BEEP- BEEP- BEEP-
I groggily rolled over in my bed, nearly falling out of it as I swung my hand down on the large button on my alarm clock. I opened my eyes to see that it was 6:00 AM as my leg swept off of my bed to stabilize myself, preventing me from facing the rude awakening of falling out of my bed, but pulling my blanket off of me and exposing my body wearing nothing but underwear and shorts to the cold air of my room. A rude awakening, nonetheless.
Already off to a bad start in my morning, I made the executive decision not to let the way I woke up bother me. It was an important day, after all. I wanted to be at my best.
I sat up on my bed, twisting to steady myself, and waited a moment before getting up. I picked my blanket back up, balled it up, and dumped it into my laundry basket. I hadn’t vacuumed my room in a few days and I could feel the dirt on the carpet under my bare feet.
The next order of business was to immediately turn off my ceiling fan and then put on some actual clothes. I chose to slip on a lightweight, gray, long-sleeved gym hoodie with black sweatpants and plain grey socks, not bothering to take my shorts off before donning my sweatpants. I grabbed my phone and keys off of my nightstand, put one of my wireless headphones in, and exited my room.
When I descended the stairs, I noticed my sister was already at the front door, putting her running shoes on.
“Woah, you’re here before me. That’s new,” I remarked.
“Yeah,” she spoke in her usual, soft voice, with a hint of excitement, “it’s the first day of our junior year after all. I can’t help but be excited..!”
“‘Excited’? Not ‘nervous’?” I asked, joining her sitting at the single stair by our doorstep where the family cubby of shoes was.
I selected my usual running shoes: black off-brand ones that got the job done. I felt my sister momentarily lean her head against my shoulder as a sign of affection as she spoke.
“Why would I be nervous? You’re with me.”
That made me smile wholesomely.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I replied.
She was done putting on her running shoes before me, but patiently waited for me to finish putting on mine. Hers were magenta-colored, with light grey as a secondary color. Above her shoes, she was wearing dark grey leggings and a black zip-up hoodie, concealing whatever she was wearing underneath the hoodie, though I could see a hint of a pink shirt underneath at the top where it wasn’t fully zipped. She used the spare time between her having put on her running shoes and me finishing up with mine to tie her thick, wavy black hair into a ponytail, getting it out of her face. Let down, her hair reached the small of her back. In a ponytail, it currently was at the dead center of her back.
I took the liberty of locking the house door when we exited. We both stretched and then took off down our usual route at a light pace. We ran side by side without a word. Still, the presence of the person who’d been with me my whole life was enough to boost my mood.
“Hey, Nic?” I began to ask.
“What’s up?”
I got caught off-guard to the point that I forgot what I was going to ask her when I felt a sense of deja vu that nearly made me stop running.
“Woah.”
She looked at me quizzically.
“Deja vu,” I explained, “but stronger than any I’ve ever felt before…”
“Is that all?” she asked.
“No- there was something, just…”
I paused for a long few seconds before I gave up.
“Yeah… I can’t remember what I was going to ask,” I admitted.
She simply smiled sympathetically, facing the scene in front of us and continuing to jog.
“Well, you can always ask me later when you remember it.”
I nodded, still a bit surprised by the deja vu I felt. I was going to start getting lost in thought, but I was pulled out of it by my sister.
“Wanna pick up the pace?” She asked.
“Ah- sure,” I answered, “you lead.”
She picked up her pace, maintaining a speed between a jog and a run. I also picked up my pace, keenly aware of the curious and somewhat vexing fact that the sense of deja vu was still lingering and not diminishing in its uncanny potency. Regardless, just like when I woke up, I wouldn’t let this mystery ruin my mood.
That’s right. Today was day one of being a junior in high school. I was going to make the most of it. I hadn’t had a “normal” high school experience so far. I suppose that was normal when you had a name like mine. During my freshman year, I had been secretly skipping class, only to end up in an accident that had caused Fortuna High to get shut down.
