Sofia Whitman

Whoever invented mornings should rot in the underworld.

I don't understand why someone would see the sun rising and think "Oh, yes, this seems like the perfect time to have children wake up for their 8 hours of unnecessary studies!" And I certainly don't understand why someone would agree.

My brother, Lucas, once told me that teenagers need more sleep than children and adults. Yet, the people in charge of educating our imperative part of society expect us to not only function, but be our best, most productive, and most happy selves at the crack of dawn. What's so bad about 10? Or even 9?

Deciding today was not the day to abide by these ridiculous expectations, I hit snooze. I was able to get a maximum of 5 more minutes of sleep when my mother's voice echoed up from the kitchen. I groaned, burrowing further into my cocoon of blankets and pressing my pillow over my head in an attempt to muffle the noise of my siblings getting up. It was effective too, as I didn't hear my twin come in until my previously comfortably warm bed became a sauna.

"Okay, okay," I mumbled, escaping the suffocating heat my brother was inflicting on me and sitting up, "I'm awake."

Lucas was already dressed, looking as if he had gotten up before the sun rose, though I wasn't sure how anyone could.

"Isn't it a little early for unnecessary exertions of energy?" I asked.

Lucas smirked, a ball of orange flames appearing in his palm. "It's only unnecessary when you don't get up." he retorted, tossing the ball from hand to hand.

I responded by simply rolling off of my bed and onto my floor.

I suppose I should explain my lack of surprise at this method of waking up. When Lucas and I were little, he had accidently set his bedsheets on fire and I managed to put it out with the cup of water on his nightstand. The thing is, I'd never touched the cup, nor did Lucas have any means of setting the sheets on fire in the first place. It was as if the water had just responded to my panic without me ever having to move. Since then, we've experienced some very close calls: water fountains exploding or small fires starting without explanation. It sounds truly crazy, but it just… happens. There was no real explanation for our "superpowers", and, trust me, Lucas had found a few theories.

Lucas' eyebrows scrunched together in concern and pain as he put out the flame in his hand. "Must you always flop onto the floor in the mornings like a fish? I'm going to bruise."

"You bruise too easily, then." I said, "And it is a very useful way to ensure I do not fall asleep again."

"If you say so." Lucas said, turning to leave the room.

I scowled at his back. I will never understand morning people, especially when that person shares my genes. You see, while I concede that Lucas and I are a lot alike, we're also total opposites at the same time. I mean, fire and water? They're as contradictory as I can imagine.

Anyway, the whole "bruising" thing. Another odd thing about my brother and I: we can feel when the other gets hurt. I don't mean we get, like, a brain notification when the other bumps into a chair. I mean we literally feel the impact, develop the bruises and scrapes. Every little twinge of pain or unwanted pressure is felt as if you were the one who banged into the chair in the first place.

I stood up, not bothering to make my bed and put on a pair of leggings and a tee shirt, never really being one to care about my appearance. I slunk my backpack over my shoulder and fumbled down the stairs to the only thing keeping me going: food.

My mom was seemingly serving waffles for breakfast, with Lucas helping get our younger siblings ready. My dad was nowhere to be seen, and was probably still passed out on his bed. He wasn't much of a morning person either.

"Sofia, help your brother, please." She said, not even looking up as I entered the kitchen.

A few minutes later, my dad finally came down the steps. I'm pretty sure I get my intolerance for mornings from him. At least he was dressed, I thought. There have been quite a few times where my dad had managed to forget articles of clothing or had put something on inside-out or backwards. I don't think I'm as bad as he is, mainly because I can usually make it to breakfast intact.

"So," my mom said as we all ate our waffles, "Alex, Eli, and Emma are coming over tonight, right?"

Lucas nodded in response, both of us too wrapped up in our food to do much else. The phone rang. I thought it was kind of odd for someone to call this early in the morning, but nevertheless, my mother made to pick it up.

"Do you have a meeting today, Dad?" Ella asked.

