by Teri Terry
The hall carpet upstairs is plush underfoot. A door is ajar, light spilling into the hall—that is his study.
I hesitate, take a deep breath in, and square my shoulders. No; look relaxed. I deliberately relax them again and walk up to the door.
He’s at the desk, tapping away at a laptop, files arranged neatly around him. He looks up.
“There you are,” he says. “I was about to send out a search party.”
“Sorry. I went out for dinner with Zak and got back a bit late.” I reach across to put his mug on a coaster next to his laptop.
“Enough of these delaying tactics, Petal. You need to get back to a normal routine. Go back to school tomorrow.”
“All right.”
He looks surprised. Would Piper have argued?
“Get off to sleep, then; an early start will do you good.”
My stomach is in knots. This is where Piper said to put my tea on a coaster on the desk, walk around, and give him a hug. And I’m not sure I can do it, or that I want to do it, or what it will be like.
“Is something wrong?” he says.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” And I’m frozen in place.
And he gets out of his chair and walks around the desk. He takes the cup of tea from my hand and puts it on the desk without bothering about a coaster.
He takes my hand. “Now, Piper. What did you tell me the other night?”
I stare back at him with no idea what she might have said, but he doesn’t wait for an answer.
“It’ll get easier. Day by day.” He reaches to pull my hair off the side of my face. “And getting back to all your usual things—classes, friends, even some homework—will help. Won’t it?”
“Does being back at work help you?”
“Ha. Caught out! Not really. But it fills the hours. And pays the bills, so no choice, really. And you need to go to school, so the same applies.”
He leans down, slips an arm across my shoulders. I lean forward a little. Aftershave and coffee, and rough stubble on my cheek; seconds only, then released.
“Go on,” he says.
I turn for the door.
“Wait. Your tea?”
I step back, pick it up, and hope I remember the way to Piper’s room. I go there as fast as I can without slopping tea all over the carpet. Tears unaccountably fill my eyes; my hands are shaking. That was my actual father. Someone I thought I’d never know anything about, let alone meet.
Now I even know how he takes his tea. I know that he drinks coffee, too; he must be a caffeine freak. I know that he has stubble on his cheek this late at night, and calls me Petal.
No. He calls Piper Petal, not me. What would he call me if he knew who I was?
Not a bad old guy, Zak said—not quite the evil personified that Gran hinted at. It’s so very odd to be masquerading as his daughter when I am his daughter—both are true at the same time. Not that he knows anything about it.
I shut the door behind me. Safe in Piper’s room—my room, at least for tonight—and I want to throw off this strange mix of emotions. I want to see and touch every single thing in this room. I want to try on her clothes, figure out how to use the sound system. I want to feel what it would be like to be her.
I already looked in her closet when she let me go through and pick what I wanted to borrow. We didn’t have much time, and Piper’s eyes were on me. I felt apologetic, tried to choose plainer clothes, things she’d be less likely to miss. Now there are no eyes, no clock.
I pull out a beautiful red top with a plunging neckline, a shiny black wrap, a narrow black skirt—I try them all on. I find a cupboard full of boxes of shoes and laugh to watch myself in the mirror, tottering across the floor in the highest heels I’ve ever seen. I sweep my hair up and study myself: if it wasn’t for my hair, no one at the hotel would even recognize me.
I try on outfit after outfit, then pile them high on the bed. Then in a drawer I find a furry, fuzzy all-in-one that looks like a giant puppy, complete with a hood with puppy ears. I pull that on and laugh again.
I sit at Piper’s desk, still in the puppy suit. Schoolbooks and novels are mixed haphazardly on the shelves. Photos in frames on the wall, of Piper with friends, family. And one of a dog and a small Piper, maybe eight years old—it must be Jinny, the dog on her mug.
The novels are new; some even look unread. I scan the blurbs and choose one, cross to the bed, and push the clothes to one side.
Piper’s bed is so comfy, and huge—as big as the four-poster ones I make up at the hotel. She’s got, like, what—four pillows? I’m running my hands over the soft duvet cover when a buzz in my bag makes me jump. Piper’s phone?
I take it out, and look at the screen. It’s a text. From Zak.
Hi, gorgeous girl, I’m on my way. How did you convince your dad that you can stay the night? Can’t wait xxxx
What?
Oh. Piper must have told him she’s staying at his place tonight, but not that I’ve got her phone. I’m momentarily confused about how she got word to him without the phone, then remember—she’d showed me her messages go to both her phone and her tablet. That’s how I can message her if I need to. She must be able to message from the tablet as well.
She knows I’ll see Zak’s message.
Gorgeous girl.
I couldn’t figure out earlier why Piper was letting me do this. Just hours ago, she was furious that I’d been to her house and pretended to be her with her dad, and then tonight she’s suggesting I come here and do it again?
Stay the night.
And she didn’t set any conditions, didn’t insist I’d have to tell her anything. I was wondering why she was letting me do this, what was in it for her, but it seemed too good to pass up, the chance to be here, to see what it is like to live her life, even just for a little while.
