The Sunlandic Twins

"How many others?"

"I assure you, Holly J., numbers aren't really important." He can hear her breathe a frustrated sigh into the receiver, and he smiles, knowing her perseverance will keep working on him in an attempt to extract secrets– or facts, rather– about his past. "It isn't important, really."

"I will find out one day. You'll let it slip."

"Okay." He'd never been a phone talker up to that point mainly because there was something ancient and banal about talking on the telephone. Personally, Declan believed that if a message could be texted, why waste the time dialing when an answer would be received in seconds at a speed much faster than that of a telephone call? It was this matter of logic with which Holly J disagreed. She's been pushing him into new proclivities yet he's still proudly managed to stand by his belief that the world can be conquered on his iPhone, an object which he has used to make only four telephone calls on this month alone, and that includes this current conversation.

"It's something about you, and I think it's important that I know it, Declan."

"Tell me something about you."

"We've already talked about me... You've yet to disclose anything important or memorable about yourself." Without hesitation, she hears his laugh on the other end and smiles a little. "What?"

"You're very funny; I'm far from forgettable, Holly J." There are paradoxes all over the place: The unification of two steadfast individuals is a concept similar to fighting fire with fire. Holly J and Declan are pushers– more like pissers– and they'll work on each other, and eventually, Holly J expects to crack the intimacy code on him, but if it isn't today, fine. There's always tomorrow. Always. It's only logical to assume that the Trend of Perseverance will flow in the opposite direction, and in her case, timing is a nonissue because unlike Declan, Holly J possesses ladylike grace and patience.

"Listen, I gotta go bullshit my way through this Physics assignment."

"You haven't finished yet? It's already ten o'clock."

"It's a breeze. Do you want a ride to school tomorrow?" She thinks for a second, twisting her limp hair around her index finger.

"That's okay. I'll just meet you there," she says, as if she's holding back, but he doesn't question it. Then saying goodbye, they hang up. Declan's glance lingers on his phone for a second or two, and in milliseconds, the thought of calling her back just to hear her voice again crosses his mind, but he checks it as his eyes shift over to the pile of books that have been sitting on his desk since three this afternoon. Getting up, he stretches, turning on his heel, and is greeted by the lazy, watchful eye of his sister, Fiona. She comes in without invitation, in her usual fashion, and lounges on his perfectly made bed.

"Were you eavesdropping again," he says walking out and across the hall to the bathroom. After a few minutes, he returns, sitting at the desk waiting for her reply. She takes her time by flipping through Declan's current read, puts it down– folding her hands– , and looks over at him.

"Yes, I was. And you know what I think?"

"The proper question is do I want to know what you think?" Confused by his segway, she furrows her brow, turns her head to the side, then shrugs, asking her own silent question with gestures which causes Declan to put down his phone, giving his full attention. "I'm sorry. What do you think?"

"Holly J could be good for you." He opens his mouth to add something, but closes it because he's unsure of exactly what to say. The angle at which Fiona has approached strikes a confused chord within him, making him question the genuine nature of her comment mainly because her opinion was unsolicited. The red flag for Declan is naturally going to go up. It's often that way, the family ethos. The familial air is sometimes such a sickening slope, that that line between facing each member from the actual front or theoretical front(with one's one back turned toward oncoming danger, thinking it's the actual front) blurs completely. Adding to this daunting dynamic is the special relationship reserved only for siblings who have simultaneously shared the womb. There is no doubt this special bond uniting Declan and Fiona is present, the thing that disturbs him the most, however, is how quickly the whole thing can blossom or sour between them, making the relationship at times uncouth. Fiona Coyne, his twin sister, his best friend, his enemy, his confidante. His enemy...

"What are you getting at, Fi?"

"Don't sound so suspicious. I'm happy for you. I like her." She slides off the bed and saunters out of the room with a small, taunting smile. He studies her on her way out. More often than not, he can sense when there is more to her mocking mannerisms, but at this moment despite this nagging feeling pulling him in the other direction, he forces himself to believe that her words are in fact truth, even if the method of presentation suggests otherwise. "Besides," she says, poking her head back in, "I just wanted to get a good look at you myself."

