Chapter One

My twin and I are often told how lucky we are. Some say something along the lines of, “you’ll never be lonely. Others comment on how rare twins are. On occasion, we might come across a particularly negative person who might say, “too bad you’re not identical.”

Personally, I am quite glad we are not identical. My twin sister, Audrey, is very happy with her genetically given traits and I am more than content with mine. Most of my physical traits matter little to me, though I am extremely grateful for my Y chromosome. Once, when we were in early elementary school, I asked Audrey what she thought of her own appearance. She glared at me and then walked away, and I haven’t made any similar inquiries since.

I hold a brand new CD, perfectly shiny and reflective, and slide it into the side of my laptop to burn a copy of my latest song, called Holes in my Socks. My best friend Amy and I keep a book full of disks, each one only containing one song. That way we don’t have to skip to find the song we want. She and I have been writing and recording our own music for about a year now, though we haven’t had many fans or followers. Our method of storing our songs drives Audrey up the wall; she’s always seeking the latest and best technology to store her research and experiments.

As far as interests go, my twin and I couldn’t be more different. My obsession is music, and her’s is psychology. My idols are lead singers of my favorite bands, her idols are Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung. Ever since she read a book about Jung’s archetypes when we were six, she’s spent her weekends considering theories on behavioral patterns and testing them on me and my friends.

As I begin up the stairs on the way to her room, I hear Taylor Swift playing from her laptop. She always listens to Taylor Swift when she’s working, and I groan knowing how hard it will be to get her to listen to my new song and give any sort of relevant feedback. I turn the corner in the hallway, careful not to smudge the CD. I probably should have emailed her the mp3 instead of burning a disk. Now I’m going to have to hear her tease about how I must have traveled from the 80s.

I stop just before knocking. Why wasn’t she singing along? She always sings along, provided that there are no people in the room. I slowly opened the door and dropped the CD. I screamed as I saw why she wasn’t singing.