didsomeoneeatmybluecake

[didsomeoneeatmybluecake]

Writing dump TwoFace

Chapter One 

Graduation didn’t feel like an end—it felt like the beginning of a question I wasn’t ready to answer.  

Her voice came out in a cool, joyful tone. The valedictorian--- Yvonne Colter--- had the voice of an angel, words drifting over the student body and their families like cool water. 

I had my sweaty hands folded in my lap. She was nearly done with her speech. 

Glancing around, I saw my mother listening to Yvonne, a polite smile on her face. Her long wavy blonde hair was in a tight braid, swept over her shoulder. She had on a green dress flecked with daisies. Sitting next to her was my grandmother. I smiled brightly before turning back to Yvonne, whose speech was coming to a neat close at ten minutes. Cheers and applause all around the room. 

Our principal, Mrs. Abadi, came up to the podium on top of the stage and thanked Yvonne for her “proper, wonderful speech.” Then she proceeded to give her own, almost doubling the last, until she finally said, “I now present Mr. Thomas Simms from the District Board of Malwhip County!” Ricocheting claps and whistles. 

A tall man dressed up in a blue suit came to the podium as Mrs. Abadi sat back down. “It is an honor to address all of you today!” Shouts from a few over- excited seniors. “I was once told that there is hope in everybody. Now, as I stand before you, I see hope under all your eyes. Hope, but something else as well; Courage. 

“I see courage, strength, and a prosperous future in everyone’s face.” 

Mr. Simms’s voice was deep and comforting. His words seemed to put the whole student body under a trance; no one moved, no one spoke or called out encouragement. But it was over far too soon in 5 minutes. 

Echoing across the room were cheers, claps, whistles, and shouts. 

And then Mrs. Abadi resumed her place after shaking hands with Mr. Simms, and said, “Graduating Senior Class of 20--, please rise from your seats!” 

I stood up on shaking legs, clammy hands clasped together in front of me. I towered over almost everybody at six foot two. “As a last word from me, our wonderful faculty, and everybody present here today, thank you and good luck wherever you may go!” 

Even more clapping as the first row moved right in single-file and wound to the back of the stage, ready to be called. 

A man called out the first name after circling to the front of the podium. “Elijah Marcus Arnolds!” Mrs. Abadi held out his diploma as a skinny, pale boy made his way across the stage and received his diploma, shaking hands with Mrs. Abadi and doing the same to every teacher and Mr. Simms as he crossed the stage, went down the steps, and resumed his seat in the first row. By then the man had called three more names, “Tyler Dennis Banshou, Lisa Marie Banshou, Raymond Timothy Blissett!” 

Gradually, we moved forward. Soon the second and third row had gone, and the fourth row (my row) was winding along. 

I was on the stage. People were practically humming with excitement and nerves.  

“Trinee Ramona-Jasmine Houston!” The girl in front of me moved forward to a large swell of cat calls and clapping. She had been voted in the yearbook as “Most Likely to Become a Supermodel.” I remember laughing at the time, but now I understood. 

Then it was me. “Imogene Viola Hudsen!” 

I forced myself to move forward and listened to the ringing of courteous applause in my ears. I shook hands with Mrs. Abadi and received my high school diploma.  

This was it. I was officially a graduate. 

I shook hands with the staff and Mr. Simms, then left the stage and resumed my seat. 

I did it. I really did it. 

I looked across the room once again and saw my mother beaming at me with her crystal blue eyes and honey blonde hair. I looked nothing like my mother; curly burgundy hair, yellow-flecked green eyes, diamond-shaped face, and not to mention the physique difference. In addition to my height, I was well muscled.    

I smiled back, then turned around to congratulate “Jasher Isaiah Ingram!” 

After “Fabiana Brisa Zepeda!” Mrs. Abadi took to the podium again.  

“I think everyone in here knows that I cherish each and every student that walks through these doors. It is with the utmost pride, admiration, and love that I let you all go today. But as one final remark, I must say that many of you will face hardships along the way. You must stand your ground, and push through those challenges and believe in yourself. Because I, and everyone in this room, believe in you.” She sighed. “But I can see you are all becoming bleary-eyed, so I will keep you for only a few moments more. Please move your tassel from the right side of your cap to the left. Congratulations Class of 20—!” 

I moved my golden tassel to the left and stood up with the rest of the student body. Everyone clapped for us, and we shouted and whistled and cheered right back. A few guys hoisted one another into the air and crowed loudest of all. 

Eventually, we dispersed to our families. I ran right into the slender arms of my mother. She stood up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. 

“Hi, Oma,” I said to the just-as-small figure beside my mom. 

My grandmother’s silver hair was bundled at the nape of her neck, and she wore a long white dress with pearls. 

Her German accent that she could never quite shake was full of joy. “You luk abzolutely parfect.” 

I hugged my grandmother tightly and let them lead me to the car, an old black Volkswagen Eos.  

I looked back at the two-story brick building, now flooded with graduates accompanied by their friends and family. 

I climbed into the Eos. A minute later, we were passing the brick sign that read, in chunky white letters, OXSFURROW HIGH SCHOOL. Below that, in a smaller script, Home of the Oxen. I stared at the sign as we passed it. 

Four... well, not perfect years, but good years all the same. I would miss my advanced science class and foreign languages. But now, I was on my way to college, to study microbiology for another 8-16 years. 

“Genie?” asked my mom from the front. “Are you okay?” 

I was suddenly aware of the tears on my cheeks. She was looking at me in the rearview mirror. 

Hastily, I wiped my face and said, “I’m fine, Mom.” 

Oma laughed. “Vait until you ghet home.” 

I closed my eyes and twisted the grad cap in my hands. I let the wind toss around my waterfall-designed curls as I leaned against the seat. 

I only opened my eyes when we came to a full stop seven minutes later. We were in the driveway of our sky-blue-and-cobbled-stone craftsmen-style house. But you couldn’t distinguish the real color all too well, because our front lawn (and back yard and side yards) was covered in what appeared to be a cross between a jungle and a forest. 

I got out of the Eos and walked along the steppingstone path to the porch, arms crossed over my stomach. In those few moments I had passed hyacinths, a small scarlet oak, marigold bushes, birds of paradise, groups of bluebells, shrubs of honeysuckle, and a small apple tree sporting Yellow Junes. 

And that wasn’t even half of the front. 