"Why?" She knows she's getting to him. The mystery of round about communication has always been Declan's signature move and it annoys him to no end when other people try to copy his style. "What do you mean get a good look at me?"

"Nothing, nothing." In her head, she counts down the seconds.


He comes rushing out of his room like she expected and then some; he roughly grabs her by the wrists, dragging her to the floor and with a taunting look of contempt, pins her there.

"Get off me! I'm serious, you're hurting me."

"Tell me what you were going to say."

"I wasn't going to say anything, taunting or otherwise. I swear!" He doesn't believe her and strikes with the offensive, clearing his throat and digs deep for mucous with which to torment her. "Declan, you better not!"

"Declan, get off of your sister." Their mother stands with stern defiance and watches as they pick themselves up. "Fiona, get ready for bed. I need to talk to you, young man." She motions for his bedroom, and pretends to not notice the silent jeers and improper gestures they exchange with one another as they disperse.

He sits on the bed and quietly listens to the overdone clichéd litany performed by every parent going out of town. It's not like they haven't done this before: No parties, no friends staying over, go to bed on time, no going out on school nights, do your homework, turn off the stove(as if they do their own cooking...), the list really does go on and on and on, but she's added something else that makes his ears perk up.

"And no visits from Holly J."

"What? Why? She's my girlfriend."

"Yes, I understand that, Declan, but I just don't think it to be proper at this time. After that incident at the award ceremony, I think you two shouldn't be hanging out alone for awhile." Ah, the thing about parents– no, any authority figure really– is that they pretend not to understand the psyche of a young person. Like, by some grace of a higher power, they can anticipate the future actions of whom they are trying to control. Well, one thing Declan understands fully, and it's something of which they refuse to acknowledge, is that kids will always do what they want. It's as simple as that. And also that there is temptation in everything and they'll try and pursue it.

Parents may think they remember what it's like to be young, but with all the static of children, work, and bills, they've learned to train their minds into thinking they have some control because of their title, the fact that they gave said child life, and that they know their children almost like an omniscient being knows his most complex creation. They think they're God when really they're Jacks of no trade, stupidly believing their kids will follow the rules. Parents try to deter the fun, yet they present a challenge to their kids every time they tell them "no". Declan was and still is the child who does the opposite of what he's told as a way to make a statement, and because they're, more often then not, more fun than legitimate activities.

"You don't trust her?"

"I do not." She continues on the same track, and he nods, fully aware that he will probably break every rule while his father, her husband, is out of the country and while she and Fiona are away. The catch is he won't get caught. He rarely ever gets caught. He will have Holly J over, and he doesn't care. Still, his parents are smart: "Not only do I not trust Holly J, I don't trust you."

"Fair enough." His mother crosses to the door, thinking he will surely do what he wants. Turning back, she lovingly looks at him with a soft smile.

"Try... to be good. Please. We'll only be gone for a week."

"Alright, mom. I promise." He rolls his eyes at her and his yet to be finished homework.

*

There truly is something disturbing the way the night seems to drone on or complete itself in what feels like an hour. The way the time plays tricks on the teenage mind is one of the most paradoxical experiences of being young. What with the raging hormones, endless conversations or other outings with friends, stupid projects and copious amounts of homework, along with nights where parties last until five, then everybody crashes, and wakes up at ten with boundless energy boggles the mind. When bodies can carry on after all of that, no wonder teenagers think they're truly invincible. Then there are nights one actually looks forward to the legitimate eight hours of repose and it ends up feeling like two.

The idiotically shrill sound Declan set as the alarm on his phone serves its purpose at being just obnoxious enough to jar him awake every single morning. Some days, he does feel rested and is quick to silence the noise, but today, he grimaces and wakes himself almost simultaneously with the action of the alarm. His hand comes shooting out of the depths of his sheets and comforter. His hair is ruffled as if it was blown by the wind and he presses– almost slams– his finger on the silence button, thus starting the day with an annoyed snare and a curling lip.