So. Basically, she’s got rid of me so she can be alone with Zak. She’s got me covering for her here, with her father, so she can be with Zak.
For the night. The whole night.
Will they be in his room, or will she sleep in mine? Or maybe they’ll both be in mine.
I shake my head. It’s not my room; it’s Zak’s mother’s room, and I’m sure it’s the last place he’d take Piper. That room isn’t mine, not at all, any more than this one is. Nothing is really mine, is it?
Can’t wait.
I try to keep my thoughts away from what might happen there tonight, but I can’t.
Piper
Ness jumps up and runs to the door: a puppy early warning system, something she only does for Zak. Somehow she always knows he is on the way well before he is within sight or sound. Sure enough, about five minutes later, I hear the gate.
He opens the door and steps through, a happy Ness bouncing around his feet. He smiles when he sees me. “Piper?”
“Who else?” I say. I sniff, and wrinkle my nose. “Let me guess. Garlic, basil. Pesto. Pasta night at the restaurant?”
“Right as always.” He walks across the room, takes my hand—pulls me up off the sofa and wraps his arms around me. I let my body relax against his. He bends down, nuzzles into my neck. “I could shower.” His words are muffled in my hair. He pulls away a little, looks around. “Where’s Quinn?”
“She’s not here. We are completely alone.” I half close my eyes, and give him a slow smile.
His eyes sparkle. But he doesn’t lean down to kiss me. “Where is she this late at night?”
“At my house. She’s . . . me for the night.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean that right now you are being her?”
I pinch his arm. “Don’t be daft.”
“I hear you two had a bit of an argument earlier. I hear she wants to openly be herself. So why is she at your house now as you?”
“It’s called compromise. Apparently.”
“Oh, is it? Sounds to me like you’re getting things the way you want them. I don’t think it’s good for Quinn to be pretending to
be somebody else.”
“Oh, is that a fact? What makes you such an expert on my sister?”
“Well.” He smiles. “I’m a bit of an expert on you.” He runs a hand up my arm, but I yank it away.
“We’re not the same person, no matter how we look.”
He sighs. “Well, yes. I am well aware of that.” He turns, walks into the kitchen. I hear the clunk of the kettle, the tap running.
I follow him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I just think that you should try putting yourself in Quinn’s shoes. Think what it might be like to be her. She’s got this vision that you’ve had this wonderful family, all cozy with your mum and dad all this time. While she’s been—”
He stops.
“She’s been what? Do you know things you haven’t told me?”
“No.” But he turns away to pour the tea.
“If you knew something, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“What I was trying to get at is this,” he says. Evading my question? “She thinks you’ve had the perfect family, the perfect life. Something she hasn’t had. Maybe you should tell her the truth. Tell her how things really were with your mum. How you weren’t getting along at all, could barely be in the same room with each other. Maybe then she’d be more willing to open up to you about her life.”
I shake my head. “No. No! It wasn’t like that.”
“Yes, Piper. I’m sorry, but it was.”
I sleep on the sofa with Ness—furious with Zak for reasons I can’t explain even to myself. How could he speak to me like that? It’s Quinn, isn’t it? He’s taking her side against mine. And it’s anger that makes me lose control. I know that, but I couldn’t stop its heat.
And the things Zak said about my mum. We didn’t always get along, but not the way he made it sound. She loved me.
All the same, there are doubts inside, which he stirred up. I know she loved me; she did. So many memories I can count and relive say it must be so.
But are they all from when I was small?
After I became aware of our . . . abilities, Mum looked at me differently. She watched me, almost like she was afraid there was something inside me that might get out.
It was when we were in a furious argument that she told me about Quinn. She said we could never return to our past because of my twin, that if we met, Quinn would destroy us all. That was why Quinn was kept locked away: she had darkness inside her. And the way Mum said it, it was like she thought I should be locked away, too.
Or instead.
Almost as soon as she said it, I could see she wanted to call the words back—to undo finally telling me something that was my birthright.
Our birthright—Quinn’s and mine, to be together.
But I couldn’t tell Quinn I knew about her when she didn’t know about me.
Quinn must trust me. She must love me to trust me. I must be lovable, all the time.
I sigh, the pain Zak aroused raw and gaping inside. I tried that with Mum, but it didn’t work, did it? She never loved all of me, not as I really am.
I turn and struggle to get comfortable on the sofa. I don’t want to be in Zak’s mum’s bed—the one Quinn has been sleeping in. The pillow her cheek has rested against, red hair a stain like blood on white sheets. The blankets that have covered her body as she loses herself in dreams.
The space there now is more hers than mine.
Solitude hangs heavy on me; it weighs me down. No one who thinks they love me—Dad, Zak, my friends—really knows me, all of me, so no one has ever truly loved me.
Quinn is the only one who might.
“Come on, up you get.” Mum holds out a hand, and I clamber up next to her.
“Story!” I say.
“Which one today?” She kisses my forehead, wraps an arm around me. “As if I need to ask.”
There’s a pile of books on the table next to her. She holds one up—something thick, grown-up, and boring looking.
“This one?” she says.
