Sophia
I can honestly say I've done many stupid things in my life.
"No," I instantly replied, squashing down her idea.
Most of them because of a certain blonde.
She batted her ocean blue eyes at me.
"No-no-no-no-no," I reiterated in a stern tone.
The tall, fair-haired girl in front of me wore a pout on her pretty, flawless face.
"Come on,Sop, " she persisted, being the stubborn person she had always been.
Unfortunately for her, I was equally adamant, if not more hardheaded than her.
"No, Stacy," I repeated with a sigh, then I spun in my swivel chair, a silent way of saying that the discussion was over. I pushed my rimless oval glasses up the bridge of my nose and faced my laptop, my fingers deftly flying across the keyboard.
Despite my calm demeanor, I inwardly squirmed, because I could feel her presence behind me.
I couldn't focus on my work with someone lingering close by, with her gaze heavily on my head.
Whirling around in my black chair, I clutched my temples as my brown eyes narrowed into slits.
"Ace, it is seven thirty pm, and I want to finish one more chapter before hitting the hay. I refuse to do what you're asking me to, and that is final," I said in agitation.
My twin folded her delicate arms across her chest, and she impatiently tapped her right bare foot against the cold white tiles.
Yet again, I wondered how we were related when our physical appearances were worlds apart.
Stacy had long yellow hair which flowed above her slender waist, she had the most arresting shade of sky blue eyes that went well on her heart-shaped face, and her skin was like vanilla---soft,white and creamy. She stood at five-ten, her lips were full and luscious, and her legs were long and supple. It was no wonder people often mistook her for a model or actress.
Me? Behind the rimless spectacles was a girl with chocolate tresses, long and curly, cascading down to my waist. My skin was fair, and though I wasn't as fit and svelte as my sister, my body index was perfectly average. My height? Five-eight. Eye color? Dark brown. I shared the same plump lips as my sibling, but with the way we dress and act, no one would be the wiser that we were of the same blood.
And now she was trying to convince me into another one of her shenanigans.
"Please, Sop!" she wheedled, and I jumped in my seat when she suddenly leaned over my left shoulder, her chin hovering beside my head while her hands curled around my black chair.
Realizing I couldn't continue my online story with 140 pounds of teenage whining lurking around, I closed my work-tabs, then arched my head back in a wearisome manner.
"Why is it such a big deal, anyway?" I finally asked, gazing up at the beige ceiling.
I heard Stacy let out a smirk. "It's just for fun, Sop."
"We should really be recharging our batteries," I told her as I rose from my swivel chair.
The tall blonde waved a dismissive hand while watching me stretch my arms like a kitten.
"It will only take thirty minutes," she promised, plopping down on my original spot, which was in front of my black laptop. Her fingers were swiftly tapping away along the keyboard buttons.
"Use your own laptop!" I groaned, but she ignored me.
My eyes surveyed our bedroom for the millionth time: Stacy and I have shared a room since we were three years old, and I have to admit, I'm highly pleased with its current state. The place reminded me of our relationship--simple, comfortable, and dynamic.
The ceiling was a soothing shade of beige, while we decided to keep the floor in white tiles. Other than those factors, all else was completely in contrast. Half of the room was decorated in Stacy's style: Pale pink wallpaper, white and gray bed covers, posters of her idols and favorite bands everywhere, a study table in one corner, a shelf full of CDs and DVDs, and our co-ed AC pinned above the square window bordered by pink floral curtains.
In my equal portion of the room, the walls were forest green, my bed sheets peach and olive, and in one corner was my own work/study desk, where my annoying sister was busily tapping away on my black laptop instead of her white one. Like her, I also had posters of my idols and favorite artists, but while Stacy had yoga and exercise videos, I had a book nook--A mini-library where two bean bag chairs, one green and one pink, sat in front of a wooden bookshelf crammed with my vast collection of novels I've collected since third grade.
A partition bedroom divider separated our halves of the spacious room. It was made out crisp wood borders and a double-tinted glass screen which gave us both our often-needed privacy.
Not that it ever stopped either of us from barging in uninvited, carelessly sliding the divider open to ask for favors or to find out what the other was up to.
