"No, that's not Gene-like ."

This time, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He realized that if he kept it up, he'd run the risk straining his extraocular muscles. Although that did give him an idea...

Perhaps if he did manage to get injured somehow, Gene would concede and agree to give up this farce. Then he would be able to fly back home to England, to his own room, free to lose himself in his own work and research. But that was stupid and ridiculous. Maybe he was getting too much in character. Why even consider going through all the trouble of getting injured just to get away from his current situation? All he had to do was-

"Try again."

He inwardly scoffed as he eyed the auburn-haired girl in front of him, who was currently intensely scrutinizing his every move. He liked to think he knew his twin better than anybody else; it wasn't as if this was the first time he'd pretended to be him, after all. Still, he made a slight adjustment to the way the edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled and repeated, "Hello, what can I get for you today?"

She pursed her lips, still dissatisfied. "Your eyebrows are still a little stiff and low. Gene kind of lifts the inside of his eyebrows up a little. And less toothy-you're overcompensating."

"It is disconcerting how well you've studied his mannerisms. Are you a stalker? Perhaps I should advise him against moving in with you."

"What! No, I'm not a stalker! I just… pay attention to people, that's all." She huffed and crossed her arms. A few seconds later, she raised her left eyebrow at him in concern and asked, "But seriously, we're still moving in tomorrow, right? We've paid the downpayment and everything already..."

The door suddenly opened and a fashionable young man entered, halting their conversation. The two assumed their position and waited as the man approached the counter with a fresh, easy air, and he then smiled at them brilliantly, nodding most expressively toward Oliver and lilted, "Hey, what's up, you?"

Oliver nodded and flashed him his corrected smile.

"Hello, what can I get for you today?" he recited.

The man giggled and replied, "I'll never grow tired of that charming accent. Well, I'll get the same as usual."

Oliver took a paper cup from a stack and began writing down the shorthand as he recited confidently, "16-ounce cafe au lait with soy milk and half a packet of sugar? Would that be all?" He handed the cup over to Mai and she immediately started bustling around to fill the order.

"Yes, that's all."

"That would be four dollars and fifty two cents, please."

After the transaction, the young man continued loitering around by the counter. There was no one else around in the shop at the moment, and the guy's incessant staring was starting to grate on his nerves, so Oliver ventured to ask, trying his best to sound as interested as possible, "How's your day going so far?"

Beside him, he could feel the girl silently shaking in laughter, but any noise she made was drowned out by the high pitched squealing of the steamer.

"Good, great! I'm doing great. We have several concerts lined up starting in three days, so we're really busy with the final rehearsals. Going to need this caffeine surge."

Mai set the cup down on the counter, capped it with a lid, and gently slid it toward the customer with her usual big smile. "Wow, a concert! What kind of music do you play?

"Classical. Our orchestra will be performing at the Copeland Symphony Hall."

"Oh I've heard of it! This morning, on the radio, they were advertising how it's the start of the new season or something, right?"

"Yes, it will be quite a hectic schedule again."

"A professional musician, huh? That's amazing! What instrument do you play?"

The guy grinned. "Guess. What do I look like?"

"Hmm… a trumpet player? Or maybe a flutist?"

Oliver sighed. "Obviously you would have to be either a percussionist, pianist, or a string player." His two companions turned to him in surprise. He continued, "I would venture to guess you're a cellist."

The man blinked. "Wow. And how did you guess that? That's true, I am a cellist."

"Wouldn't woodwind players typically refrain from eating or drinking right before playing their instrument? It's bad for the instrument, not to mention unhygienic, to blow chunks of food into the mouthpieces. You could always just rinse your mouth before you play, but I also recall that two days ago you complained of shoulder pain while clutching your right side particularly, indicative of repetitive movements in that joint. For example, from bow usage. I have also noticed and felt the calluses on your left hand whenever you hand me your credit card, and noticed the almost permanent indentations from the strings, which looked too thick to belong to a violin, so it must be either a cello or an upright bass. I chose cello because I only thought you seemed like the cello type, but I admit that I have no concrete reasoning to support that conclusion."

His two companions turned to each other in quiet surprise. Finally, the guy laughed. "That was Sherlock level, right there." He tugged on his sleeve to look at his watch and excused himself. "I'm running late. See you guys later. And that was amazing, Gene." With a final wave, he left through the same doors.

The shop settled into quietness again.

It was Mai who broke the stillness with, "I think that guy bats for the other team."

Oliver raised his eyebrow. "Are you referring to his possible sexual orientation?"

"Uhm… yes."

"Why does it warrant being brought up?"

"I'm not-I'm not making fun of him, if that's what you're insinuating! I'm merely stating it because I thought it might interest you to know that he might be interested in you. This is what you do at work, okay?! You talk of stupid things like your love life, school life, and gossip with your friends. Haven't you done that?"

He nudged her out of the way and began cleaning up her station. "No."

"No because you don't work? No because you don't have friends?"

Oliver leveled her a glare. "No because it's moronic. Fraternizing is a pointless exercise and only causes a decrease in work performance. The management here must be either incompetent or oblivious, putting you and Gene on the same shift. I wonder if you ever got anything done."

"You could just say you have no friends," she teased. She lightly bumped Oliver aside using her hips and gestured toward the little T.V screen monitoring the drive-through. There was a perplexed-looking woman studying the menu list.

With a sigh, Oliver turned on his headset and froze his face into a taut smile. "Hello," he greeted radiantly into the microphone, "What can I get for you today?"

Chapter 1: Day 4