A few students died that day, along with the teacher, and several were maimed.
I was fortunate to get off with just some heavy bruising and a badly broken wrist that was capable of making a full recovery after a lot of rehab; though, I was the most fortunate of everyone in that room.
Though I won’t stress my worrisome sister with the truth, it was not a natural accident in the slightest.
I still vividly remember the thing that caused it. The monster was about the size of a large dog, but its legs were twice as long, elevating it to the height of the average student. It was made of flesh and blood. Not flesh and blood in the sense that I am made of flesh and blood, but that it had flesh and blood, and no skin. Its bones and organs were visible through strings and clusters of muscle and ligaments, and its anatomy was just… wrong. All of the students were terrified; for good reason when all exits were locked and even the science teacher’s key wouldn’t work on the doors. When a student tried to be brave and sacrifice himself for the rest of the classroom, stabbing the statue-still creature with a long pair of scissors, it exploded in a spray of burning blood and gore, as though it was a balloon that had popped. Peculiarly, the surviving students seemed to remember nothing when I would ask them… but I still remember it.
After something like that, it’s not unexpected that I’d wrack my brain at just why I was the only one who remembered any of it. The only conclusion I could come up with was this: The creature was supernatural in nature, so I imagine its body had supernatural properties. I had been the only one who hadn’t been directly splashed by any of its gore when it exploded, due to being on the farther end of the classroom, as well as behind a large square sideways table. The explosion had sent a large portion of the creature flying into a heavy chair, which then flew into the sideways table hard enough that it slammed me and made me fly backward into the wall.
Injuries aside, I was very traumatized, having seen the deceased bodies of my peers and teacher. All of us were. Where my physical trauma was the least of all of the victims, my psychological trauma had to be the most, being the only one who remembers what truly happened. I’m still not fully over it, even after-
“Helloooo?”
My sister had stopped running, turned around, and physically stopped me from running by putting her hands on my ribs, pausing my unpleasant thoughts as well. I hadn’t even noticed her moving until I nearly bulldozed her. It was only then that I realized my eyes were slightly wider than usual. We were both able to read each other like a book after having been nearly inseparable for sixteen years; there was no hiding the fact that I was lost in traumatic thought from her.
“Do you need a hug?” she asked.
It took me a second or two to process that she was still speaking to me. I opened my arms and let her hug me, hugging her back gratefully.
“Thanks,” I quietly said.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, “just a bit lost in thought was all.”
“The accident?” she read my thoughts aloud.
“Yeah,” I quietly responded.
She tightened her grip on me, which I appreciated. I lifted my right hand to stare at it, my mind having mercifully been taken off of the worse parts of the subject. My sister had gotten quite good at giving hugs over the years. So had I, when we both had each other to practice on. “Physical touch” was both of our primary love languages, with “quality time” being secondary. Thus, we spent most of our time over the years in close proximity to each other. There were few secrets we kept from each other, and the truth of the “accident” was merely one of mine.
“Wanna go back?” she mumbled into my collarbone.
“We can keep running,” I voiced my preference. “We’ve hardly made any distance, and I’m completely fine. I wasn’t that bothered this time.”
I paused a bit as she continued to hug me tightly.
“I appreciate the hug, though.”
She merely nodded into my shoulder before breaking the hug and continuing our run.
[◉¯]
We arrived back home at 6:33 AM, hot and sweaty despite the natural cold from the morning.
Fortunately, our house had three restrooms. Dad and Lia shared one, and the other two were right next to my sister and my rooms upstairs. Thus, we didn’t have to worry about taking turns taking showers. We kicked off our running shoes, walked up the stairs to the second floor of our house, and entered our rooms to prepare for our morning showers.
