The full summary posted in the prologue may change depending on the progression of the plot. Some pairings are still undecided. Thank you for the reviews, alerts, favorites, etc. They are appreciated.
Italics – Telepathically Sent Thoughts
Chapter 1 – The Next Michelangelo's
"One final spray-on touch, twin, and our masterpiece will be complete."
"I have to say, this was a much better way to spend our time than sitting around in homeroom listening to Mrs. Ward going on and on about bloody hell knows what."
"I must agree with you on that one, twin. Not about Mrs. Ward, although I do have similar thoughts. No wonder she's called the "warden" when she teaches homeroom. We mine-as-well become prisoners and stay shackled to our desks. It wouldn't make much of a difference anyway. But as I was saying, we have simply outdone ourselves this time."
"And to think this only took two hours and six cans of multi-colored quick-drying spray paint from that hardware store down by the square. I think this is a new personal best."
"It's a shame we won't be taking credit for our work, oh devious twin of mine. I'm actually quite fond of our artwork. But then again, three weeks of afterschool and weekend detention with the headmaster from hell seems less and less appealing by the second. "
"I'm with you on that one. But, let's head out before Coach Watson sees us. It's bad enough that we got suspended last month for "back-sassing" that secretary in the administration office, but if we get caught experimenting with the school colors on his gym wall, we're not going to make it to Winter Break."
"Alright, twin. And by the way, I'm still pretty annoyed with that secretary. I mean, all we did was try to show her a more conservative way of dressing so she wouldn't look like those slutty totties hanging out around the pub down the street. Although I wouldn't be surprised since she seems to eye-fuck the headmaster every time he walks by."
As we backtracked our way out the emergency exit doors to our separate first period classes, AP Physics and AP Sociology, which were conveniently right next door to each other and down the hall from the gym, the two of us discussed our latest escapade (Operation: Makeover Mural) in hushed voices.
Although not as ostentatious as we had originally hoped, our spray-painted mural was a much better adornment compared to the dull, beige-colored walls that were once the gymnasium walls of Northern Valley Preparatory Academy. It was twenty feet by twenty feet of pure genius.
Don't mistake our alterations as meaningless graffiti created by misunderstood teenagers.
No. It was not like that at all. It was, in no way, meaningless. Yes, we guess you could say it was technically "considered" graffiti, but we prefer to think of it as…a pre-Renaissance phase. You hear about people going through phases all the time on the radio and the telly.
After all, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel was not just some willy-nilly picture that Michelangelo painted so he could have a reason to get bitch-slapped by the Pope or the Cardinal.
Although we're pretty sure that it's an offense against God for a church figure to "bitch-slap" anyone, we bet they would make an exception for us.
Back to the point, we do feel misunderstood. It's not that we necessarily try to cause trouble; it's just that we're too good at it to stop.
It's kind of like a drug. You can survive without it. You'd probably be better off anyway, but why quit something that makes you happy?
Our concept is simple: what's the point of having a gift when you can't share it with the rest of the world?
The mural was a symbol of our shared hatred and loathing for being forced to go to this school. Our foster parents thought it would help us grow out of our "mischievous" nature.
They consider us a challenge rather than their new kids. In short, it was a kind of rebellion on our part.
But you have to gives us some credit. Our mural was beautiful. We made a complex labyrinth of swirls, bends, and loops using different colors, blends, and shades of the spectrum (mostly ink blue, forest green, and violet purple) that came together to form a bleeding heart.
It looked three-dimensional, and we were proud of it despite what we know could happen to us if the staff figures out we were the ones responsible.
As we reached our lockers to retrieve our books for class, I handed my twin a hall pass so we wouldn't get into more trouble than we were already in. I already had one for myself hidden in the inside pocket of my blazer.
"Where did you get the hall pass, twin? As I recall, we came to school this morning an hour before the doors were supposed to open to complete our project, not to mention skipping homeroom. Were you caught by a teacher?"
"No need to worry, twin. I swiped these earlier this week from Mrs. Wilkinson. I was feeling very devious during study hall and thought we might need them during one of our operations."
"You know, twin, if we were not such an ingenious pair, this school would have no fun at all."
"Agreed. But we really must be careful. If we get expelled from Valley Prep, that will be the fourth school in two years. The social worker down at the institute will have our heads if they have to relocate us again to another family."
"Alright, twin. From now until Winter Break, which is roughly two weeks away, we'll just lay low and thro w off any suspicion towards us. Then we'll start back up again when the coast is clear. But honestly, twin, this place can be so uptight and strict. No wonder we're trying to get out."
This place did need to loosen up some. Other than the bleak colors and brick walls surrounding the high school, this place was extremely uptight. Their navy blazer/jacket, white dress shirt, navy tie, navy skirts/slacks, and black dress shoes combination was getting very old; they have a daily uniform check for God's sake.
It's not that this place is ALL bad. The scenery is pretty nice: trees, bushes, shrubs, all that. But besides the fact that all the folks are uptight, they care more about their buildings and businesses than nature itself. It seems there is construction every weekend.