Mom unlocked the door, and I was about to go up to my room and take off my gown when a whole crowd of people suddenly swarmed me. 

Aunts, uncles, cousins. All my mother’s family. 

It’s only my mom’s family because I never knew my father. Mom got pregnant at sixteen, and the guy didn’t want anything to do with me. So, while mom went to college and became an anesthesiologist, Oma raised me until the holidays and summers. 

“Hey!” I yelled over the noise. “I didn’t know any of you were going to be here!” 

Internally, I was grateful for such a large house; they wouldn’t have fit otherwise. 

My grandmother and her parents came over from Germany in 1968. She had nine children over the next eleven years with an American man (my late Opa). Those nine children had at least two children each. My oldest cousins have spouses and babies now. 

We went into the dining room, and I stopped dead in my tracks. 

Everything was a war of black and gold. Balloons, streamers, and a large banner that read, Congratulations, Imogene!  

I was a little embarrassed. I offered a sheepish smile to my mother. 

Mom steered me to the head of the table, and whispered in my ear, “Wait ‘til you look in the backyard.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, but no one noticed. 

My family of over-achievers gathered around the huge, set dining table. My mom sat on my right, her oldest sibling, my Uncle Roland, on my left. Oma sat at the other end, and everyone else in between. 

Infront of me was a traditional German meal my grandmother must have made, and my mother’s “more American tastes” scattered around. 

While we ate, Uncle Roland talked to my mother. “How’s my baby sister’s life?” 

My mom smiled. “I’m fine, Roland. And I’m not your baby sister. I’m thirty-four now.” 

“And I’m forty, Trudy. Which makes you my little sister. My littlest sister, in fact. Only Klaus is after you.” 

If the math doesn’t seem to be mathing, let me explain; twins run in my family. All my aunts and uncles had twin children except for my mom. 

Uncle Klaus lifted his head up from his Saumagen, aka stuffed pig’s stomach. I swear, it tastes better than it sounds. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, Klaus,” said his eight older brothers and sisters simultaneously. Then me and my cousins all erupted into giggles. 

Klaus’s wife, my Aunt Charisse, said, “Honestly, how can you eat pig stomach?” 

Klaus stuffed another bit into his mouth and told her, “It tastes just like your Scottish haggis, but better.” 

Uncle Roland told my mom, “You need to visit me more often.” 

“You live all the way up in New York.” 

“So?” 

I lost interest in their mini argument and focused on my twin Tante’s conversation. I only call my Oma’s daughters ‘tante’, which is ‘aunt’ in German. I don’t call my uncles ‘onkel’ because that would be unnecessary. 

“I’m telling you, Verona, that makes no sense.” 

“Really? Please, enlighten me, Valeria.” 

Tante Verona shook her head. “We have younger siblings here. We can’t tell them!” 

The first born in the family was Uncle Roland, then Tantes Valeria and Verona, then Tante Seraphina and Uncle Steffan, then Uncle Jens, then Uncle Harri, then my mother, Trudy, and lastly Uncle Klaus. 

- 

After dinner was over (and my mother’s ‘American dishes’ were consumed by me and my cousins), I went upstairs to my room.  

I folded my gown and placed it on my bed, with my cap over it. I looked down at my outfit: whitewashed jeans, a long-sleeved black blouse with tiny pink flowers, and my new pair of black flats--- the girliest thing I will ever wear. 

Then the pain came. 

I’ve been having headaches since I was a toddler. No medication helps ease the trouble, let alone makes it go away entirely. 

My headaches feel as if a force had repeatedly detonated a small bomb inside my brain. Once, when I was twelve, they got so bad I was hospitalized (to no avail). 

I collapsed on my bed, pressing my long fingers to my temples.  

Deep breaths, I thought, it’ll be over soon. 

It could have been a minute, an hour, or a day later when my mom knocked on the door and said, “Genie? Are you okay?” 

“One of my headaches,” I managed to say. 

Mom rushed into the room and knelt beside me. Her dress went swish against the hardwood floor. “How bad is it?” she asked. 

“Probably a six.” They’ve never dropped below a three. 

She sighed, obviously relieved. Normally, my headaches are eight or nine. 

Mom sat on my bed, rubbing my back until the pain subsided. I looked at my clock. 

We had been there for thirteen minutes. 

I stood and helped my mother get up. “I’m sorry,” I told her. 

“Sorry? Imogene, those headaches aren’t your fault.” She put an arm around my broad shoulders. 

I was silent and followed her out to the backyard. 

Uncle Harri whistled. “No dress?” 

“I hate dresses,” I reminded him, though he hadn’t forgotten. Uncle Harri just liked teasing me for ‘being more boy than girl.’ 

The pergola’s table had been set with fairy lights and desserts. 

“Really?” I asked, exasperated. I smiled and sat down at the head of the table. Instead of my mother sitting next to me, it was my annoying twin cousins on either side. Shay and Robin. 

“Hi, Genie!” They said in unison. They belonged to Klaus. Unfortunately, they inherited all his genetics. Meaning they were about to do something. 

“What is it?” I was over being polite with these two. “Is there a water balloon inside of the cake?” 

“No...” Shay smiled and looked at his sister. 

“We never play pranks twice....” 

I really hated these two sometimes. 

Cautiously, I cut a piece of chocolate cake and took a bite. 

“Okay,” I said. “So, you didn’t lace it with lard.” 

“Take note on that, Shay,” Robin told him. “We can do that at her wedding.” 

“You just got uninvited to something that will never exist.” I sipped on apple juice. 

I finished my cake and studied the twins. Light brown hair, crystal blue eyes, angular jaws.  

“Why are twins so mischievous?” I said to nobody in particular. 

“Not all twins are,” Robin told me. 

“Just us.” Shay took a cinnamon roll from a platter and started peeling it. 

“Dad came up with some cool things for us to try.” 

“Just don’t tell Mom.” 

I sighed. “Wasn’t planning on it.” 

Robin began, “But I think...” 

Shay finished, “That she’s about to find out...” 

They shot sidelong glances at their mother, at the other end of the table. She was cutting into a pie. Before the words, “Aunt Charisse!” were even halfway out of my mouth, the twins were ducking under the table to avoid the splattered mess that had erupted from the center of the fruit pie. 

Aunt Charisse was covered in a mushy rainbow substance. Her normally tan face was a wooden carving of shock. Her jaw was almost on her chest, her pink lipstick totally overrun with blue and green. 

