[ 1 ]
Alexis Scott’s P.O.V
My horrendous phone alarm blared into my eardrums, jolting me from my sleep. I gasped, sitting up in bed, hair falling over my face and covering my eyes. With a groan, I combed my hair back and cleared my vision so that I came to my senses. I darted my gaze to my nightstand, where my phone lit up with the time, 6:00 a.m. The obnoxious thing vibrated and I was tempted to throw it across the room.
But then again, I needed the damn thing, destroying it would’ve been dumb.
Calming myself, I reached across to the nightstand and swiped dismiss on the screen. Pushing off the bed to my feet, I stretched stiff my limbs and yawned to start the morning. A kiss of cool breeze against my skin sent shivers through me, goosebumps rising to the occasion. I glanced down at myself.
My gray tank top had bunched up and exposed my abdomen. The belly button piercing I had gotten glinted under the low light. My shorts had ridden up to my mid-thigh and exposed my lower curves. As much as I appreciated my body, it was fucking freezing.
Damn, why does it have to be so cold in the mornings? Especially in the fall? I should close my window.
I tugged my tank top over my stomach and shorts over my thighs then walked over to my windows. My fingers took hold of my thin aureolin yellow curtain and pried them apart. With a downward push, my window snapped close with a click and once again it felt warmer than usual.
Now I remember why I opened it.
That previous night, my room was extra stuffy, so hot it was hard to sleep without sweating. Dad didn’t want us to touch the thermostat so I had to open a window. Although I wanted to open it again, there was a high chance that I would’ve forgotten to close it.
I took a warm shower that morning, mixing the cold water with the hot, and after rinsing my body, I washed my hair. After finishing up, I stepped out of the shower and onto the plush bath mat that collected water droplets cascading off my body.
Reaching over to the counter, a few water droplets from my hair dotted the tiled floor. My fingers grabbed one of the two fluffy, white towels I had placed there and wrapped it around my body. After drying my body, I grabbed the other towel and dried my hair until it wasn’t dripping anymore.
I parted my hair into four sections, braided three, and left one section. Grabbing my blow dryer from the top drawer attached to the sink, I plugged it into the nearest outlet.
As I blow-dried my hair, I took a gander at my reflection in the mirror. My chocolate, cocoa brown eyes peered right back at me. The warm light from above fell over my tanned, honey, caramel skin. My black coily, corkscrew hair was looking unruly as ever. Even as I tried to detangle it with my comb and blow dryer. My round yet smooth face and prominent cheekbones. Lips were plump, bow-like, and nose button-like.
After my hair was dry, I sectioned it into four again because for one: my hair was easy to get nappy and two I had a lot of hair, slightly below shoulder length. I moisturized it with some blue magic Indian hemp oil and some hair lotion.
I brushed and combed it to prep it. Grabbing my edge control and small edge brush, I applied the sticky product to my edges. My hand imitated swoops, curling and molding my edges to perfection. Using some gel and a hair tie, I slayed my hair back into one big voluminous ponytail. For the final step, I applied some blasting freeze hairspray to hold it down. Then wrapped my edges in a silk scarf and pulled a hair bonnet on.
Walking into my room, I went to my daisy-white, wooden dresser with a long rounded mirror. Grabbing my shea butter on top, I unscrewed the lid and dipped my fingers into it. Slowly, I massaged it into my skin, letting the smooth oils penetrate deep into my skin cells.
Right after that, I chose some black jeggings that hugged my hips, and a white crop top exposed the piercing on my belly button. I pulled on a black, semi-thick wool cardigan over my shoulder, a pair of socks, and a pair of white sneakers over my feet. I slipped on a dainty gold necklace and a pair of little gold earrings.
Returning to the bathroom, I applied moisturizer to my face and then some clear, extra glossy lip gloss to my lips. I removed my bonnet and silk head scarf, revealing my smoothly slicked edges and a slick ponytail.
I turned the lights out and returned to my room. Walking across the room to my white wooden closet, I opened it and grabbed my canary yellow, corduroy, over-the-shoulder bag off a hook.
Making sure all my school supplies were packed inside, I grabbed my phone and earbuds off the nightstand, then shut the lights. Walking out of my room, I closed my door behind me and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
“Morning, Dad,” I greeted, walking into the kitchen.
