"There's a perfect form of tragedy when two stars cross up above and an angel and a devil find themselves in love"
-Sydney Esther Their
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"Demi, let's go! It's time for breakfast! If you don't eat now we're going to be late!" My brother yelled from downstairs.
"I'm coming," I screeched back, hopping up and down on one foot as I shoved on my right converse. "Give a girl a minute!"
"I've given you twenty!"
I ignored him and continued on with the task of putting on my shoes.
Honestly, what did Deacon think yelling up the steps like a manic every five minutes was going to accomplish? All it did was raise my anxiety levels as well as successfully annoy me.
I wasn't a guy for crying out loud. I couldn't just grab a t-shirt from the hamper, throw on a pair of crumpled up jeans, and call it day. I was a lady. I had to find a decent outfit, do my hair, add a touch of make up to my face and evaluate myself in my full length mirror to make sure I looked acceptable to go out into the world.
Well, today I had to do that. After all, it was the first day of school. The first day of school didn't happen every day, and thank God for that. By next week I could revert to dressing like a total bum from then until June even though I had promised myself I would dress "nice" for the year.
Don't ask me why I even bothered promising myself up and down that I would dress in dresses, skirts, and cute jeans for an entire school year because I couldn't tell you. It's not like it ever happened.
In all my years of attending school I had never once stuck by my dress code oath for an entire year. I was fully aware I was going to be living in sweats and t-shirts for the next four marking periods. It was inevitable, and I was okay with that.
I just didn't have the motivation to make consistent effort. Of course, my mom said on more than one occasion that it was "laziness" that transcended into me not "working towards my full potential to be an active member of society".
My mom could quite literally take any little thing I said to her and proceed to turn it into a huge lecture about why I was such a failure in life, and what I should be doing to better myself.
I finished lacing up my shoes and straightened up. I turned to the mirror to study myself.
I was dressed in a tightly fitted floral top that had sleeves that stopped just at my upper arm. It was tucked into my high waisted, black skater skirt that matched my black converse. The outfit was completed with a thin black belt around my waist that had a cute little bow front and center.
My dark hair was pin straight, and as for make up I had only put on coating of mascara that made my green eyes pop. I hated putting on foundation because it always made my face break out. It also covered up the lightest of light freckles that were sprinkled across my nose and my cheek bones, which I happened to be very fond of. It was one of, if not my only, redeeming physical qualities.
My door suddenly bursted open. I turned to see a built, broad shouldered boy with green eyes and dark hair that matched mine preciously, standing in the doorway looking particularly steamed off.
I crossed my arms across my chest. "There's this thing called knocking, Deacon. You should try it sometime."
"There's this thing called being on time, Demi," he folded his own arms across his chest, which caused his muscles to bulge. His jaw locked, as it always did when he was annoyed. "You should try it sometime."
"I'm always on time," I protested.
"No, you are not," he declared. "You're never on time. Never. You're allergic to being on time."
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. So," I smiled widely before I twirled for him. "How do I look? Do I look hot?"
Deacon wrinkled his nose. "I'm not gonna tell you you look hot. You're my sister."
"So?" I demanded, ceasing my twirl and facing him with my hands on my hips. "I need some constructive criticism! You know Mom and Dad are just going to tell me whatever I want to hear. You're always upfront with me, so I need your opinion. Now. Right now."
I held out my arms so he could properly evaluate me.
He sighed deeply, but decided to humor me. "You look good, D. Then again, why wouldn't you? You are my twin aren't you?"
"Unfortunately," I muttered.
"What was that?"
I smiled sweetly. "Nothing," I turned back to my mirror. "Okay, so if we weren't related would you ask me out?" I glanced over my shoulder to see he was giving me a disgusted look. "What? I mean that in the most hypothethical way possible."
"Now you're just being weird," he shook his head. "And no, I wouldn't ask you out. I see what you look like every morning before you spend six hours in the bathroom. That person is far from datable, and I do mean far."
"Shut up, Deacon."