Speaking of which.
"Stacy, we need to save our energy for tomorrow," I reminded my sneaky blonde twin, who was already rubbing her palms together in a oh-this-is-gonna-be-great manner.
I didn't like that mischievous glint in her turquoise eyes.
"Ace, what are you doing?" I demanded, drawing my face towards the big white screen.
"Setting up your dating profile," she coolly answered while crossing a leg over the other.
"Oh, why didn't you say so--" My forehead creased when her words registered. "MY WHAT?"
A wide grin crept onto her lovely features. "Your dating profile," she said again.
Immediately, I bumped her to the side using my hip, and she cackled gleefully as she wheeled away from me while I frantically scanned the site on my laptop's screen.
"Stacy, what the heck? You signed me up on Tinder!?!?" I exclaimed, sounding incredulous.
"You speak like it's the most heinous crime in the world," she admonished recklessly.
I shot her a sharp glare as she, still in the swivel chair, casually rolled towards my direction.
"I'm not going to be involved in a shady activity such as Tinder," I automatically told her.
Stacy shrugged at me and bumped me to the side. She eyed the social page and said:
"Well, there's more than one network to conduct the same goal." She flashed me a cunning grin before she inquired: "Would you prefer Matchmaking.com? Lonely Hearts.net? There are plenty of hot guys in Catch-A-Fish. I checked earlier. Just tell me if you don't like your display photo."
Against my better judgment, my brown gaze flickered to the glowing screen once more. My exasperating sister had indeed organized my profile on Tinder, but she hadn't sealed the deal yet, Thank Goodness.
Hmm. The picture she'd used was one of my recent ones. It was taken after our High School Graduation Ceremony two months ago, and we were no longer in white togas and caps. In the photo, my curly brown hair was swept to one shoulder, and gone were my oval glasses. I was clad in a modest mint blue dress, with sheer long sleeves and a lacy hemline above my ankles. I was flashing a toothy smile at the camera and sported a peace sign with my right hand.
With some apprehension, I dropped my eyes to the information box:
Name: Sophia Ann Sta. Ana
Age: 22
Birthday:June 4, 1998
Hobbies: Wild outdoor adventures, Traveling
Something interesting about me: I'm not looking for anything serious, I just want to
I didn't even bother finishing perusing my ABOUT ME Box. I quickly felt stabs of irritation prickling all over my skin before I snapped my head towards my sister sitting next to me.
"Funny. I don't recall turning five years older overnight," I drawled sarcastically.
Stacy rolled her eyes skyward. "Everyone lies about their age," she explained.
My finger pointed at the screen. And I went on: "And what drivel is this? I don't travel nor do I enjoy outdoor adventures!" My words were oozing with anger and indignation.
"You're an online writer," she countered haughtily, uncrossing her legs. "You're always wandering off in exotic countries and participating in colorful activities."
"Those are fictional!" I cried out while burying my face in my hands. I peeked at the screen.
I lashed out: "And this! What the heck is this, 'I'm not looking for anything serious'," I quoted the last statement, feeling the smoke puff out of my ears. I was fuming. "You're pimping me out!"
"I am not pimping you out," my blonde twin scoffed. She pushed herself off the swivel chair and grabbed me by the shoulders, flopping me down on the black cushioned seat.
"I'm being rational," she continued, her hands around my shoulders as both of us skimmed the Tinder page. "I know you're not ready to entertain anyone exclusively, much less in any way at all, so it seemed practical to mention that you were only searching for a brief date or some company. Live a little, Sop. We're turning eighteen tomorrow. It's time you spread your wings."
"I can spread my wings without going on a blind date," I griped.
"It's not a blind date," Stacy fired back. She glanced at the laptop screen. "Each Tinder-user has a profile picture pinned up,see?"
My shoulders sagged in defeat. I could see it in her blue eyes--the hope--she wanted me to let loose and be spontaneous. I had always been cooped up indoors, drowning in books and academics, excelling in every field, making everyone, including her, proud of me.
I met Stacy's expectant look, and I straightened in my chair. She clapped her hands.
"Let's do this," I conceded, earning a giddy squeal from my twin.
God, please be good to me.