“Well, good morning my daughter with manners,” he replied, glancing directly at my fraternal twin sister, who sat around the island.
She was eating a piece of bacon that was grasped between her fingers, and in her other hand was her phone. Her thumb scrolled and her eyes glued to the screen.
She wore a teal green cotton t-shirt tucked in at the front of a pair of light-colored, high-waisted jeans shorts. She has white socks around her ankles and a pair of white Vans on her feet. Her curly hair was tied in a high bun on top of her head. She wore large framed glasses on her nose, her skin was lightly tanned and freckles spread across her cheeks and arms.
Unlike her, I had my freckles on my back. My clothing usually concealed them or I just forgot them altogether.
“I get it, Dad, I learned my lesson,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.
“Not this again,” I sighed as I walked to the barstool next to her and dropped my bag by its feet. I slid onto the barstool and folded my leg under the other; a poor habit of mine.
“Here you go sweetheart,” Dad chimed in, sliding a plate of breakfast in front of me.
Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast stared up at me with their succulence. Steam emanated, dancing in the light. The delicious aroma triggered a noisy quake in my empty stomach. “Thanks, Dad,” I smiled as I took the fork he handed to me.
“Favorites, favorites...tsk, tsk, tsk,” my sister began, taking her eyes off her phone for the first time since I entered. She glanced over at Dad who lifted a brow. “I don’t say good morning this one time and she’s your favorite.” She shook her head, humming herself.
I laughed, knowing the words she wanted to say were at the tip of her tongue but out of her reach. He snorted with a smile curling on his lips. “Oh, hush, you’re both equally a pain in the ass,” he declared.
He lifted his red, metallic thermos flask off the counter by its handle. Then he reached down to the floor to get his briefcase and his blazer that was slung over it. I took a cursory glance at his attire; his blazer was navy blue, and his dress pants as well. He had on a pearl white dress shirt and a deep rufous red tie around his neck.
His midnight-black hair was gelled back, emphasizing his baby blue eyes and freckles that scattered across his cheeks. His skin was almost olive-toned but milky and pale; he was Italian and French Canadian.
My Dad was a lawyer- a defense state attorney. He was pretty good at what he did, winning a handful of cases. He was a hard worker, a joyous man who rarely frowned. Light-hearted and knew how to put a smile on just about anyone’s face, but just. He never yelled at us, but he had this thing where he’d give us one look and we’d come clean or say ‘Yes sir’ effortlessly.
Sadly, our Mom wasn’t with us anymore. I knew Dad wished she was there to see us on our first day back to school. She would’ve been giddy, flashing pictures here and there to capture the moment. He wasn’t aware that every time he fiddled with his wedding ring, I knew he was thinking of her. The heartbroken look in his eyes gave it away.
Neither of us wanted to forget her; the picture frames in the living room kept her memories alive. Candles burning on the anniversary.
“I don’t know why you’re worried about favorites. My only favorite should be me, I do all the work around here,” he stated, “You should be making your own breakfast.”
He placed his flask on the countertop and shoved a hand into his pocket. After digging around a few times, he pulled his fist out, flashing his gold wedding band. Scrunching his nose, he opened his fist to reveal a crumpled-up dollar bill in the palm of his hand. “So we’re still your favorites?” I asked with a lopsided grin on my lips.
“Nah,” he joked, shaking his head.
“I knew it was too good to be true,” Alexa muttered sarcastically.
Dad chuckled, shoving the dollar back into his pocket. He walked around the island to our barstools. “Alexa.” He gently squeezed her shoulder, and he turned to me. He removed his hand from her shoulder only to do the same with my shoulder. “Alexis, I’m not here. Leftovers are in the fridge and I’m not cooking tonight.”
He kissed our foreheads and then he ruffled our hair much to our annoyance. I swatted his hand away, combing my hair back into place. Alexa narrowed her eyes at him, tucking away the loose curls that fell from her bun. He laughed, stepping away from us to walk around the island. “Enjoy your first day as seniors, girls!” he said, waving as he walked out of the kitchen.
“Bye, Dad!” we simultaneously replied.
Alexa and I quickly turned to each other, scrunching our noses to visibly cringe. “Ew, let’s not do that again,” she said.
Every time we’d say the same thing or think the same thing it always freaked us out. It reminded us of those twins from The Shining. Creepy as shit.