Uncle Klaus, who was sitting next to her, was also smothered by colors. Even I, at the other end of the table, had barely escaped the worst part of the vibrant chaos. I wiped purple slosh out of my mouth and ducked under the tablecloth. The twins were crumpled on the ground in silent laughter, mirthful tears streaming from their blue eyes. I grabbed both by the scruff of their necks, like dogs, and dragged them from their hiding place. It pays off to be strong. 

I held them up on either side of me. Not unlike a cartoon where the super cool detective catches the bad guys. But I wasn’t throwing Robin and Shay into a jail cell. 

I was handing them over to something much, much worse. 

Chapter Two 

Uncle Klaus came out of shock first. He grabbed his first set of twins from my grasp and heaved them inside the house. My mother was wiping everything, including Aunt Charisse, with paper towels. She went through five rolls, her and I making routine trips into the house, and she had barely cleaned the first quarter of the long table. 

Shay and Robin’s siblings, the other set of twins, were looking around in confusion, laminated with bright orange and yellow slush. Caden and Maisie licked their tiny fingers and glanced around the table. They did not yet know what jokers their older siblings were. 

I led Aunt Charisse to the guest bathroom downstairs. I left her to clean up, apologizing for I don’t even know what. 

Uncle Klaus, drowned in the entire rainbow, was screaming at Robin and Shay, saying that they were meant to prank people who weren’t family, especially their own mother. 

“We didn’t know Mom was going to cut that pie!” 

“We found out last minute!” 

“Ask Imogene!” 

“Do not ask Imogene!” I called behind my shoulder. 

I met Tante Seraphina outside, where she was toweling off her youngest son’s cheek. The pink came off easily, and Spencer grinned. His joy came from little things, like being cleaned up. 

I handed her another role of paper towels, then told my mom we were out. 

She sighed and threw the soiled food (the slush had made it soggy) into a trash bag. 

“Sorry about this, honey. You know how the twins are.” When we say “the twins” we mean Robin and Shay. 

“It’s not your fault, Mom,” I told her, taking the bag from her. 

Mom looked around and said, “You know, I just thought of something.” 

“Hm?” 

“I want to repaint my room. I got the paints years ago, but I haven’t had the time to do anything with them.” She turned to me. “Do you want to help clean out my room tomorrow?” 

I smiled. “Yeah, sure.” I started to walk off, but one of Uncle Steffan’s twins, Loren, tapped me on the shoulder. “Where’s Luke?” 

“Lukas is probably covered in rainbow slushie, go look for him in the bathroom.” I watched her run into the house, her light green dress with a large white bow trailing behind her, light brown hair clamped back. 

I threw the trash bag in the dumpster, reflecting that I didn’t look like the rest of my family. My father’s genes must have been too strong. 

An hour later the Uncles and Tante’s were leaving, hugging each other in a tangle of limbs that lasted for a few minutes. Aunt Charisse was fuming with anger now that the shock had worn off, and her hug nearly snapped my ribs. Her gray pantsuit was stained and her long black hair slightly disheveled. 

I waved one final goodbye as they walked down the street to where their cars were parked, out of my line of sight, thanking them for coming. Oma was being driven home by Uncle Rolland. 

Dog-tired, I retired to my room and threw myself down onto my bed. For the first time in a long time, I found myself thinking about my father. I always thought that I had looked like him, because none of my family looked like me. Curly auburn hair, green eyes, tan skin. 6’2, muscular, diamond face. An interest in science and foreign languages. A slightly older, male version of me. 

My mind went blank, and I fell into a deep sleep, dreaming about colorful slushie’s at 7/11. 

Chapter Three 

Without the house full of people, I felt more relaxed. I realized I had slept in my jeans and blouse, and I quickly changed into sweatpants and a white tank. My bare feet creaked on the floorboards as I made my way downstairs, tossing my medium-length hair behind my shoulder and making myself a bowl of oatmeal. 

Mom came thudding down the staircase, long hair piled on her head and in paint-splattered overalls with a pink shirt underneath. 

“Bit early,” I told her, spooning oatmeal into my mouth. The nutmeg melted on my tongue.  

“I want to get a head-start,” she said. She poured herself some cereal and sat down beside me on the kitchen island. “I have a lot of stuff.” 

She did. Mom was a pack rat. Last time we cleaned her room, I found a ruffle skirt she hadn’t worn since she was 14. 

“What color are we painting the room?” I asked. 

“Stormy gray.” 

“From peach to gray.” 

“That color in there now is God-awful and I never want to see it again.” 

By the time I had brushed my hair and pulled it back, Mom had already pushed out her extra wardrobe into the hall. We managed to get her Alaska king-size bed down the stairs (somehow). She put tape on the walls while I cleared out her closet, which was also tainted with peach pink. 

I dragged her clothes out, arms strained, and moved onto the filing cabinet in the corner while Mom hummed a tune as she poured the paint out into the tray. 

I almost started dragging that out, too, until Mom called, “See what’s in that cabinet, Genie. I’ve had that thing longer than you’ve been alive.” She laughed and resumed painting a bold streak of lightish gray onto the walls. 

I went through the first drawer. Bits of jewelry she has never worn, and never will wear. I emptied it into the trash bag beside me, sighing as the broken pieces clinked together. If I wasn’t here to help, I’m pretty sure Mom would turn into a hoarder, and then we would go on one of those TV shows we watch and make fun of. 

When I made it to the last drawer, I smiled. It was my old baby things; my first onesie, a few photographs taken on her old Polaroid. I sifted through them, looking. Thin penciled writing was sprawled on the back, stating Imogene, age -- 

The photo on top was me as a 3-year-old, in (ew) a bright blue dress with yellow ducks and yellow shiny shoes. My hair was short and tied into a small knot on my head, tied with a yellow ribbon. My face was chubby and smiling at the camera, at Mommy. 

The second-to-last photo was again of me, but I was 3 months old and being held by my mother. She had only eyes for me, the baby sleeping soundly, snuggled in a fluffy white blanket with bear ears. Oma must have been taking the photo. She’s the only other Hudsen that lives in Oxsfurrow. Very rarely do we visit each other. 

The very last photo was an ultrasound. An ultrasound that made my hands shake as I got up from the floor and into the bedroom. Mom was painting the walls, humming again. 

