Chapter 1: The Twins

Mom barged into my room at nine sharp and started nudging me. I hid in the duvet and covered my ears, but Mom's tenacity was something else. Her loud voice kept resonating in my ears, and no matter how I grumbled and begged, she refused to back down, eventually pulling the duvet off my body.

"Wake up, Quinn," insisted Mom, drawing the curtains to let the light filter in. I yawned and stretch with a grunt, instinctively clenching my eyes as the light began to blind me.

"Oh please."

"Up, now!'

"But I don't even want to go –"

"Then you're not having your lunch today," threatened Mom in a husky voice.

I rolled my eyes and climbed out of bed. Mom squinted at me with hands on her hips.

"Now, I don't want any more of that attitude," she warned. "We're meeting the new neighbors, and the least we can do is make them feel welcome."

I banged the bathroom door, went over to the sink and turned on the tap. I washed my hands and started splashing cool water onto my face. I cleaned myself thoroughly and brushed my teeth. I glanced at my own reflection in the mirror and sighed as I proceeded to detangle my wavy, dark crimson hair that sprawled over my back, reaching down to my waist. I fixed my wispy bangs and clipped my hair into a side ponytail. I opened the cabinet, grabbed a black liquid eyeliner from the shelf, and closed it.

Leaning close to the mirror, I uncapped the eyeliner and traced the tip meticulously along the upper lash lines of my eyes, making sure that the tiny triangle at the edge of each eye was drawn without a flaw. I hadn't been doing anything fancy to my face for nearly a month, ever since I shut myself in right at the beginning of the holiday. My fingers quivered slightly as I applied some mascara to my long lashes. After deeming myself adequately prepared, I put everything back in the cabinet, left the bathroom, and met Mom downstairs.

"Oh, someone's surely looking more lively today," remarked Mom as she handed me a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast. I ignored her and started gobbling up my breakfast.

"We're not going to a party," reminded Mom, scrutinizing my face. She never liked me with the make-up on, saying that it made me look less innocent and more like a delinquent.

"You know I look horrid without these," I said plainly. "Thought you want me to look presentable." I hardly went out without any make-up on. I normally looked ghastly pale when there was nothing on my face to darken the complexion. My eyes looked void without the hooded eyeliners, and my lips were generally drained of color without the soft, pink lip palm.

"Oh, Quinn, you're beautiful," said Mom. "Naturally."

I ignored her again and finished my meal, leaving the French toast untouched. Mom had scraped too much butter on it.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, expecting to see him since it was Saturday.

"Oh, he's got some work to catch up on this morning," explained Mom. She had gone over to the coffee table, packing the welcoming gifts she had prepared for our new neighbors. She had wrapped the two boxes with brightly-colored foil paper and used a large paper bag to contain them. "He won't be joining us."

I waited until Mom was ready to go in her A-line, embroidery, white summer dress. If anyone was overdressed for the occasion, it was her, not me. I was in a plain, black T-shirt and a dotted, black skirt which was too short in her opinion.

The rain stopped temporarily, and we seized the opportunity to cross the street in haste. Mom rang the doorbell, at the same time reminding me to look more earnest. I made a grimace and unfolded my arms.

Just then, the lady of the house opened the door. She looked just as endearing as I had seen her the day before, wearing a deep-v, short-sleeved, pink midi dress. She looked so young I wouldn't believe that she was already in her late thirties. She wore this wide, amicable grin on her face as she welcomed us into the house.

"I'm Mrs. Quaney," introduced Mom, "and this is my daughter, Quinn. We live across the street. We've just heard that you're new to this neighborhood, so we think we might drop by and have a chat."

"Why, this is so sweet," said the lady, leading us into the half-furnished sitting room where crates piled up in different corners and furniture scattered all over the place. "I'm Mrs. Anderson, but just call me Hannah."

