Chapter Two

By Carly, from Joli's perspective

I rolled out of bed at my usual time, five a.m. without an alarm clock. I've been getting  up this early since sixth grade, and now that I'm in tenth, it has just become a habit. I make a beeline towards the bathroom where I usually spend most of my time in the morning. Once I'm in, I hop into the shower. Shampoo (rinse and repeat, of course) and condition (Bumble and Bumble, yes). About twenty minutes later I'm out. I change into my outfit that I set out yesterday night. A white camisole with a baby blue cardigan by Liz Claiborne and a mini-skirt. I adjusted my carigan so the ends were loosley tied around my waist. My white Marc Jacob kitten heels were set of to the side for later. 
Hair. I grab my several hair creams and products and run them through my waist-length auburn hair. I got the curse of my mothers frizziness, but still had her beautiful curls. After I was finished, I grabbed my light purple hair dryer and turned it on high heat until it was just a little damp. Finally, I grabbed my mousse and squirted an egg size amount and sqeezed it through my hair, and thats when Charlotte came in. I hated that we had to share a bathroom. Yes, she only takes up so much space because she doesn't use, like, anything for her hair or face, but still. Her chin length, bright red, extreamly curly hair was everywhere. It was so embarrassing that she was my sister. She didn't own one designer piece of anything! I mean, we live in Northbury, Conneticut and go to Norhtbury High, where being preppy is cool, and she didn't have the slightest intrest to be preppy, which is why she only has one friend. We're rich, and she doen't even take advantedge of it. We also have absolutley nothing in common, despite the fact that we are fraternal twins. The same deep green eyes is where it ends. I'm tall, she's short, I'm popular, she's well... her, and our personalities are so far off that I sometimes question if we were really blood-related.
She walked over and ran a brush through her horrible hair. I crinkled my small nose, digusted by her lack of careness to how she looked.
"Geez, Charlotte. You could at least try to look cool," I told her. I tell her that all the time but she just ignores me. I try to help her out, and she's not even greatfull. She rolled her eyes at me.
"I wish you would stop calling me that. It's Charlie. And there are more important things then being like every other prep out there," she told me as she grabbed some eyeliner and stomped out of the room. No, there really wasn't. Non-preps get made fun of and are always last for anything. Charlotte doesn't know what people say when she's not around. I can't believe you two are related! I mean, she's so... different. And her hair, I mean come on, it must be super embarrassing for you, Joli.
Oh, my God, did you see her today? Another band tee-shirt. She is such a loser. Her and her stupid other friend, Willow, or Willie, I don't even know.
I said to myself that it was Willow, and I keep quiet. I also say that she loves her hair color, but I keep quiet. Yes, I say these things about her too, but it feels wrong when other people say it, but I still don't say anything. I don't hate Charlotte, but she has never done anything nice for me, with the exeption of driving me everywhere, because I failed the test and didn't see the point in taking it when I have her.
 I want to tell her, but it's not worth the risk. At Northbury High, romours spread. Fast.
Before I could pity her more, I look in the mirror one last time and grab my Prada tote bag that I use for school. I glanced at the clock. 7:35. Crap. I can't ruin my perfect attendence record. Plus, we have to pick up Donald, my current and lovely boyfriend. Thats at least ten minutes out of the way and school starts at 8:05.
I run downstairs and find Dad and Charlotte at the table, her eating a bowl of cereal. Yuck.
"We need to leave, now! I cannot be late and we have to pick up Donald," I told her quickly while I left and went outside to the car. She came in about two minutes later, looking so annoyed. She hated that she had to drive me everywhere, but I couldn't care less.
Ten miles later, Donald comes into the car sitting next to me. He was so cute. He had short blonde hair that was in some kind of an updo today, with gel of something, and had deep blue eyes. His pale skin fit him nicely. He greeted me by kissing me. I liked the PDA, but it made Charlotte want to puke. I also didn't care about that. He pulled away and whispered into my ear, his breath warm, going down my neck.
"I think she hates me," he said. I giggled because thats exactly what she thinks of him. She calls him just another one of my weekly dud boyfriends, but at least I have one. The furthest she's even gone with a boy is talking on the phone. Maybe.
I just kissed him lightly again and told him, "I think you're right." He laughed. Thats one of the things I love about him, he doesn't care at all what people think or say about him. He is very laid back, which sometimes I don't like because I was almost late several times but everyone has baggage. He's not a slacker, but I just think he likes me so much that he pretends not to care.
We arrived at school and Charlotte parked and walked out as quickly as possible.
"Finally," Donald said as he pulled me up onto his lap and kissed me. His hands tangled into my hair, holding me close.
"Donald," I said and pulled away. It was almost 8.
"Come on, baby, lets just skip first hour," he said. He kissed me again and I was on the edge of giving up, but I made my hands push him away and sit on the other side of him.
"No," I said and got out of the car. He knew it bugged me, and that I didn't want to be late, but he still does it.
I was walking to the school when my phone rang.
"I'm not going to pick up, Donald," I said over my shoulder. But as I was about to hit ignore, I saw that it was a text, and it was from Dad. I hit "read."
    --- Joli, please talk to Charlie and try to get along with her. This has been going on for a while, and your mother and I want it to stop. Love lots, Dad
I stoped and read it again. And again. Why would he tell me this now? And I know my dad, our fighting has been going on since we were five, he would of stopped it if he wanted to by now. This worried me. Something was up. What if he was dying and wanted us to get along until... What if Mom is... I was so curious and worried that I can't even finish my sentences. What if...
I had to tell Charlotte. Something tells me that she wouldn't care, but I think she deserves to know. What was her first class? English? Math? No, it was art. I remember her talking about it when we ate last night. Gosh, she's in love with art. I hate art, just another difference. I walked up to the building and headed straight for the art room, ignoring the first bell. That was unimportant right now. I could feel my heart race as I thought of the possibilities of why my dad would text me, and now. Did he text Charlotte, too?
I ran into the art room and looked around frantically, then found the one pair of eyes I was looking for.