“Mom?” 

She turned around, smile turning down slightly when she looked at the slip of plastic in my hand. “What’s that?” Her smile slipped into a frown as she put the roller down and walked over to me. She took the ultrasound out of my fingertips. 

Mom gasped, hand flying up to her mouth as her blue eyes grew wide. She looked at me and back at the photo and back at me. 

We just sat like that, her eyes darting back and forth, me standing limply, for a few seconds until I said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Slowly her hand dropped from her mouth, and she said, “Genie, I was going to, but--” 

“I’m almost eighteen!” I cut her off. “You don’t think it was important to tell me I had a twin?” 

I expected Mom to yell back, but she didn’t. She rarely ever did. She just looked wary as she stared at the ultrasound picture of the twin white blobs in the expanse of black. 

“What happened to them?” I asked. “Did you give them up? I know that you were struggling to get through college...” 

She shook her head. “No. No, she wasn’t given up for adoption.” 

She. I could of had a sister. I did have a sister, at one point. 

“Then what happened?” I had to pry the information out of her. 

Mom ran a finger over the right blob and took a second before saying, “You absorbed her.” 

“I what?” 

“Absorbed her.” She was looking at me now. “For three months she was there, and the next doctor's appointment she was gone.” She saw the look on my face, and she said, “Imogene, don’t feel--” 

“What were you going to name her?” 

She hesitated before telling me, “Evangeline Violet Hudsen.” 

Similar, yet not too similar. I picked up a roller, dipped it into the paint, and started applying it to the opposite wall. I didn’t say anything and neither did Mom. 

For the next hour we painted and brought the furniture back, rearranged it, and Mom hung up new curtains. 

I went across the hall as soon as we were done and locked the door to my bedroom. I sat, back against my bed, and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. I’m not bothered by the fact that I absorbed my twin sister, it’s more the fact my mother never told me about her. 

I’m turning 18 in a week and a half, on June 12th. I don’t think I would have been bothered by it if she told me sooner. Way sooner. 

My head dropped to my knees as I thought about what my sister would have looked like. I wasn’t sure if she was fraternal or identical. Maybe identical, since we’re both girls, but that could be a long shot... Joanne and Jessica are fraternal, even if they still look like they belong in this family. 

Maybe she would have been like me, two odd-ones-out in this fair-haired, blue-eyed family of mine. Or maybe she would have looked like Mom, and I still would have been different. Maybe she would have been the sister that wore makeup and dresses and left her frame skinny, had taken an interest in dating. Maybe she would have been the sister I've always wanted, alone with each other on the nights Mom worked late, pillow fights and trading gossip we had picked up in school. Maybe she would have hated me, resented me for being her twin. Or maybe she would have been at my side through everything, through the days my headaches were bad, or she could've had headaches too... 

I sat bolt upright, legs unfurling. I doubt I would have had headaches if I hadn't absorbed her. Sometimes people with vanishing twin syndrome are like that, they have health problems. But that's normally with the opposite gender. 

Idiot. 

I looked around. That voice had sounded so much like my mother, it was like she was speaking into my ear. Then I calmed myself down, told me it was my brain. 

I sat at my desk for the next few hours, on my laptop. I was reading stories about vanishing twin syndrome. It had been brought up in biology at school, but my knowledge was limited. 

One woman said,  

 "I've always lived with a large lump on my back. People in school called me Hunchback Hannah for I don't even know how long. But when I was twenty, I went to get it checked out by a doctor. He found fingernails and hair inside of it." 

I was so grossed out, because the website showed a picture of it, and I slammed my laptop. 

"Imogene!" Mom called. "I just got called in! I'll be back before midnight. Love you!" 

"Love you too," I answered before I heard the door shut and the Eos drive away. I went downstairs and started watching some old British show on TV.  

My thoughts were swimming, and I realized that it did bother me, how I had absorbed my twin in the womb. Even if it only happened because she had died, and I needed sustenance. 

It freaked me out, and I felt unclean. Like I was smudged with the miscarriage of my sister. 

Evangeline Violet Hudsen. My twin sister. She should be sitting beside me right now, laughing with me over the heavy accents when the people on TV say "water." But she isn't. She isn't because she's dead. 

Chapter Four 

The thing is, I felt odd. Tainted, almost. 

I kept hearing my mother’s voice. Clear, singular words. But she wasn’t anywhere near me when I heard her voice. Twice I went into the kitchen, thinking she had called me, only to find she hadn’t said a word. 

I also felt like I was shrinking. Normally I’m eye-level with the top of our fridge. Now the middle of my forehead was. 

The worst thing? My headaches have gotten worse. For almost an hour when Mom was working, I hid in my room, holding either side of my head. 

I think I’m slowly going crazy. My birthday is tomorrow, so that should provide some distraction, right? Most of my birthday cards have already come in (I have money like you wouldn’t believe) and Mom, like she does every year, will make me breakfast. 

“Imogene?” Mom asked when she got home from the hospital that night, in her navy-blue scrubs. 

“Yeah?” I was sitting cross-legged on the couch, already dressed in my pajamas (which I have to buy in the men's section). I muted the TV as she sat down next to me. 

“I have to go into work tomorrow. But not until noon.” 

I waited for her to continue, wondering where this conversation was going. 

“Do you want to go out for breakfast?” 

“Yeah,” I said, a smile on my face because I thought this would have turned out way worse. 

She sighed in relief, and went to stand up, but I stopped her. “Why do you look so relieved?” 

Mom frowned, not meeting my eyes. “...You’ve been a bit... angry lately, Genie.” 

Angry? “I haven’t been angry. Why would I be angry?” Have I been angry? 

Mom didn’t answer and stood up. She climbed the stairs and shut her door. A few minutes later I heard the shower turn on. 

It didn’t take long to deduce what I had seemed angry about. The twin thing. 

Yes, the twin thing. 

I turned around, thinking I had heard my mother’s voice once again. But the shower was still on, and Mom couldn’t read thoughts. That would be crazy. 

I turned off the TV and went into the kitchen, threading my fingers through my hair. Maybe I was the crazy one. Mom never talked about my father. Maybe the person who donated the other half of my DNA was a psycho. I already inherited everything else from him, why not his mental state, too? 

You’re not crazy. 

“Mom?” I said out loud. 

Not Mom. Not even close. 