“No.” I giggle.
“Are you sure? It’s really very interesting.”
“No. Puppy!”
“Oh, now there’s a surprise. OK, then.” She finds the picture book with the puppy on the front, draws me onto her lap, and begins.
I know the words and chime in, lean back into her as she turns the pages, her arms a warm nest. Her bracelet clinks against the book, and I reach for the pendant that hangs there to hold it in my hand.
“No, baby. That’s not for you.”
She pulls her hand away, but I don’t let go, and then . . .
We are somewhere else. I’m not on Mum’s lap; I’m not at home. I’m standing in front of her on a stone floor, and it’s cold. Where am I?
Mum smacks my hand hard, and tears rise in my eyes. I let go of her bracelet.
I look up. Her eyes are dark and wild and looking at me, but not the way they usually do.
I step backwards. She steps forward.
“You must learn to behave,” she says, and raises her hand.
Quinn
Bzzz. Bzzz.
I open one eye. Is that an alarm? I find the clock: 7:20 a.m. My head is pounding after a night of little sleep and unwelcome dreams.
The last one was so strange: one minute it was like I was in this house, but as if it were many years ago. I was little, and Isobel was reading me a story? What a fantasy! But then it went back to more the past as I know it—at Gran’s house. A hard smack to my ear.
The clock is silent; maybe that was a dream, too. My eyes settle closed again.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
They snap open. That seemed to come from next to me: ah. On the bedside table—Piper’s phone. I’m afraid to pick it up, afraid to look at the screen. What will it be this time? Zak, with Dear Piper, thanks for a ravishing time last night. Or maybe one from Piper for me: Thanks for letting us spend the night together. Here’s a photo of us in bed.
Don’t be an idiot, Quinn. I sit up and reach for the phone. It buzzes again; it’s not a text. Someone is calling. According to the screen, somebody named EB.
I hesitate, then touch the screen to answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, Pip, was about to give up on you. Are you coming to school today? Do you need a lift?”
I pause, unsure what to say. Dad said to go to school. EB—whoever she is—will pick me up. Piper is probably very busy with Zak right now, anyhow.
If I go, I’ll see what it’s really like to be Piper for a day: school, friends, the works.
Piper wouldn’t like it. That makes me smile: isn’t it about time she feels what it’s like to not get her own way all the time? But can I pull this off? I’ve never been to school before. This could be my one chance to see what it is like. I’ve always wanted to know. I push away the nerves.
“Are you still there, Pip?” EB says.
“Sorry, yes. Yes, I’m going to school. Thank you for the lift. What time?”
“Same as always. See you in an hour.”
She says goodbye, and I head for the bathroom and a hot shower. I find fluffy clean towels in a cupboard. Then wrap myself in a robe.
Now, what does Piper wear to school? Last night when I was looking through Piper’s endless closet, somewhere I saw a school blazer. But where?
There’s a knock.
The door opens; Dad peers in and holds out a cup of tea. “I’m impressed. Up already? So you really are going to school?”
I smile. “Yes! Though it all feels a bit strange and confusing, like I haven’t been there in years. I have a feeling I won’t know what classes to go to. I’m not even sure what to wear.”
“Not falling for the haven’t got a thing to wear line. Though it was easier last year when you still had to wear a uniform.” He puts my tea down on the desk, surveys the clothes all over the bed with a raised eyebrow, but says nothing. “Do you want me to drive you?”
“No, thanks. EB is coming.”
“Give
Erin my regards,” he says, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
So, EB is Erin. That’s one question answered. And no uniform—a disaster averted. That blazer I saw must be from last year. Does that mean I can wear anything?
I rummage through the wardrobe, pulling out jeans, colorful tops, everything that catches my eye, and laying them across the bed.
There’s another knock on the door. It doesn’t open. “Come in,” I call out.
A girl peers in: willowy, blond, and immaculate, in a very expensive-looking jacket. Could this be Erin?
“Aren’t you ready yet? Erin sent me up to check.”
Not Erin, then. “Sorry. I can’t seem to work out what to wear.”
“Good to see some things never change!”
“Help me?”
“Really? Cool.” She smiles like I just gave her a prize and sifts through the stuff on the bed, then peeks in the closet. Low-slung jeans, beautiful leather boots, and a gorgeous pale blue top with matching jacket are held up for my approval.
“Looks good to me. Thanks!” She turns while I pull them on.
“Come on, then,” she says, and I follow her toward the door. She pauses, looks back at me. “Where’s your bag?”
“My bag? I’m sorry. Maybe school today is a mistake. I’m just not with it.” My guts are churning in panic; what makes me think I can do this? Piper didn’t brief me on school. I don’t know where the bag is; apart from a few guesses based on the books on her desk, I don’t even know what subjects she’s taking.
“Oh dear, of course you’re not.” She hugs me, and a waft of lovely perfume follows the swish of her hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you, I promise. It’ll be fine.”
She turns back, looks around, then reaches under my desk and pulls out a school bag. She fishes around the shelves for a few books and puts them in, then hooks an arm in mine and pulls me toward the door.