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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this with a friend for class one day. I haven't edited it since then and we were limited to so many words or whatever. But, this is a pretty basic overview of how I write. Except, it's usually much longer than this.

Submitted: September 03, 2010

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Submitted: September 03, 2010



I enter the building alone. I can’t believe mom and dad made me walk to school on my first day! No, wait, I can; they’ve pulled this kind of crap before.

A bell sounds and I realize it’s the tardy bell. SHIZNITS! Where’s room 14? Oh, here we go!

“Class,” a portly man announces, “I’d like you to meet our new student, Chandler Newmin.”

The class turns to face me and the whole room gasps. What? I’m not that ugly!

“Oh…. My,” the man, apparently (I glance at my schedule) Mr. Martin, says, surprise lacing his tone. “Well, hello, Carson. You’re late again.”

“I know, sorry,” a female voice behind me answers.

“Just because your parents are on a business trip, doesn’t mean you can run behind schedule and get away with it,” he sounds like a doting father. “Now, do you happen to know Miss Newmin?”

“Um, no, I haven’t even seen her yet.” We turn, as one, to face each other, “Hi, I’m Carson Mari, nice to ––!” she breaks off.

I stare at this Carson person. Or me. A mirror, maybe? I feel my mouth flop open in time to hers. Huh?

“Uh…” she turns on the teacher, “is today, like, twin day or something and I didn’t get the memo?”

Excuse me? I’m a copycat? Oh, no, she did not just go there!

“No, twin day was last week,” is his reply.

“Well, tell her that,” she crows, pointing at me before I can say it.

I glare and crack my knuckles, quite audibly, “I am completely original,” I growl back. There’s something about this girl that gives me completely uncontrollable urge to rip out her throat.

“Are you saying I’m not?” she hedges stiffly.

Well, we’re wearing the exact same outfit except for the fact that her shirt is white and mine’s red. Her hair is up while mine remains safely down and both our eyes are a steely emerald at the moment.

“Ok,” Mr. Martin holds up his hands. “Carson, please sit down. Chandler, please introduce yourself.”

I just give the basics about my parents being gone a lot and how I’ll love (barf) it here, etc. I take the only free seat, by Carson, and pray to God that I’ll disappear by the end of the period with astonishing sincerity.


I glare at the general direction of heaven as I sit in the principal’s office, contemplating my last two weeks:

I found out she was in all my classes and we had to be separated in the hall mid-week to keep from mauling each other (though, I did give her a decent shiner) because we showed up in the same stuff every day. I found out we live across the street from each other and have lots of cats.

And now, I sit here, looking at both sets of parents, the principal and Carson (wearing the same P!NK jacket I have on) and can’t help but think that even though what they say is slightly ridiculous, it is believable.

“You two need to get used to it,” he says. “You are in fact, blood-related twin sisters.

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