He drags himself to the bathroom, where Fiona is already dressed and fixing her makeup. She's forever been a morning person, and Declan suspects she never really sleeps. She's a sweet girl, but he also is suspicious of how much alike they may be in the areas of people perception. Like she has some secret aspirations of mind-fucking others, but it's only in mind, never acted upon while Declan has liberally taken the freedom to say and do as he pleases. He reaches for his toothbrush and she steps aside in order to give him room to reach. In the mirror, her eye catches the curled edge of his mouth and the look of it bothers her a little bit. Some mornings, he's absolutely dreadful while other times, he can be quite attentive and stimulating. True, there isn't enough time to have in-depth conversation, but every once in awhile, they exchange a few good ideas, and words, and they're surprisingly full for the approximate twenty minutes allotted before going to school. Today, however, is not a good time to strike up anything.

It's that kind of insolent teenage entitlement she never employed; the "don't even look at me. I just woke up"-ness. Some people can get away with operating like that, but Fiona's aware that it's a color that simply does not flatter her in any way, shape, or form. With one last deft sweep of the liquid eyeliner brush, she caps it, and walks out of the bathroom.

"I'll be downstairs. Hurry up."

The drive every morning is usually quiet save for the radio. The twins hardly ever listen to stations other than NPR over XM Radio. Declan is careful enough at the wheel, very rarely ever taking liberties with the BMW or making power moves on the road. This kind of attentive unwillingness to own up to the fact that he actually has a heart are subtle characteristics that Fiona likes to tally in her head. She knows her brother has an image to maintain, so she respectfully pays him back in kind by also rarely mentioning these weak points in his stonewall image.

The twins lead two different lives at school. In recent weeks, Declan has started to diverge from the loner path and began spending his school days and an occasional Saturday evening with Sav Bhandari, Anya, and that crowd which was optimal opportunity, in some ways, to stir preliminary Holly J interactions. And as the weeks continue to pass, their friendship has steadily grown and Fiona's witnessed that they've been exchanging secrets. The subjects with which they're concerning themselves are still unknown to her and because of this, she can't quite decide yet if this is an urgent matter she should worry about. This might be, rather, her way of riding the euphoria she gets from watching others socialize and she might also be anticipating some big thing happening. Declan's involvement with Holly J has her mentally hanging off the edge of her seat, and she's waiting to see the latest scandal because these high school things– the flings– , they never last and now that it involves her brother, she feels as if she possesses a heightened sense of social awareness around Degrassi. But this current venture– she won't ever call or believe it to be a relationship– has left her locked out and distanced from Declan, who's refusing to disclose the details of this situation.

It kills her, knowing nothing, so she teases him, which may or may not be beneficial to her cause. She doesn't care either way whether it spills out of him in a desperate attempt to get her to stop her verbal enigmas or if he calmly sits her down, like he used to, and gives her a psychoanalytic, semidetached account of events, yet still from his point-of-view. She'll really be happy with the latter, but if need be, and this is need be, she must employ the first tactic. Fiona Coyne refuses to be locked out of her brother's mental house.

"Do you have anything after school?"

"What?"

"Do you have a meeting or something after school?" She sighs, silently jabbed by an inquiry like this.

"No. You know I don't..."

"I'm staying after school to help Holly J audition prospects for Café Cabaret."

"Café Cabaret?" He stands there nodding his head, looking down at his cell phone. "So what am I supposed to do while you sniff Holly J's ass?" Immediately, he looks up, blinks only once, then narrows his eyes a little.

"You know," he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder, "you should really join some extracurriculars or something. Or get some friends... I'm beginning to get tired of babysitting you." He walks by her out of the parking lot to the front steps, where his porcelain princess Holly J waits for him. She watches, detached from her jealousy, as they walk inside. Fiona knows how good it must be to have someone to face the day with, but she can't help but foster the comforting feeling of believing that she is above real social connection.