I looked around at the window over the sink. I closed the curtains and raced upstairs. To my room. The door shut with a soft click, and I was dimly aware that my chest was heaving. Voices. Voices in my head. 

I closed my curtains, too, and sat down carefully on my bed. I turned upside down to peer underneath it. Nothing. 

I eyed the closet suspiciously, then told myself to knock it off. There was nothing there. I turned off the light and dived under the covers. 

My heart was racing. Enough, I told myself. 

It took me so long to get to sleep I heard my mother coming out of the shower and going downstairs to get something from the kitchen. 

Normally I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow. What was wrong with me lately? 

But my eyes eventually drooped shut and I slept a dreamless night away. 

------ 

The next morning, I didn’t want to get out of bed. I just wanted to stay here, curled up, until my mother brought me breakfast. But I couldn’t. We were going out. 

I didn’t feel in control of my own limbs as I threw the covers off me and stretched. 

My pajamas felt baggy on me as I got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom next to me. I noticed that the blue bird picture looked a lot taller as I walked the few feet to the door. Weird. Mom must have moved it last night. 

I turned on the light and splashed water on my face. I didn’t have to bend down as far as I normally do. I toweled off my face and glanced up into the mirror. 

The sight made me scream. 

Chapter Five 

My reflection. My reflection was my mother. The long, honey blonde hair. The crystal blue eyes. The angular jaw. I was 5’2, thin, and my clothes were too large—way too large—on me. 

“Mom!” I tried to scream. But the words didn’t come out of my mouth. My reflection’s mouth. 

To my horror, the image in the mirror was speaking. “Happy birthday, sis.” 

Sis. 

My reflection—no, not my reflection, it was really me—grabbed my brush from the counter and started brushing her hair. Her blonde hair. 

The longer I looked, the more I realized she was a younger version of Mom. My mother was young, but pregnancy at a young age took a toll on her. There were no smile crinkles around the eyes, and her eyes were brighter and livelier.  

“Are you not going to say, ‘Happy birthday, Evangeline,’ back?” 

Evangeline. The name that had swam in my mind for a week and a half. 

“Who are you?” I tried saying, but my lips didn’t move. Of course my lips didn’t move, they weren’t my lips! 

But the girl responded all the same. She had curtain bangs, just like Mom. Her eyes were framed with voluminous lashes. She smiled, and for a moment it was reassuring because it was Mom’s smile. 

But whoever this was, it wasn’t Mom. 

She was... 

“Your sister.” She put my brush down. “You know, you absorbed my fetal tissue and everything?” 

No. No, I refuse to believe it was happening. 

But her voice... Mom’s voice. No, not Mom’s voice. It was the voice I had been hearing, thinking it was my mother. 

“Genie?” That was Mom’s actual voice, outside the door. “Are you talking to yourself?” 

And then suddenly, with as much pain throughout my body as I get from my headaches, I was myself again. Tall, muscular, with my pjs fitting. 

“Uh, no?” I said. 

“We’re leaving at eight.” 

“Where are we going?” I leaned against the counter, resting my head against the cool mirror. 

“I was thinking Rosie’s Palace?” 

Rosie’s was amazing. But I couldn’t even think about that now. “Sure. Sounds good.” 

“Imogene, are you okay?” Then she opened the door and stared at me. She was already good to go, with her hair down her back and a red romper. “Another headache?” 

Grateful for the excuse, I nodded, telling myself I hadn’t just seen her in the mirror. She hugged me and said, “Rosie’s will make you feel better.” Then she left me alone with my thoughts. 

Which wasn’t a good thing, because they were intertwined with someone else’s. 

Are you feeling alright? The voice asked. You seem kind of pale. 

“Get out of my head,” I said out loud. 

I can’t. When you ate me when we were in Mom’s womb, I assumed a semi-parasitic relationship. 

Semi-parasitic. 

Yep. I’m alive because you’ve kept me alive, sis. 

I’ve officially gone crazy. 

Oh, I’m sorry for making you feel that way, the voice said as I brushed my teeth. But I’ve always been here. It’s just that you became aware of me, so I was able to shift. 

Shift? What do you mean, ‘shift’? 

Take over your body and make it mine. Sort of. I don’t really understand the science behind it, but I’ve been practicing for the past fifteen years. 

My headaches. 

Exactly. 

So your... 

Evangeline Violet Hudsen. It’s amazing to finally meet you, Genie. 

Don’t call me that. 

Why not? You can call me Vannie. I know how much you’ve wanted a sister, or at least some type of sibling. 

I walked back to my room and was about to change when I hesitated. 

Don’t be so modest, Evangeline told me. There aren’t exactly boundaries between us. I’ve lived with it for eighteen years, get used to it. 

I threw on my clothes and rushed downstairs. Mom was waiting, typing something on her phone. 

“Ready to go?” she asked me, looking up from the screen. 

No. “Yeah.” 

I got in the passenger seat of the Eos and tapped my finger against my thigh. A sister. I had a sister. 

However many times you need to say it to make you believe I’m real, sis. 

Chapter Six 

Breakfast at Rosie’s was a blur. 

Mom and I sat in a corner booth, sipping our coffee and picking at our pancakes. The diner was the same as always—cozy, full of sunlight filtering through the half-drawn blinds, with the clink of silverware and the hum of quiet conversations. But today, I felt detached from it all. Every word I said felt like it came from someone else’s mouth. Every bite of food tasted like cardboard. Even the cinnamon-sugar dusting on my pancakes, my favorite part, tasted off. 

“How’s the headache?” Mom asked, her eyes narrowing as she watched me push the food around on my plate. 

“Better,” I lied, forcing a smile. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath until I exhaled sharply. The pain in my temples had dulled slightly, but the presence inside my head, her, hadn’t. I could barely hear my own thoughts over her commentary. 

It was like a weight pressing down on me, heavy and constant. Every time I tried to focus on something—like the soft glow of the lightbulb above our table, or the way the syrup pooled in little rivers across my pancakes—it was like a shadow passed over my thoughts. 

You’re not real. 

That’s what I kept telling myself, but the voice—her voice—just laughed. I’m as real as you are. 

“I’m fine,” I said, finally looking up at Mom, meeting her concerned gaze. She looked tired. Her eyes were red at the corners, like she’d been up too late or had too much on her mind. But it was hard to tell with her. Sometimes I wondered if I was the only one who noticed when she wasn’t okay. 