I grabbed my book bag, as well as my black duffel bag. I whisked passed my brother and out of my room.
"Come on, Deac! You're gonna make us late!"
I heard a sharp inhale and some incoherent muttering, that I went ahead and guessed weren't all too polite. Deacon followed my down the carpeted stairs.
I skipped into the kitchen where Mom was at the stove frying what smelled to be bacon. She was dressed in her nursing scrubs, her brown hair tied up in a low ponytail. Dad sat at the wooden table in the center of the roomy area with a newspaper in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. He was dressed in a crisp suit, ready for a day in the office. He worked as a computer software guy thingy.
"Good morning," I sang, sinking into one of the empty seats and dropping my bags.
"Oh God can you not?" Deacon grumbled, pulling out a chair from across me. "Why are you always so damn perky in the morning? It's really annoying for us normal people that are trying to gather ourselves together in order to make it through the the rest of the day."
"Shut up," I said, breaking off a piece of a blueberry muffin that was resting on top in a braided synthetic wood basket at the center of the table and flicking it at him.
"Morning, Demi," Mom said, smiling a smile that touched her caramel eyes, as she turned to look at me. "Nice of you to finally join us."
"Yes, I was wondering when Her Royal Highness would grace us all with her presence," Dad added dryly, flicking a page of his paper.
I rolled my eyes. "Well, excuse me for wanting to look presentable. You are aware that this is our first day as Seniors, right? I mean, this is our last first day as high schoolers. I need to make an impression, and a good one at that."
"Yeah, we know, Demi," Deacon said leaning back in his seat, looking bored. "You've been lecturing us about this since July twenty-second."
"I have not."
"Yes, you have. I know because it has taken all my willpower not to come into your room while you're sleeping and smother you with your pillow just so I don't have to hear you talk anymore."
"Deacon," Dad said, glancing up to give him a stern look.
"I was kidding, Pops," he said easily.
I knew he wasn't.
As far as looks go in our house Deacon and I tended to lean toward our mom's side. We all had dark hair, straight noses, and freckles. The only difference was our eyes.
While Mom had caramel colored eyes that had only flecks of green in them, my brother and I had solid green ones, courtesy of Dad who had a crooked nose of his own and sandy blonde hair.
Mom and I were the shortest in the house. We both stood at five foot four and both had petite bodies. Dad stood his own at five foot eight and was a pretty built guy himself, while my brother towered over all of us at six foot two. He was literally a freak.
Mom placed a plate of bacon down on the table, and I immediately grabbed a handful. I ignored the burning sensation I felt on my hand and dumped the meat onto my own plate.
"Oh, Demi. At least use a spoon or something" Mom sighed in exasperation. She glared at Deacon when he did the same thing I had moments ago. "You would think I raised you both as pigs."
"Demi kind of of looks like a pig," Deacon muses, stacking six pancakes on his plate and drenching both the flapjacks and bacon in maple syrup.
Ew.
"Well, that's kind of a self insult since we happen to look identical, you dunce," I retorted.
"Dad, Demi called me a dunce."
"He called me a pig first," I shot right back.
"Deacon, you are a dunce," Dad said, his eyes glued to his paper.
"Ha!" I giggled appreciatively.
"Demi, you are a pig."
"Ha!" Deacon laughed.
I poked my tongue out at him and put two pancakes on my plate.
Mom took her seat next to me and piled on her own food. "So, are you excited for your first day?"
"Yes!" I said enthusiastically.
"No," Deacon said at the same time, his mouth full.
I wrinkled my nose. "Don't talk with your mouth full, you'll choke," I paused. "On second thought, talk away."
"Hey, Demi," he said pleasantly.
"Yeah?"
He stuck his tongue out that happened to be coated with a mush of bacon and pancakes. I cringed and turned away in disgust.
"Deacon Owen Lawson," Mom started, narrowing her eyes. "Try that again, and I won't hesitate to pull out the belt."
I snorted and slapped a hand over my mouth. Now that would be a sight.