From my room, I grabbed and set out a plain black long-sleeved shirt, as well as a purple dress shirt with various designs on it—most of which being flowers—to wear unbuttoned over it. I decided on some black techwear cargo pants and plain black socks. Additionally, what I deemed as the most important aspect of my outfit, was the necklace. It was a thin silver chain with a pendant of half of a silver leaf. My sister had the other half; we had purchased them about half a year ago while walking the mall. I threw in some black high-top shoes as well.
With my outfit for the day chosen, I entered my bathroom and began undressing. It was only after I had finished taking off my hoodie that I looked in the mirror and froze in embarrassment.
I had an awful case of bedhead… and my sister didn’t tell me.
I wanted to send her a text screaming at her for it… but then again, she probably thought it was funny not to tell me. I’d only be rewarding her if I gave her a reaction. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, straightening it out in the mirror.
If I had to assess my physical appearance, I’d say it was give-or-take average, but for one factor: I was born with heterochromia. At a glance, you wouldn’t notice it due to the dark colors, though anyone making eye contact with me for more than a few seconds was sure to make the realization. My right eye was dark brown and my left eye was dark greyish blue. The rest of my appearance was standard: black voluminous hair long enough to reach my chin, which I usually loosely tied back, the body of someone healthy and athletic but not that muscular, fair skin, slightly above-average height at five-foot-eleven. I was a bit more blessed when it came to acne (or the lack thereof). I wouldn’t say I was good-looking, per se, but I had been complimented on my handsomeness before, so I didn’t really know what to think. I’d rather leave assessing myself to others.
After I took my shower, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and blow-dried my hair. Entering my room, I donned my outfit for the day, tied my hair in a loose ponytail using my leaf necklace as the tie, which allowed the leaf to dangle down stylishly, and grabbed my backpack, water bottle, and the most important item of them all: my camera.
Walking back down the stairs, I quickly grabbed two green apples from the kitchen and waited patiently at the front door for my sister. It didn’t take her long to descend the stairs as well.
“Lookin’ stylish,” she remarked.
I threw her an apple, which she caught and took a bite out of, then replied.
“You as well.”
My sister, if I had to assess, was somewhat more good-looking than myself. With our anti-acne gene, she didn’t really need makeup to cover blemishes. Still, she looked great with light makeup on to add a bit of glitter to her eyes. Regarding her outfit, she went the practical route, choosing to wear black, comfortable skinny jeans, black boots, a white turtleneck undershirt, and a black hoodie, along with some standard Converse shoes. I smiled when I noticed her wearing her leaf necklace as a bracelet, the pendant hanging off of her wrist.
I opened the door and walked out, her following behind me and beginning to walk in the direction of our school while I locked the front door behind us.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“So… brother of mine,” my sister began to ask.
“What is it, sister dearest?” I answered, matching her unnecessarily formal manner of speaking.
“Are you interested in making any friends this year?”
I sighed as the recurring question came up once again, slowing my walking pace now that I had caught back up with her.
“Are you seriously asking me that for the fifth year in a row?” I sassed. “That’s kind of ridiculous when you know the answer already.”
“I think it’s more ridiculous how vehemently against enjoying your youth you are,” she bit back.
I took a bite of my apple, chewing before speaking with my mouth halfway full.
“You and I both know that I already have no problems enjoying my youth.”
“That’s because your wonderful big sis is making life fun for you!” she boasted, giving me a light punch in the shoulder with her half-eaten apple in hand.
“There’s nothing ‘big’ about your siblinghood in regard to me.” I objected.
“Thirty-two seconds,” she smugly reminded me, as she always would, “I’m holding that over your head forever.”
I gave her the uncaring reply of another silent bite of my apple.
“Hey, let’s listen to music.”
I silently took my headphone case out of my pocket, the apple held in my mouth, and offered her one of the freshly-charged wireless earbuds. I put the other one in my ear and put our shared playlist on shuffle. The first song to play was one of the ones I added; the next was one we both liked.
We listened to music in relative silence during the rest of the walk to Westwood High.