“You’re really quiet today,” she observed, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. 

I shrugged, pressing my lips together. It was hard to explain what was happening. How could I even put it into words? 

"I guess I’m just... tired," I said. 

“That’s just the old age kicking in.” Mom smiled, but the humor didn’t quite reach her eyes. She had a way of pretending everything was fine, even when it clearly wasn’t. It made me wonder if I’d inherited that from her. 

I nodded, and as I took another sip of my coffee. I felt a sharp pain behind my eyelids. It was Evangeline, I knew it. She was right there, watching me through my own eyes, feeling everything I felt. 

What’s wrong with you, Genie? 

The question came out of nowhere, direct and invasive. 

Nothing’s wrong with me, I answered. 

You’re lying to Mom. You know that, right? You haven’t been fine for days. Her voice was sharp, cutting through my thoughts like a blade. 

I pressed my fingers against my temples, fighting the pull of her voice. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t here. She couldn’t be. 

“Imogene, honey?” Mom’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. She had an edge of concern now, one I couldn’t ignore. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

I looked up, startled, meeting her eyes. It was like looking into the bathroom mirror, but the reflection wasn’t mine. It was Evangeline’s—clear, bright, and full of questions. 

“I’m fine,” I muttered, pushing the words out like they were rocks in my throat. “Just... just tired.” 

Mom didn’t look convinced. She reached across the table, placing a warm hand over mine. “If you need to talk about anything, you know you can. I’m always here for you.” 

I nodded absently, but her words only seemed to make things worse. Every time she said something like that, it felt more and more like I was losing her. Like she didn’t really see me anymore, not the real me. She saw the version of me she wanted to believe in—the happy daughter, the normal teenager, the girl who could handle everything. But she didn’t see the weirdness that was creeping in. The growing sense that something wasn’t right in my head, in my body. The other half of me that was never meant to be alive. 

When we left the diner, I noticed that the world felt... off. Like the colors were too bright, or maybe too dull. The sound of cars honking in the distance grated on my nerves. Even the air, thick with the humidity of early June, felt like it was pressing down on me. 

I wanted to scream. 

Not because I was angry. Not because I was frustrated. But because I was scared. 

I wasn’t alone in my own body anymore. 

“Mom,” I said, my voice trembling despite myself. “I... I don’t feel right.” 

She glanced at me, but her eyes flicked back to the road. “What do you mean? You’re just tired, honey. You’re growing up. It’s a lot to handle.” 

I shook my head. “No, it’s more than that.” 

But I couldn’t explain it to her. I couldn’t explain to Mom that every thought I had, every movement I made, was being watched. That when I blinked, I could feel someone else blinking with me. 

Let me help you. Let me talk to her. 

I couldn’t stop myself from flinching. Evangeline’s voice felt like fingers wrapping around my spine, pulling me, tugging me. I could feel her, right there, just beneath the surface. She wasn’t me. She couldn’t be. I was Imogene. I was the real one. 

“Mom, I—I think I need some space,” I mumbled, eyes suddenly burning. I could feel tears threatening to spill over, but I pushed them down. No. Not here. Not now. Not in front of her. 

“Genie, tell me what’s wrong. Is it your headache—?” 

“No.” The word came out like a command, more severely than I intended. “Please. I just need to be alone.” 

Mom stared at me, confusion wrinkling her brow. But then, as if she understood some unspoken part of me, she nodded slowly. “Okay... but we’ll talk later."

I didn’t respond. 

I couldn’t. 

I stayed in my room for the rest of my birthday, lying on my bed with the curtains closed. Every time I closed my eyes, I could still hear her. My thoughts were her thoughts. Hers were mine. 

I’m here, sis. I’m right here. Always. 

Her voice was growing louder, more insistent. It felt like it was wrapping itself around me, suffocating me with her presence. 

You’re not alone anymore. You’ve never been alone. 

I pressed my hands to my ears, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. 

The truth was, I wasn’t sure what scared me more anymore: the voice, or the fact that it was real. 

I tried to convince myself it wasn’t real. That it was all in my head. But the longer I stayed in my room, the more real it felt. 

The truth was, I wasn’t just me anymore. 

I was we. 

Chapter Seven 

I waited for my mother to get home, meanwhile talking to the girl sharing my body. 

“Why now?” I asked her. Talking out loud gave me a sense of realism. I needed to feel like I was still in control of my own body. 

I told you. I’ve been trying for years. It finally happened today. Lucky, since I’ve always wanted to wish you a happy birthday. 

“I don’t know if I should say thank you or not.” I leaned back against the headboard, breathing slowly. 

No need. Also, there’s no reason for you to be confused about this. You’re smart. Very smart. There— 

“How did you know—” 

Our thoughts are connected. Remember? 

I breathed in, out. “I don’t understand how this has happened. Its a medical miracle.” 

Well... this is awkward. I was hoping you had a solution to this. 

“Why would I have the solution to this? I’m not the parasite invading someone else’s body!”  

I’m going to ignore that last comment. Before you cut me off, I was going to say that you’re super smart. You know six languages. You’re going to college to become a microbiologist. This situation has every bit to do with biology! 

“Weren’t you there the entire time? Can’t you figure it out? You aren’t the one who’s having a mental breakdown.” 

I didn’t listen to whatever you were learning. I legally don’t exist. I didn’t think it would matter. 

“Well now it matters.” 

Whatever. I can access your memories, no biggie, Genie. 

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to focus on the conversation, on the odd way she just slid into my mind, like she was always there, waiting. I could hear her, feel her, inside my head, but still, she wasn’t me. 

I wasn’t sure what to do with the knowledge that Evangeline was there. That she had always been there, just waiting for a moment like this. It felt like someone had pushed a door open in my mind, and now there was no way to close it. 

“You can access my memories?" I asked, my words coming out slowly, like they were too heavy to say. "Like... like a filing cabinet?" 

I shuddered as the words left my mouth, the weight of them making everything feel too real. 

You don’t need to be so dramatic. Evangeline’s voice was calm, too calm, like this wasn’t some horrendous violation. I’m not doing anything to hurt you. I’ve always been here, I’m just... observing. 

I wanted to scream. Observing? My memories—my thoughts—were mine. The idea that she could just browse through them like some kind of library made me feel dirty, violated. 