Hannah scanned her rather disorderly house, and her eyes eventually flitted over to the sofa which was facing a half-painted wall. It seemed that they were going to paint it Hawthorne yellow. Personally, I would prefer cloud white or mystical blue, but Hannah looked like somebody who adored pastel. If she could paint her house in an array of macaroon colors, she would.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," apologized Hannah as she rushed over to the sofa and dusted the surface to make sure it was clean enough for us. "It's so messy right now."

"Don't worry," said Mom. "If it's not convenient, we can drop by another –"

"No, no, no," insisted Hannah, waving her hands in the air. "It's fine. Please take a seat." She dragged a white marble coffee table and arranged it in front of the sofa. She gestured for us to sit down before scurrying into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with some tea and pastries.

"My husband's at work right now," said Hannah as she sat down on a white ladderback chair across us. "But I'd also like to thank you on his behalf. It's such a nice neighborhood."

I almost laughed at that remark, but stuffed a scone into my mouth instead. Mom started chatting with Hannah, and before long, I had already finished my tea and swallowed three raspberry cupcakes. Their talk went on forever, and I tried hard not to fall asleep. Hannah peeped at me and must have seen me yawn, because she stood up right away and exclaimed, "Oh, Quinn, why don't you meet my sons? They'd love to meet some new friends here!"

Her words startled me, and my eyes went wide open at once. Mom shot me a disapproving glare, and I pouted. Hannah turned on her heel and dashed upstairs. After a few bangs on the door and some disgruntled voices, she reappeared at the bottom of the stairs with two sluggish figures behind her.

"Come on, boys, greet our new neighbors," said Hannah, turning around to shove her two sons forward. They looked like they had just been pulled out of bed by force, and apparently, they hated to be here as much as I did.

"Come on, speak," urged Hannah.

The one wearing a white T-shirt and denim jeans spoke first. He had inherited his mother's round, sapphire eyes and child-like, pristine face that made him look at least two years younger. Slender, pale, and somewhat feminine, he looked attractive with his cherubic smile when he greeted us and introduced himself as Asher.

His brother stood next to him, stoic and motionless. He stared at me the same way he had done the previous day. Only then did I notice that his lashes were exceptionally long, and his eyes, not as vibrant as his sibling's, were a deeper shade of blue, magnetic and penetrating. His androgynous face looked less childish and more refined. He was paler than anyone of us, and that contrasted greatly with his dark hair. He looked gorgeous, albeit aloof and inaccessible. He was wearing a black T-shirt and again, black skinny jeans. It seemed that he was fond of black. Were he not a human, I would picture him with a pair of dark, downy wings and black nails.

"Ace," he mumbled, so quietly I could barely catch that.

"Ace, do you expect people to hear you with that voice?" Hannah lectured him. "Speak properly."

Ace shrugged and ignored his mother. There was a long moment of silence when we simply exchanged curious glances with one another. Mom decided to end the awkwardness with a chuckle.

"Don't worry," she said. "Lovely boys you have there, Hannah."

Hannah sighed and shook her head. "Right, kids, I want you to meet Quinn. She's the same age as you, and I think you can get to know each other before school starts. You're going to be studying in the same place after all."

My heart slumped when I heard that. In all honesty, I didn't feel like interacting with either of them. Asher looked approachable and charming, but he sometimes fidgeted and blushed so easily like he had never struck a conversation with a girl before. As for Ace...

Hell no, he looked like he owned the world and was constantly retreating to that dark, emo realm of his.

"The sun is finally out," said Hannah excitedly, peeping out of the window. "Why don't you go out to the yard and have some fresh air? It must be suffocating to stay indoors all the time."

Seriously, we are not ten-year-olds.

But we couldn't retort. Hannah and Mom chased us out of the house so that they could resume their chat. And so, I was literally stuck in the front yard with two eccentric brothers. I considered running home but it would seem rather impertinent, and Mom would surely lash out at me afterwards. Ace wandered off to a small oak tree in one corner and sat under the shade. He leaned against the trunk and shut his eyes, arms crossed and lips pressed together.

"Well, don't mind him," said Asher, noticing my exasperation. I had wanted that spot too, but he had just stolen it. "My brother's a bit...reserved."