[◉¯]
Westwood High had one of the prettiest campuses I had ever been on, which helped to boost the motivation of an aesthete like myself to come to class in the first place.
There were several roads leading into it, and it was built in a large clearing of tall trees inside a small forest, meticulously kept vines and other flora reaching up the three-story tall school’s concrete outer walls. The school’s courtyard had a freshly swept patio and a variety of different planters with two-foot-tall walls of brick or stone, as well as a square fountain in the middle of the courtyard. The road leading through the forest from the school to my neighborhood happened to be one of the more beautiful roads they had built. It was lined with wooden fences blocking a wall of lush bushes on either side and ran for about half a mile. Various kinds of flora resided under the leaves of the tall trees, the sun’s light peeking through each gap. Paired with the morning’s amazing weather, it was a beautiful first day to be back at school.
As all of the roads converged into one, we could see more and more students walking along with us; friends recognizing each other, people distracted by their phones, people enjoying the scenery, and a few people in what looked like uniforms, even though this school didn’t require them. There were a few cars every now and then and several bicyclists, but it was even harder for them to move forward than the pedestrians walking on foot, because of the sheer number of people that were walking on a single one-hundred-foot-long road.
“This really is amazing…”
My honest thoughts slipped out of my mouth before I could think about what I was saying. I had a serene smile on my face as I breathed in the fresh air. I noticed my sister smile at how at peace I looked, as opposed to when we were running. I reached into my bag and fished out my camera, manually setting the focus and snapping a picture of the scene of hundreds of students flooding into a beautiful campus.
“We should take one together,” my sister suggested. “Start of a new year.”
“Yeah,” I replied, “sounds like a good idea.”
I messed with the expensive camera to where we could point it at ourselves while being able to see its screen, wrapping my arm around my sister and her wrapping her arm around me, making bunny ears at the top of my head and matching my serene smile with a slightly more expressive one. I snapped the picture and began putting my camera away.
“Send that one to me later.”
“I will,” was my reply.
[◉¯]
“Homeroom class 3-A, welcome and welcome back to Westwood High. My name is Mr. Ronald. For those of you who don’t already know me, allow me to tell you a little bit about myself…”
Mr. Ronald was a slightly overweight man in his fifties. Balding grey hair and a somewhat well-trimmed beard and mustache combo left the only real part of his head that didn’t have hair on it to be the top. He had been my homeroom teacher in my sophomore year before he was switched to the juniors’ class ‘A’ homeroom teacher this year, and he had gotten to know me just about as well as the next guy.
I had been assigned to the same homeroom class as my sister, as per how the school functioned. They would order the classes alphabetically from the surnames of the students. This meant that siblings were often in the same class and even seated adjacent to each other. The first twenty-five junior year students started at “A” and ended at “J,” continuing into class 3-B which started at “J,” and so on. The classrooms also had assigned seating, going alphabetically left to right, front to back. I sat at the very front right corner, with my sister on my left. There were a few students I recognized, and, of course, none I was friends with.
“...and so, that’s what we’re going to be doing for the rest of our homeroom class. We should have enough time for everyone, given our extended homeroom class schedule today,” Mr. Ronald finished speaking.
He had finished prattling about himself and moved on to explaining what we were going to be doing. I looked at the whiteboard in the front of the classroom and could pretty much figure it out despite not having paid attention. The black-haired student at the front left corner of the room got out of her seat, walked to the front of the classroom, took a marker, and began filling in the prompts on the whiteboard.
Name: Estela Acosta
Any Preferred Nickname: N/A
Age: 16
Birthday: October 3rd
Pronouns: She/Her
Fun Fact: I have chronic bad luck.
“Woah, we’re off to an interesting start,” Mr. Ronald remarked.
“Yeah… I’ve had fourteen near-death experiences in my life,” Estela elaborated. “One of them being just last week. Almost got hit by a speeding car.”