I jumped off the bed, pacing the room. Every step felt like a jolt in my spine, like I was being pulled in two directions. I couldn’t escape her. She was inside me. She had always been there. 

"I didn’t ask for this," I muttered through gritted teeth. "I didn’t ask for you to be here, to be... attached to me." 

I didn’t ask for it either. Her voice shifted then, a flicker of frustration crossing her tone. But here we are. And we’ll figure this out. We don’t have to be enemies. 

But I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to share my body with someone who could rifle through my past like it was nothing. My childhood, my stupid embarrassing moments, the darkest parts of my thoughts... everything was out there for her to see. The mere idea that she had access to that terrified me. That she’s experienced it. 

She’s not real. She’s not real. This isn’t real. 

But when I closed my eyes, there she was—right there. I could feel her, taste her words like they were in my mouth, not just echoing in my mind. She was as real as I was, and worse, she was with me. 

I can’t go anywhere, sis. Evangeline's voice was suddenly gentle again, but it didn’t comfort me. It made me feel small, like I was trapped in my own skin. You’re not alone. I’ve always been here. I won’t hurt you. 

I pressed my palms to my face. "You’re in my memories. In my thoughts. I can’t get away from you." 

You don’t have to. The voice was insistent now, no longer playful. I’m not your enemy. I’m your sister. I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk. Even if I already know what you're thinking. 

I wanted to cry. I wanted to curl up and disappear. But instead, I stood there, staring at the floor, waiting for my mother to come home. I could feel Evangeline lurking beneath the surface, her thoughts like tendrils, wrapping tighter and tighter around me. 

It was suffocating. 

Well... look at this... 

Before I could ask what she meant, a startling image of me sitting in science class, a pencil between my fingers and my bored eyes turned towards Mrs. Wyatt. She was teaching us about vanishing twin syndrome, and another thing called chimerism. 

“Chimerism?” I asked. “Is that what we have.” I hated to admit it, but my mind was fully focused on the scientific anomaly going on inside me. Inside of us. 

Chimerism is when a person has one set of cells coexisting with an entirely different (or almost) set of cells. The person is called a chimera, after that Greek monster. 

Could I have that? An advanced form of chimerism? Some genetic something that forced me to adopt a dependable relationship with my twin sister. But chimera’s (the human kind) normally have marks to represent their absorbed sibling. 

Now we’re talking, Genie. Like I said, smart. 

“Stick to calling me sis.” 

Ouch. Why can’t you just call me Vannie? 

“No. Let me think.” 

Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease— 

“ALRIGHT!” I yelled. “Vannie. There, happy?” 

Use it in a sentence. Her voice had become sing-songy. 

“Vannie,” I said through gritted teeth. “Let me think.” 

I’ll try, Genie. Don’t count on it, though. 

I continued pacing my room, clenching and unclenching my hands every time Evangeline’s thoughts got too loud. 

“Wait.” I stood stock-still, appalled by what I had just heard. “What did you just say?” 

Say what? 

But the more she thought about suppressing it, the more it came to the surface: Dad. 

“Why are you thinking about him?” I demanded. 

Chapter Eight 

Umm... 

“You want to meet him?” 

You know, maybe this mind-sharing thing wasn’t so good of an idea, after all. 

“Explain.” 

Well, he’s our father, isn’t he? I know you’ve never really wanted to meet him, but you’ve wondered about him. 

“Yeah, but that’s because I look nothing like the rest of my family. You look like our family, even though no one knows you exist.” 

Aww... you said, ‘our,’ Genie! 

“Shut up,” I told her. I sat back down on my bed, hands holding my head. 

I can’t, idiot. Our minds are connected. I’m going to be here until we die. 

I felt tears threatening my eyes, but I sighed and said, “What are we going to do?” It felt like a dumb question, but my frustration was giving way to hopelessness. I was accepting the fact that my sister, who should have died, was sharing my body. 

Glad you asked. 

My body wasn’t in my control as I stood up abruptly. 

“What--” 

I fell to my knees as the familiar pain of my headache resurfaced. I felt myself shrinking, growing daintier. 

And then I wasn’t me anymore but seeing through the blue eyes of Evangeline. 

“Now,” Evangeline said. “Let’s get to work.” She stomped out of my room and across the hall, leaving me in her mind to feel dizzy. 

What are you— 

My sister (that really feels weird) moved toward my mother’s closet and contemplated what she should wear. 

The blue dress or the white one? 

Neither! This is my mother’s closet, and we are not stealing her clothes! 

You just don’t want to wear a dress. Fine, I’ll wear a shirt. 

You’re not wearing anything! This is Mom’s closet! 

I know what she wanted to do; it was floating in her mind. Our mind. 

She wanted to go into town. 

Chapter Nine 

 (told from Evangeline’s POV) 

I left the house feeling as if I was seeing the world for the first time. 

“Don’t be upset, Genie,” I told her under my breath. “I just want to live a little.” 

Do you know how much you look like Mom? If someone sees you, they’re going to think you’re her. 

That’s the plan! 

I walked down the street, breathing in the fresh air. I returned a few waves to the neighbors. I felt light, almost dreamy. 

They think I’m her. 

I felt like getting away with anything—We are not getting drunk! —up until a man approached me while I was drinking coffee.  

“Trudy? I thought you were going into work.” 

Must have been one of Mom’s coworkers. “I did!” I told him. “It was quick.” 

“Who was it? That little boy with the cancer?” 

I nodded solemnly, grateful for the lie. Imogene was mentally face-palming herself. “I hope it goes over smoothly.” 

The man said, “I delivered his sister yesterday. She doesn’t have SCD, thank God, but her nasal passage was blocked. 

I frowned sympathetically like I knew what SCD stood for (until Imogene felt sorry that the kid had sickle cell disease). “It was nice seeing you,” I told the man. He hesitated before leaving. “Trudy, forgive me if I seem like a creep for this, but how is Imogene doing? Has she had any affects from the absorption of her twin?” 

“She has headaches,” I replied. “But that’s it.” 

That’s it? I’m sharing a body with my sister! 

Love you too, sis. 

The man nodded and walked off, wishing me a good day. 

“Weirdo,” I muttered under my breath. 

Based on what he said, I’m pretty sure he was the doctor that delivered me. 

Us, I corrected, sipping more coffee. 

Sure. Whatever. 

That must be awkward. Working with the doctor that delivered your children. 

