PROLOGUE
Tokyo
People said we look alike. I couldn't see it. Not at least when I stood in front of the mirror trying to find an outfit that fit me without sliding off my shoulders or pulling down at the corners of my waist. Mum used Paris as a mannequin for me and Brooklyn whenever she went shopping. Since Paris never cared what she wore as much as we did, i guess Mum found it easier to take her to the mall. Like everyone else, she assumed we were the same size, but Paris could pin a dress closed and keep it there. Mine alsways slipped.
I wish i were more like Brooklyn. She never struggled with clothes. Oversized straps became bow ties in her hands and she knew how to let a shirt hang loose and still look deliberate, like the baggy part was the point. Nothing ever slipped off her.
"Uuughh!" I grumbled, tugging at my collar.
"Tokyo," Brooklyn said from behind me, "If you touch that shirt one more time, I swear it'll get tired of you."
I ignored her and kept looking at myself. I was going to star in commercial which many people including Daniel, would watch.
I needed to look perfect.
Brooklyn
There was something alomst admirable about Tokyo's persistence, if only it weren't so unnecessary. I leaned againt the wall, watching her go frantic. Poor mirror.
"Relax." I said, "Daniel will notice you."
For a moment, it looked like she had calmed down, but i could still see the lingering desperation in her eyes. Sometimes i wondered if she knew how transparent she was to me. If she knew that i noticed him too. Not in the same way, not exactly, but enough.
"Come on, you have a commercial to nail." I dragged her by her wrist. She didn't budge. I let go- her fixation was starting to grate me.
"Anyway," I said, "If he doesnt talk to you, it's his loss."
I didn't add the truth. He smiled at me first.
Paris
Underneath my bed covers, I lay flipping through an old yearbook. I wondered where my voice belonged in their little chat- what i could say without disrupting the flow. Brooklyn laughed. Tokyo sighed. Brookyln said something and they both laughed. A cycle of matched energy- one that didn't need me.
I continued flipping. My eyes caught on a page- a photo of me, taken on picture day. PARIS HAPPERSON written underneath. Except that's not me. It's Brooklyn. I remembered calling in sick that day. The photographer had promised to take my picture the following day. He never did. He along with the rest of the world had somehow decided we were the same person split into three bodies. Any one of us would do. There were times we let them believe that. But most times i wondered what it felt like to just be me.
Paris.
Not one of the triplets. Not the quiet one. Just me.
Just Paris.