“Yikes,” I heard a student mutter.
“A-Alright then, please go back to your seat Estela,” Mr. Ronald fretted. “Next.”
The next student to get up was a very tall, brown-haired skinny guy wearing a plain choice of jeans and a T-shirt. He approached the whiteboard, erased Estela’s writing, and filled it in with his information.
Name: Edmund Allen
Any Preferred Nickname: Ed
Age: 17
Birthday: August 1st
Pronouns: He/Him
Fun Fact: None of my immediate family members are shorter than 6’0.
“Wow. So, how tall are you?” questioned Mr. Ronald.
Rather than speaking, Ed simply wrote in a blank space on the whiteboard:
“6’4”
“Splendid,” Mr. Ronald acknowledged, “back to your seat now. Next.”
The student after that was a wealthy-looking kid with lots of earrings on, including several two-part chain earrings in colors of black and gold. He was wearing a comfortable-looking, long-sleeved shirt with a visually appealing design, from a brand I had never heard of.
Name: Richie Alvarado
Any Preferred Nickname: Whatever you want
Age: 16
Birthday: June 8th
Pronouns: He/Him
Fun Fact: I am a sixteen-year-old entrepreneur.
“An entrepreneur at age sixteen? That’s impressive!” Mr. Ronald praised him. “How long have you had your business running?”
“A year,” Richie answered, “I’ve made around ten thousand from it so far.”
“Good stuff. Keep up the good work,” Mr. Ronald replied. “Next.”
My sister was the next one to get up and walk to the front of the class. She walked with a sort of gentle confidence that would’ve made me feel some butterflies in my stomach if she weren’t my sister. In a soft voice, she spoke while she wrote:
“Hello hello..! I’m Nichole Anastasiou. You can call me whatever you want as long as it isn’t ‘Nic.’ That one’s reserved for my lovely twin brother over there…!” she pointed at me with her open dry-erase marker, which I didn’t appreciate in the slightest. “I’m sixteen years old and was born on March 8th, thirty-two seconds before my dear brother. My pronouns are ‘she/her,’ and a fun fact about me is that I’m actually quite a well-known voice actress! You can look me up and see what kinds of media I’ve starred in..!”
“What a lovely personality—and a twin! You’re an interesting one!” Mr. Ronald gave his input, though he had already grown to know her from the previous year. “Next, ‘brother dearest’!”
I sighed and gave my sister a death glare as I got up and walked to the front of the classroom, contemplating throwing the whiteboard eraser at her but deciding against it.
“This guy has a really cool fun fact to share!” was Mr. Ronald’s attempt to psych up the class, as though I were a professional boxer entering the ring.
Partially to spite Nichole for getting all eyes on me, partially to spite Mr. Ronald for egging her on, and mostly because I just didn’t want the attention, I was completely silent as I simply erased my sister’s writing and filled it in with my own.
Name: Paris Anastasiou
Any Preferred Nickname: Anything.
Age: 16
Birthday: March 8th
Pronouns: He/Him
Fun Fact: I enjoy photography.
I felt a sense of embarrassment in writing my ridiculously conspicuous name, which lingered until it was washed away by a feeling of triumphant glee at the awkwardness I saw wash over Mr. Ronald when I chose an extremely mundane fun fact. I suppressed a smile. He whispered to me,
“You aren’t gonna tell them about the whole… you know…” he gestured at his eyes, referencing my heterochromia.
“Nope,” was my one-word answer. He announced to the class again,
“Uhh… O-Okay! Well, Paris is a very interesting person once you get to know him! Try to strike up a conversation with him at some point!” Mr. Ronald stumbled over his words, trying to get rid of the awkwardness I had created in the room. “Next!”
[◉¯]
“You really do!” the student who had just approached me and stared deeply into my eyes without my consent exclaimed, her face mere inches from mine.