Didn’t seem like it. 

As I threw my coffee into the trash can outside of the cafe, I saw outside of the corner of my eye the man, the doctor, watching me. 

Get out of there!  

She didn’t need to tell me twice. 

Chapter Ten 

(told from Imogene’s POV) 

When mom came home that night, she brought a gift. A box wrapped with sparkly blue wrapping paper with silver stars. 

“How was work?” I asked, my hands shaking slightly as I took the present from her and placed it on the island in the kitchen. Mom placed the bag of fast food next to it and said, “Fine.” She faced me, all concerned mother now. “Are you feeling better?” 

No. Your other daughter is alive and inhabiting my body, Mom. “Yeah, just a bad headache.” 

She wrapped her arms around me. “I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, honey.” 

I didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. “Mom, it’s alright. It’s done and in the past.” When I looked down at her, she was wiping her eyes and saying, “Open your gift.” 

I tore of the glittery paper and opened the large white box. My mouth dropped open as I lifted a huge leather-bound book. It had three words on the cover: “The Hudsen Family.” 

Jesus.

Even Evangeline sounded surprised. 

I cracked open the book. The inside cover read, in Mom’s scrawl, ‘Happy birthday, Genie. Your family is always with you.’ 

How she managed to make this, I had no idea. The pages were filled with generations of the Hudsen family, and Oma’s family, the Beckers. 

“Mom--” I started, but she cut me off. 

“Oma and I made it together. I thought, because you hardly ever see your family, and it’s just us in this huge house, that I would make you an album.” 

“I could’ve used this for genealogy projects,” I joked as I hugged her. Tears were welling in my eyes. 

Evangeline? I asked. Are you crying? 

Maybe. Yes. I feel the same way you do, alright? She laughed. 

I laughed, too, under my breath. In a way, maybe this was a sign. A sign that everything was going to be okay. That Vannie was-- 

There was a knock at the door. 

Mom pulled back from our hug and wiped her eyes. “That better not be them again. I don’t have anything planned!” 

She looked out the window and went rigid with confusion. She opened the door and, instead of finding my family, she found the doctor from earlier. 

Did he follow us? Evangeline asked, incredulous as I crept closer to the front door, ready to protect my mother. The guy gave me the creeps, and I could take him easily. He was a whole head shorter. 

“Silas?” said Mom. She looked perplexed. 

The man smiled. “Hello, Trudy. I hope I’m not interrupting?” He smiled with ease, but his face fell as he observed my mother in her hospital scrubs. Even though he had just seen her hours before in jeans and a T-shirt. 

“Well, it’s Imogene’s birthday...” she looked uncomfortable now, edging the door slightly closed. 

“Yes, I know.” Then he barged in unannounced. 

I put a hand on his chest and pushed him back outside, but before I could say anything he told me, “Show me her, girl.” 

“Show who?” Mom demanded as I shoved him off of the porch. 

He staggered and hissed, “The sister!” 

My blood went cold. Evangeline was speechless, her thoughts hurling after each other like a jagged trainset, uncoherent. 

“I’m going to ask you to leave,” I told him, my voice steady. 

He looked up at me and said, “I’m not stupid. I’ve been studying you for the past--” 

I cut him off with a fist to his jaw. “Who the hell do you think you are?” 

I could hear Mom on the phone with the police, but the only thing both Vannie and I were aware of was the paper the man deliberately dropped into a group of bushes. He winked and ran down the street. 

“Mom?” I asked as she hung up the phone. “Are you alright?” 

She nodded, looking irritated. She scrunched her nose in disgust. “I always thought he was weird.” 

“Who was he?” I could be a pretty good actor when I wanted to. I closed the front door, and we walked back into the kitchen. 

Mom let her hair down and ruffled it. “That was the doctor that delivered you. It was weird, the way he wanted to be friends with me.” 

She glanced down at the leather book and her face softened. “It’s custom made.” 

Don’t allow her to change the subject! Evangeline sounded angry, eager even, but the words were already out of my mouth: “Thank you.” 

Her lips twitched into a small smile. Then she hugged me again, a quick one-armed hug, because she needed to get to bed soon. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” She stood on her tiptoes and pecked my cheek. Then she went upstairs without touching the food on the island. 

I put it in the fridge, threw the wrapping in the trash, and took the book to my own room. Mom’s shower was already on. 

I was flipping through the pages, only half-listening as Evangeline commented on our Opa’s great-uncle Jeremy’s stuck-out ears. 

I got to the last page and my eyes drifted to the final photo. It was in color, but the style still looked at least a decade ago. Mom was wearing a puka shell necklace, low-rise jeans, and a cropped red bandana tank. She looked happy standing next to a man. A tall man with curly burgundy hair, and bright green eyes with odd gold flecks. He had a diamond-shaped face and round lips. 

My father, smiling back at me. My mirror image. 

Chapter Eleven 

Wow.  

Yeah. I didn’t know what else to think. My gaze hovered over the writing beneath the photo of my mother and father: 

His name is Matthew Norcross. 

My tears soiled the page, and I slammed the book shut as I shifted into my sister. A coppery taste was in my mouth, and my head felt like fire as Evangeline took over and shifted into herself. She made her way to my computer, typed in my password, and promptly looked up the name, Matthew Norcross. 

What are you doing? 

“Looking him up,” she responded. 

There was a surprising amount of people with that name. My sister scanned the screen, ignoring my protests. 

Finally, she found a Facebook account. She clicked on it, feeling satisfied. 

And there he was. He looked young, but he didn’t age as well as Mom. He had lines around his face, but he was, undeniably, my guy counterpart. 

“You even have the same birthmark!” Vannie said, pointing to his neck. 

Reflexively, I moved my arm up to cover the small flower-shaped mark at the base of my throat. Then I realized I couldn’t move my arms. Until I moved Evangeline’s. 

“Hey!” she said. “That’s my arm.” 

How did I just— 

But Evangeline cut me off with another picture of Matthew. He was standing next to a pale woman with short black hair, dressed in a creased suit. The caption read, I wouldn’t have any other job. Happy birthday, Boss lady! 

“So he can wish his boss a happy birthday, but not us?” 

In his defense, you aren’t meant to exist. 

“Be quiet.” 

Our minds are connected, I echoed her words from earlier. 

She shut my computer and stood up. 

Where are you going? 

To get that paper.