blonde stereotype, at least to some extent) and what they got were two very different things. Shira and I were B/C students, much more interested in art and poetry than actual academic subjects. Had we not been graced with an engineer-slash-technician father and a college-professor mother, we would probably have been straight D students.
We also would have started a fight club, I figure, and we might have even gotten away with it before sophomore year. Eh, well. You have to take the good with the bad, I suppose.
In all of the months we'd spent there, my sister and I had only made two real friends- a scrawny young fellow who looked too young for his age by the name of Salem, and a much bigger young man who we both figured would end up playing football, Eliot. They seemed like a strange pair, at first. At least as different as night and day. However, I decided eventually that they had both been gangly and awkward when they'd met, and Eliot was just growing faster.
I also decided that "Salem" was much too badass for a little thing like that, and he was forever more Sally in my mind. Even after his growth spurt in late December (several weeks before his voice dropped; that was an awkward phase for him, and for all of us), the name stuck.
As a matter of fact, even when he decided that he was lying to himself and I decided that I could stand to use some arm-candy, I still called him that.
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