She was one of the students who wore a uniform, despite the school not usually requiring them. It was a simple black skirt that reached to her knees, a plain white collared button-up shirt, and a light grey blazer that had a pocket at the left side of the chest and the Westwood High logo at the right side of the chest, mirroring the pocket. Additionally, her uniform sported a colored ribbon used in place of a tie. The ribbon was dark blue, matching her shoulder-length brown hair’s deep blue ombre.
She had approached me during lunch when Nichole and I were sitting on a bench in the courtyard together. I noticed her leave a group of girls who were pointing at me and felt more and more exasperated the closer she got to me.
“Was there an issue?” I spoke bluntly, making it clear that I was irritated at her approaching me and interrupting my lunch.
“No, no- not an issue,” she replied, seemingly either unaware or uncaring that she was wasting my time. “You have different colored eyes! That’s so cool!”
She was overly expressive, which made me even more tired of this whole interaction.
“I’m aware,” I spoke with a brazenly uninterested tone. “Is that all you had to say?”
It was my sister who cut in, speaking with the last traces of a bite of food still yet to be swallowed.
“Don’t you think that’s kind of rude? She’s being nice.”
I answered her with a sigh, and felt obligated to offer more than that; for my sister’s sake, not the girl’s. I turned my head to look her in the eyes.
“Sorry. Did you need anything else?”
She replied by being fixated on my eyes, looking from one to the other in wonder, not wanting to stop taking in the sight with her own blue eyes. Then, my sister said something nightmarish.
“I think the two of you should be friends!”
I was about to immediately voice my objection, but,
“No–ooowww!”
My sister had grabbed my pant leg and pinched my thigh with the grip strength of a gorilla.
“Now? Wonderful!” she said with a friendly smile, eyes closed. “I’ll give you his phone number later!”
“Really? Thanks a lot! Let’s get along, Paris!” the girl smiled at me before walking away with a wave and a bounce in her step.
I hadn’t even known her name, but I conjectured that the reason she knew mine was because her posse of girls included someone from my homeroom class.
I slowly turned my head to give my sister a sidelong glance with my eyes wide open. If looks could kill, I’d be in the slammer for second-degree murder. I imagine it looked like I was trying with all I had to resist tearing her face off; partially because I was.
“Nichole Parian Anastasiou. Your days are numbered,” I spoke through clenched teeth.
She simply smiled and giggled, taking a bite of her homemade grilled chicken. After chewing and swallowing her food, she said,
“No, no~ you got it all wrong. This is the part where you say, ‘Thanks Nic, you made me a friend because I can’t make them on my own!’”
“In your dreams. If you weren’t you, you’d be laid out flat on the floor right now,” I threatened her.
“Oh, please,” she replied provocatively, “as if you could beat me in a fight.”
“You wanna bet?” I replied, not backing down.
“‘If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant,’” she quoted, holding a fork up that had two grilled asparaguses spiked on it. “Sun Tzu, The Art of War.”
“I hope you choke on your food,” was my rather weak comeback.
She simply laughed and put her fork in her mouth. I sighed in defeat.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some leaves falling from a tree at the edge of the campus’ forest clearing. My ‘photographer’s sense’ kicked in and I stood up from my spot at the end of the bench, setting my box of food down where I was previously seated.
“I’m gonna go take some photos. Guard my food and backpack for me?”
“You got it.”
I grabbed my camera bag and approached the forest beginning, which was about two hundred feet away. The falling leaves hadn’t stopped from when I left the bench and when I got to the spot I was looking at. I unzipped my bag, took my camera out, attached its specialized lens, and aimed it at the scene, manually setting the focus.
I took several photos, aiming the camera up at an angle, to where the colorful falling leaves were in focus with a blurred backdrop of the treetops. A few of them, I really liked the look of. I was looking at the photos on my camera when a black petal, quite obviously not from one of the trees, drifted gently down and fell onto my hand.
Then, the memories started flooding back.