I was impressed by Asher's choice of words. He had this amazing power to sugar-coat everything, and I wondered if he had ever successfully flirted with a girl using this charm of his. When he didn't receive a response from me, he began to scratch the back of his head uneasily.

"So, um...you're Quinn, right?"

"Yea, thought you heard it clearly back in the house," I replied bluntly. I was in a such a terrible mood I thought I could lose my temper in any second. I wanted to go back to sleep. I didn't understand why Mom had taken me here if all she had been planning to do was to chit-chat with Hannah alone in the house. I felt betrayed and abandoned, having to deal with two boys who didn't even seem to appreciate our visit and looked as if they would rather be snoozing in their own beds or playing some video games.

"Sorry, I'm just making sure that I've got it right," said Asher with a faint smile. He had started fiddling with his fingers and looking down at his shoes. Pathetic.

"Nice to meet you, Quinn," he continued. "So, what's this neighborhood like?"

"You want an honest answer?" I cocked my brows and turned my head around, staring straight into his eyes. He didn't seem to have predicted that, and his face began to turn pink. He eluded my gaze swiftly and looked away. I would love to pinch those chubby cheeks and see if they felt just as fiery as they appeared.

"This is like the worst place ever," I said boldly. "Boring. Corrupted. Full of hypocrites. I've seen families move out, and never have I seen one move in. So yea, I'm not quite sure what exactly you're looking for. I believe the previous town you've lived in is so much more pleasant and desirable."

I didn't know what had incited me to crush that poor boy's esteem and trample all his hopes, but I felt obliged to tell the truth. Asher widened his eyes, his mouth agape as he struggled to respond to my speech.

"Why did you move here, mind if I ask?" I asked, ridding him of the chance to question me.

It took him a long moment to recover from his astonishment, but he regained his composure eventually and retained his polite smile.

"Dad quit his last job and wants to start his own business," explained Asher. "Mom gets tired of New York and prefers...somewhere quiet."

"I see." I nodded and turned away again, glancing at my own house across the street. I wondered if Asher detested me now – I have been so brusque and hostile.

"Is what you said just now really true?" asked Asher. "About this place?"

"Well, you'll have to figure it out on your own," I said with a shrug. "But if I were you, I wouldn't keep my hopes up. I would never give up that kind of city life to be here in the country."

"You're strange, Quinn, but –' muttered Asher as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, seemingly searching for the right vocabulary. I didn't really care what he wanted to say about me, and I was just praying that Mom would appear at the doorway the next second, bidding Hannah goodbye and saving me from this torture. "Kind of cute." He eventually chuckled. I blinked incredulously at him, and before I could open my mouth again, Ace had risen from the ground and was rolling his eyes.

"Geez, Asher, you make me cringe, literally," he said disdainfully as he sauntered towards us. "How can you lie like that? Don't call somebody cute when she isn't."

I was practically shaking with anger at this point. If I could smack him across the face, I would.

"Stop it," said Asher, disconcerted.

"And your point is?" I glared at Ace. He tilted his head, and for once, his lips broke into a smile. A devious one.

"It doesn't look like you genuinely want to talk to us, but that's fine," said the boy with a smirk, leaning close to my face, hands behind his back. "You sound like you know everything, and the whole world owes you. Stop ruining other people's lives just because you're, well, miserable with yours, Princess."

I clenched my fists, but never mustered the courage to make them collide with his face.

He's right. The whole world owes me.

If I don't deserve happiness, nobody does.

"Ace!" shouted Asher, panicking as he saw my anguished, deepening frown.

"What?" Ace kept grinning and examined my boiling face. "Now, I'll call that cute. You look cute when you're angry, Princess."

Gritting my teeth, I turned and stomped across the lawn and out of the yard.

"Quinn?" Asher called behind me, but I kept walking. "Quinn, he's only joking."

I quickened my pace and crossed the street. I darted back into the house and slammed the front door so hard it almost got unhinged. I didn't care what Mom was going to do anymore. I couldn't stand another minute being in the same space as that insolent boy.