Deacon swallowed and nodded quickly. "Mhmm. Yeah, sure, Mom."
We continued our meal talking casually, Deacon and I throwing jabs at each other here and there. It wasn't too long later that he stood up, shoveling the last of his food in his mouth till his cheeks were at bulging point. "Con awn, Emi. Ee otta oh."
I wrinkled my nose but stood up from the table too. I grabbed a napkin and piled the remainder of my bacon on it, so I could eat it on the car ride to school. I shouldered both of my bags and planted a kiss on my parents cheeks.
"See you guys later," I said, walking toward the kitchen entryway.
"Are you guys coming home right after?" Mom asked, cutting off a piece of pancake with her knife.
"Can't," Deacon said, having swallowed his mouthful of food moments ago. "Football practice after school."
"And I'm dancing," I piped up.
"You and this dancing thing," Dad sighed. "Don't you think you should come home and maybe focus working on your college apps?"
I suppressed an eye roll and let out an impatient tut. "Dad, you've had me doing college applications and essays all summer, and I haven't even gotten my transcript yet."
"It's never too early to get a jump on your future," he reminded me for about the thousandth time this lifetime.
"Your father's right, Dem," Mom said, sipping from her coffee mug.
"Well, after I get home from the studio," I said, feeling my levels of annoyance rise. "And can I ask why you're not on Deacon about his college applications? He's not coming home right away either."
"He has football," Dad said reasonably.
I stared at him. "And?"
"And," Deacon cut in. "Football is an actual sport. I can get into college with it. With a full ride."
"You know, I can get into college with dance too-"
"Nobody cares," he said and walked by me. I stuck my foot out to trip him.
He stumbled and spun around after regaining his balance. His irritation seemed to have piqued at my laughter. He swiftly picked me up in his muscled arms and threw me over his shoulder with ease.
I screamed in surprised and hit him. "Hey! Put me down!
Deacon whistled happily and crouched down to pick up his bag near the doorway. "Bye, guys."
"Deac, please put your sister down," Dad said, sounding more exasperated than stern.
"She's fine," he said airily before walking out with me.
"Deacon!" I squirmed in his hold as we walked out the front door. "Deacon, you put me down right now, or I swear I'll-"
"You'll what?" Deacon scoffed as he walked down the stoned walkway. "Twirl around me?"
I exhaled sharply and pinched his back, causing him to yelp. I smirked in satisfaction.
Deacon came to a halt at our shared cheery red Jeep Wrangler and unlocked it. He opened the door and shoved me in none too lightly.
"Ow," I glared at him.
"Be happy I cared enough to carry you to the car. We all know how delicate ballerinas are."
I slammed the door shut in his laughing face and fumed, as he walked over to the driver's side, shaking with mirth.
I knew Deacon was just playing around, but that didn't make his statement any less irritating. It annoyed the hell out of me that "ballerina" and "delicate" were two words that always seemed to be associated with each other because it couldn't be further from the truth.
Ballerinas, as well as any other type of dancer, happened to be incredibly strong people. It took every muscle in a ballerina's body to successfully perform the supposedly "delicate" moves my brother liked to make constant jabs at. It was a sport that required just as much work, if not more, than tossing around a leather ball on a painted field.
I'd love to see any of the dumb idiots on Deacon's team successfully pull off the pointe technique since its oh so delicate, and oh so easy.
Note the sarcasm.
Deacon started up the engine and backed out of the driveway carefully before putting the car in drive and speeding off.
"You're just lucky my bacon is all still intact," I said, putting my bags on the car floor and unfolding my napkin. "Because if even one piece had dropped, I would have had to fight you."
"Ooh, I'm shaking at the thought," Deacon mocked.
"You should be," I nodded, popping a piece in my mouth.
¥ ¥ ¥
I climbed out of the car and crumpled up the greasy napkin, shouldering my book bag.
"Deac, can I have the keys?" I asked, shutting the door.
He locked the car before twirling the keys around his fingers. "What for?" He walked over to my side.