Much like Lucas, Ella was perfectly put together. You'd think she was going to interview for Oxford rather than attending a regular day in 6th Grade. Her brown hair was pulled neatly back into a french braid and her glasses matched her outfit, which looked more like a uniform than anything else.

"Yes," my dad replied simply.

"Can you tell us what about?" Ella prompted, not very subtly.

"No," Dad replied, drawing it out and giving Ella a teasing look.

My dad couldn't ever really talk about his work. He was employed by Disney in some capacity, and we suspected he was a part of the creative team, but he never let slip what exactly he did. Of course, the rumors about what he and some of our friends' parents did when they were teenagers didn't help his case.

See, when Dad was about Lucas and I's age he auditioned to be a Disney Host, a hologram that could lead park visitors on tours and stuff. This made him pretty famous at the time, but people also started rumors that he and the other four kids actually fought the Disney villains when the park closed, and won. The Disney Company let these rumors spark into a flame, making the DHI program and the models for it a major attraction. They were so popular that when the Company tried to revive the program with new models, the public outcry caused them to reinstate the old models as their 14-year-old selves, meaning that, even now, you could schedule a tour with the teenaged version of my dad, which is kind of creepy to think about.

We didn't really buy this story. Our parents never talked about it, unless a little kid came up asking for an autograph. By now, most of the kids that had followed the "Kingdom Keepers" narrative were adults, and knew that the story was fabricated to get more attention for the program.

All of the models now worked for Disney in some way, though no one really confirmed what they did. From what my friends and I have pieced together, Aunt Charlene and Uncle Maybeck both advise part time, probably because they were both busy running their own businesses: Aunt Charlene with her performing arts school and Uncle Maybeck with his pottery studio that he took over from his aunt. We also knew that Uncle Dell and Aunt Willa were renowned in the scientific community, so they probably worked in that capacity in the Company. As for my parents and Aunt Jess, it was a mystery that we would probably never solve.

"Finn," my mom called, sounding a little bit worried underneath a layer of nonchalance, "It's Wanda."

Dad's face had a moment of concern before he remembered we were sitting just across from him. He quickly got up and took the phone from my mom, moving into the living room for some privacy. Lucas and I exchanged a look, both recognizing that something was wrong. Mom refused to engage with us on the matter however, instead shooing us off to school.

Lucas shut the door to the house behind us. "What on Earth was that about?" he asked.

We unlocked our bikes, which we rode to school every day. It wasn't too far, and my dad insisted as he had done so when he went to Winter Park.

"No clue," I said, shutting the garage door before mounting the bike.

"Think it has something to do with his meeting?"

"Probably, but even Mom looked worried,"

"Maybe we could ask Alex at lunch if his parents did anything weird this morning," Lucas suggested.

"Yeah, and then we can ask Eli and Emma tonight."

Even though we just hung out at Carter's birthday party yesterday, the five of us had a tradition that every Monday we would get together and watch a movie, making Mondays a lot more bearable. Our parents liked this idea, probably because it meant Alex and Emma couldn't lock themselves away to "work". And for that matter, neither could Lucas.

While Alex and Emma both did this to advance themselves for the future, Lucas was searching for anything that could explain why the two of us had powers. He was obsessed with figuring it out, but most of the information he could find was science-fiction.

Winter Park High came into focus, and I mentally groaned. I'm not a fan of school. My grades weren't bad (As and Bs mostly) but I just couldn't bring myself to care about most of the subjects taught. My goal was to go to college on a soccer scholarship, but I still wasn't sure what my actual major would be or what I'm actually going to do with my life. Lucas and Alex were smart enough to do just about anything they wanted, Eli is so sure of himself, and Emma was on her way to a professional acting career. High school is credited as the place where everyone figures out their goals, what they want to do. But in my almost two months here, I still can't see how this environment is supposed to do that.

'Maybe today I will' I thought to myself as I locked my bike next to Lucas's and entered the prison of learning.