The Stories of Misfits

Flowers

 Flowers

When I was younger, around second or third grade, I began to notice how my mom had these little things she would say. Usually she was trying to be helpful but a lot of the time she ended up being sardonic, which is why Rose and I managed to perfect our eye rolls early on. One of my mom’s favorites was actually a quote from Harry Potter (which is probably what started my addiction to all things fantastical): “If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." Another was something she found online: “There are two types of people in this world: Those who categorize, and those who don’t.”

I don’t know, maybe it’s my mom’s doing, or maybe it’s the fact that I “need some way to govern everything around me because I’m a control freak” (my mother’s words again), but I’ve always found myself classifying people. My sister does the same thing, but not really to the extent I do, I think. My sister puts people into diverse social groups at school (the jocks, the geeks, the nerds, etc.), but she got that from the movie Mean Girls so I’m not sure if she’s done this her entire life.

While my sister uses numerous groups, I mostly put people into two: Roses (outgoing, garrulous, and self-assured) and Violets (introverted, awkward, and internet-obsessed). Basically, people similar to my sister and people similar to me. It’s funny, actually. My sister and I are identical twins, but personality-wise, we couldn’t be more different.

~*~

Derek’s potty mouth acts up the second my sister and I scramble into the back seat of his truck.

“Last day of sophomore year, bitches!” he whoops before he, in his usual manner, blasts out of Marie’s driveway and down our street. For whatever reason, twenty over the marked speed limit is perfectly reasonable to him. In the words of Wallace & Gromit, “He’s so crazy” (it’s taken out of context, but it still works).

Marie, his girlfriend of a few months, grabs his arm. “Derek Bennett, I swear to whatever god exists, if you don’t slow down I will cut your genitals off.”

 “You’ve been threatening him since he got the truck, ‘Ree. Seriously, look up some new threats,” Rose says. Her thin legs are both pulled up to rest on the back of the driver’s seat, as are mine. Except on the passenger seat, of course.

“Yeah, threaten to ‘blow up my flipping car’ again, that one’s my favorite.”

Marie sends them both glares. “You’re dead to me,” she says before turning around to face me.  Her brown eyes peep between the black leather seat and the head rest, and her extremely curly brown hair poufs so that it looks like the head rest has hair.

“I like your shirt. Did Rose get you to wear it?” Marie asks. I frown and look down at the shirt I’m wearing, a white one with many colored flowers all over it.

“Why couldn’t I have chosen it?” I say.

Marie shoots me one of her infamous looks. “Because even you admitted that you have no style.”

My frown deepens and she grins.

“Knew it. Most of your wardrobe includes t-shirts from your favorite TV shows and quotes from Tumblr.” Rose and Derek nod in agreement.

“You’re all pompous idiots,” I mumble. My other leg pulls down from its awkward spot. Both legs curl against my chest and I clutch them close, wrapping my pale arms around them and letting two fingers rub a blue and red flower on my shirt. The silly comment hits me in the heart with a pang as I bury my face in my knees. It shouldn’t bother me. Stupid teasing shouldn’t bother me.