Displaced

Evil Twin

Mom sets her fork down. “You’ve never gone anywhere without me.”

“True,” I say. 

She frowns. “You’re too young.” 

I don’t meet her eye. I’m not that young. 

“Do you want to leave?” she asks. “Is there a reason she invited you?” 

Uh, yeah, but if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you. “She’s got a new show, I think. Chill, Mom. I told her I probably couldn’t go.” When I take another big bite, this time of toast, Mom takes the hint and changes the subject. 

Even so, I can’t quite give up the dream: a long, simple visit to New York. No fear I’ll be attacked, because humans don’t know who I am. They just muddle along around us with their mediocre existences, producing more things for Alamecha to trade or sell to other countries. They go to war when Mom points, and they work at her bidding, without even realizing they’re doing it.

And if I could simply blend in among them, it would be amazing. 

“Have you chosen your gown for my party?” Mom asks, tearing me away from my daydream of normal life. 

I shake my head. “I was waiting for you, so we can match.” 

“I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to.” 

“Of course,” I say. “It’s our thing.” 

She smiles. “Eventually you won’t want to match me anymore.” 

But for today, I still do. “What’re you going to wear?” 

“Maybe I’ll try on some gowns after breakfast and you can help me choose.”

It’s as good a time as any to confess. “I’d love to help you, but I’ll need to do it this afternoon.” 

Mom wipes her mouth with a pristine linen napkin. “You are full of surprises today. What do you have planned after breakfast?” 

“So, Lark and I got into a discussion in the hall earlier, and I might have goaded her a little bit. I’m not sure what came over me.” 

“What’s going on, Chancy?” 

I clear my throat. “She challenged me. Probably because I don’t know how to fight very well, and if she can beat me, she’ll be ranked first in her class and get whatever placement she wants.” I hate how my voice shakes near the end of my explanation.

“I’ll talk to Lyssa. I find the ingratitude appalling.” 

I shake my head. “I didn’t have to agree, but with a few other kids around, I figured refusing would look...weak.” 

“You’ll destroy her.” 

Oh, no. Mom and everyone else needs to believe I’m a bumbler and that’s the reason that I lose. “Mom, I’ve never fought anyone. Not ever.” 

“Which is why she should never have challenged you. It was selfish and extremely inappropriate.” 

“She’s my best friend.” 

“She’s not acting like it.” Mom frowns. “Why aren’t you upset?” 

I gulp. Mom needs to believe this too, more than anyone else, actually. “We knew it would happen at some point, that I’d have to fight in some kind of formal situation.” 

“You’re my daughter, only seven generations removed from Eve herself. Your genetics are as pure as anyone alive. Whether you’ve trained in melodics or sladius is irrelevant, whether you’ve gone off book yet, whether you’re nervous or not, you will defeat her.” 

I glance around the room. “Is Judica in here and I didn’t see her? You’re talking to me, Mom, and I love Lark. So if I can help her place first, and I’m unlikely to win in any case, where’s the harm?” 

Mom purses her lips but doesn’t argue. Because more than anyone else on the island, she knows who I am. The kind-hearted Alamecha daughter. The weak twin. The one who probably couldn’t win if her life depended on it. And she needs to believe I’m a loser, or she’ll see right through my act and the stakes are far too high for that. Lark and her mother would almost surely die for this secret, and maybe me too. 

After a few terribly long seconds, Mom places her hand over mine and squeezes. She knows me for what I am, and she loves me anyway. Glaring flaws and all. 

Mom doesn’t chastise me or give me unhelpful last minute tips. She knows I haven’t ever fought anyone in a real match, and I might lose. We have zero time to prepare, so there’s no point stressing over it. She refocuses on eating, and unlike me, she loves eggs. Her gold-rimmed plate is piled high: two boiled eggs, two fried eggs, and the last bite or two of an omelet. Evian bodies need protein, lots of protein. Long life, incredible strength, and quick intellect are a few of the gifts of our pure DNA, but compared to humans with corrupt DNA, we have to eat a lot. Trade-offs. 

I grab a few pieces of ham to make up for skipping Mom’s favorite food. Mom notices but doesn’t complain. In light of my confession, dickering over my egg consumption probably seems pointless.

“Which dresses are you considering?” I ask. “You need to make a statement this year, clearly.” 

“Should I be wearing a funeral shroud do you think?”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve got decades and decades left. You’re healthy, wise, and strong.” 

“Decades and decades, huh?” 

No one has ever lived past a thousand years. It’s a sore point for evians, or at least, once they reach their last century it is. Everyone knows that once you start showing any real signs of age, you’ve got a few years left at best, or maybe only months. Good thing Mom hasn’t gone gray, sprouted crows’ feet, or started sprouting liver spots. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do, and I’m mostly teasing.” She smiles. “I was thinking about the new Chanel—” 

The solid wood entry doors fly open and slam against the wall on either side, effectively halting our conversation. There’s only one person who wouldn’t knock, so I already know who barged in, but I glance up anyway. 

Judica.