We used to have this lovely field where we would relax in the afternoons, away from the stress of homework and foster parents, but the governor of our town decided to replace the wild grass with cement and the forest trees with solid columns. It didn't even seem like they cared about all the homes of the woodland creatures they were destroying.
Although we aren't exactly environmentalist types, we did care that our hidden place was being demolished by bulldozers and drills. Which is exactly why we "borrowed" all the extension cords and power batteries from the construction equipment and recycled them for some extra cash. Not that we needed any.
But, those construction workers were not happy when they discovered that their precious power tools had been tampered with during the middle of the night when no one was around.
Wonder who got their knickers in a twist. Oh, wait. We did.
But, that is only part of the reason why we are choosing to be a pain in their arses.
We wanted to get out of this hellhole because these snobby prep-school kids are getting very annoying to be around. All they ever talked about is who did what with whom behind the auditorium, whether their slacks made their behind look big, and if the new student English teacher was still single.
A person can only take so much nonsense at a time.
That's why we decided to lighten things up a bit by using the gym walls as an oversized canvas for our semester art project.
In fact, it was only a couple of hours ago that we had decided to go ahead with this "remodeling" plan. Although this was our idea, we had not thought of doing it until this morning.
You could even say that we were encouraged to explore our artistic side by our somewhat dense foster parents and teachers.
Earlier That Morning…
"ISABELLA MARIE AND ISABELLE ELIZABETH REDBLOOD, I SUGGEST YOU TWO GET YOUR ARSES DOWN THOSE STAIRS IN THE NEXT FIVE SECONDS IF YOU WANT TO LIVE TO SEE TOMORROW!"
What a perfect way to wake up. Nothing beats having your psychotic bitch of a foster mother scream bloody murder at you at 6 in the morning. You'd think Twin and I beat up a priest or something for her to yell at us this early.
Don't open your eyes. Don't even acknowledge her very annoying presence. Maybe then she'll go away.
HA. And maybe Twin will move to a convent while I grow up to become a saint. What a load of–
"I SWEAR, IF BOTH OF YOU ARE NOT DOWN HERE BY THE TIME I'M DONE GETTING READY FOR MY MORNING TEA WITH THE LADIES, YOU'RE BOTH GROUNDED UNTIL YOU GRADUATE COLLEGE!"
Holy shit on a shingle, that woman has got one mean set of lungs. You'd think she would turn blue or something from all the noise she's making.
Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard the rustling of bed sheets beside me and a very long string of curses and profanities soon afterwards.
I glanced up from my place on our shared bed to see Twin, clad in a loose grey tank top and boxers, walk over to the door and open it just enough for her head to poke through to call out, "Coming, Mother." She then proceeded to slam the door before our mother could raise hell for the third time this morning.
"Damn, what the hell does she want from us?" Twin was generally a morning person, as was I, but having your foster parent shriek at you for no apparent reason was just not what we considered a good start to the day.
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe she wants us all to sit around the kitchen table and talk about our feelings," I sarcastically said as I got up to take a quick shower. Mine as well make the most of our early morning wake-up call.
Twin snorted as she rummaged through our drawers, "Yeah, when that happens I will personally get down on my hands and knees and praise the Lord while singing 'Kumbaya' at the top of my lungs."
As you can see, Twin and I had a certain love/hate relationship going on with our "mother". It was mostly hate towards her making our lives hell, but we did love when she left us alone.
As soon as both of us were showered and dressed in our school uniform, we took the stairs two at a time only to be met at the bottom by our foster mother, Cynthia.
"What is it with you two? Just because you two are twins doesn't mean you have to be next to each other all the time." Cynthia sneered as she watched us walk side-by-side into the kitchen for a quick snack before class.
Twin and I shared a knowing look before simultaneously glaring at her like she just ran over our puppy. When she met our eyes, she looked genuinely scared for her life.
Our relationship as twins has always been a touchy subject to talk about with others. We had our reasons for being together most of the time, but at least we have the decency to not blurt it out to the world.
"Anyway…" she began warily, "you two need to become more active in school. It's always the same thing with you. Every day you come home from classes, lock yourselves up in your room, turn up your blasted music, and do God knows what in there. You two need to get your act together. The ladies in the Book Club are starting to question my parenting skills. And the last thing I need is Martha giving me the number to her family psychiatrist and–"
After that, we just tuned her out. But as we ate our breakfast of cold cereal and apple juice, both of us must have experienced our twin telepathy again, because as I looked up at Twin, she had a devious smirk on her face which mirrored my own.
Are you thinking what I know you're thinking? I asked in my mind even though I already knew the answer.
Oh yeah… She mentally responded while nodding her head.
Both of us grinned at each other before grabbing our backpacks and heading out to get some supplies for our newest project.
And that's how we basically ended up tweaking the school colors in our gym. We were the masterminds, but our mother was our "inspiration".
Come on, Twin. The late bell already rang. We're going to be tardy. My twin urged me to hurry just as the doors to our classes were being closed.
The moment we stepped inside, we heard a dreaded voice behind us and felt a heavy hand grab each of our shoulders, pulling us into the hall, away from the safety of our classes.
"Going somewhere?"
Next: Failure Is NOT An Option