"I need the car after school, and I don't want to have to go hunting all over the campus for you to get them."
"I need the car too, D."
"Just get a ride from one of your meathead friends."
Deacon fixed me with an unimpressed look.
I widened my eyes and pushed my lip out. "Please? Pleaseeeee, Deac?"
He continued staring at me with a blank face.
"Deacon!"
"Alright, alright don't throw a hissy fit," he tossed me the keys, and I caught them easily.
"Thanks, D! See you later." I waved and started towards the huge building that is Westview High School, one of the many high schools in Portland, Oregon.
Butterflies suddenly erupted at the pit of my stomach, as I got nearer to the building. Despite the fact I was excited to be starting my final year at high school I couldn't help but feel just a little bit anxious because, I mean, what wasn't their to be nervous about?
Would my classes be good? Would my teachers be strict or would they be chill? Would they make us play some stupid game to get to know our names better? Would I stub my toe on a desk leg and fall in front of everybody causing me embarrassment to the tenth degree?
Endless questions like that swirled around in my brain, each one worst than the previous thought.
I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to get a grasp on some calmness.
Okay, calm down, Demi. You're overthinking this. You've done this how many times before? You're going to be fine. This is your Senior year. It's going to be amazing.
I nodded and smiled to myself. There was no doubt in my mind that this would be an amazing year. My year. It's hard to explain, but I just had this gut feeling that this school year was going to be nothing short of special.
Maybe the feeling stemmed from the fact that Senior year was the last year I could be a carefree kid, and I was determined to have a good time. Next year would be the start of the rest of my life. Just the thought of college and my future made my stomach clench in the most uncomfortable of ways.
I immediately shook the feeling away and zeroed in my focus on the feeling I had that told me this year was going to be possibly the greatest year of my high school career. That was a much better feeling than the gripping anxiety and nerves.
I was staring down at the ground, as I walked for the stoned steps that led to the high school entrance when out of nowhere a great force hit me.
I fell right on my butt and groaned. "Oww."
I heard a deep voice curse, but was too busy examining myself, making sure I hadn't broken anything, to look up and see who it was that ran into me.
"Do you think you could watch where you're going next time?" The deep voice sharply said.
I blinked in surprise and looked up to see a boy with brown hair, a shapely jaw, and a pair of hazel eyes glaring at me.
I stared at him for about thirty seconds, wondering why this guy looked so familiar. I didn't remember seeing him anywhere before. Eventually my brain told my mouth that now would be a good time to speak.
"Who? Me?" I questioned, completely thrown off by the uncalled for hostility radiating off of him.
"No, the unicorn right next to you," Deep voice said, rolling his eyes.
I automatically looked on either side of me before looking back at him. He gave me a weird look before standing up.
"You know, you kind of ran into me," I huffed and got to my feet, a little agitated at Deep voice's prior rudeness. "You could say sorry instead of acting all hostile towards me. For no good reason, might I add."
I straightened myself to my full height and planted my hands on my hips, trying for an intimidating look. I don't think it worked seeing as I was about two heads shorter than his six foot self. At least, that's how tall he appeared to be. Maybe six foot three.
He stared down at me for a moment before he nodded. "Yeah I could apologize," he said agreeably.
I waited expectantly.
"But I won't," he finished.
My jaw dropped, and a cocky smile graced his lips. His eyes slowly raked the entire length of my body, lingering at my exposed legs for longer than I believe was necessary, causing me to flush.
Deep voice took his time trailing his gaze back up to my, what must be now, red face. "Watch where you're going next time," he repeated, and then continued in the opposite direction of the school.
"Well, okay then," I muttered, fixing my skirt before continuing towards the building.
This time, I kept an eye out for pedestrians that could potentially cause me to fall to the ground. Again.
I couldn't help but appreciate the fact that Deep voice was kind of good looking.
And fume at the fact that he also happened to be incredibly rude.
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Vote and comment pretty please :)
xxx,
Jess.