“Agreed,” I nodded.
Like any other normal set of twins, we were two different people. She was more of an extrovert, a party-goer, a people person, and a social media queen. I was in between being an introvert and an extrovert. Some called me the temperamental basket case, a weeb, and the um... short one. But only by an inch though.
She was lazy, a drama queen at times and I was left dealing with her bullshit. Sometimes I was the one that had to protect her, even though she was difficult. If I knew her any better, she couldn’t hurt a fly and her words were her only attack.
She went back to tapping on her phone and trying to finish the piece of bacon she was picking at. The light from her phone reflected onto the lens of her glasses, giving a small projected image of her screen. It seemed like she was texting someone and small yellow blobs appeared.
Emojis, huh?
“Are you texting Carlos?” I asked, poking her forearm with my index finger.
A smirk curled on my lips and her eyes darted to me, narrowing with suspicion. “No, it’s Latoya,” she replied blandly.
“Mhmm, that’s what you always say.” Widening my smirk, I poked her forearm again. “I see them emojis.”
Carlos was one of her best friends and the guy she had a crush on. She didn’t want to admit it but anyone within a mile radius could see that. Latoya was her other best friend whose name she used to cover up her lie.
She rolled her eyes with a scoff and lifted her hand to swat my hand away. “Oh my god, go away,” she groaned.
“You can’t keep denying it,” I jeered playfully, “You know you like him.”
I gathered up some of the scrambled eggs onto my fork and shoveled them into my mouth. “For the love of God, he’s my best friend and it’s... weird.”
My smirk never left my face, I gave her a stupid look; the look I knew would’ve gotten smacked for. But I didn’t give two shits, teasing her was fun. “He’s my best friend and it’s weird,” I playfully imitated her voice.
She balled up her fist and jabbed it into my forearm. “Ouch.” My arm throbbed and pulsed with pain. My hand rubbed the throbbing area as I chuckled to myself.
“For that, I’m leaving your ass,” she said through gritted teeth.
She slid off her bar stool to her feet, scooping up her empty plate. “But you know you can’t,” I chimed.
She flipped me off over her shoulder as she walked over to the sink. I laughed watching her finger follow her, its purple acrylic nail floating around.
After I finished my plate, I did the dishes and grabbed my bag off the floor. We left for school after a game of rock-paper-scissors to see who got to drive; Alexa won.
****
Where are they? The bell’s about to ring.
I was standing by my locker and waiting for my friends to show up. Usually, they met up with me in the morning and we’d hang out before the bell rang. They texted me in the group chat saying they were gonna be there, but I had been waiting for more than twenty minutes and the first class was about to start.
To make things worse, the hallways were crowded. With every face in the crowd, none of them were familiar to me. So many heads, and so many bodies. People packed in like an audience at a concert, everyone was bumping into each other. Just a mass of chaos.
Every year was just the same.
I didn’t want to get crushed or tossed around on the first day again, so I stood near the entrance. Even though standing there made me vulnerable. The vultures of Ridgewood High were always lurking, waiting for the perfect time to strike. Alexa left me the minute she found her friends so, unfortunately, I was all by myself.
In my moment of vulnerability, I got a few snickers and whispers about how puberty didn’t treat me well. Just the shit that was brought over from middle school and every other year after that.
Ugh.
“Riiiiiing!!” the bell’s annoying cry echoed.
“Well, at least no one bothered me as much as I expected,” I muttered to myself.
I released a sigh through my nose, giving up my visual search. I shoved my hand into the side pocket of my bag and fished out the folded paper that was meant to be my schedule. Opening it out, I tried to decipher the unorganized classes.
Someone’s getting fired.
Room 223, Algebra II; the first class of the day. My legs began to move on their own, and into the crowd that was clearing up conveniently. I tried to multi-tasked, deciphering my schedule and navigating my way. “I thought I was done with history.” I eyed the paper in confusion, scrunching my nose.
“Damn.” I was about to look up from the paper when my body suddenly collided with something hard.
I lost my balance, toppling over on my bum. My schedule fell out of my hands and feathered down weightlessly, side to side on the floors. A pain shot through my bum, and it throbbed like a son of bitch. For a second, I thought I broke something because of how sore it felt.
“Are you fucking blind? Watch where you’re going,” someone snapped.
The fuck?
A pair of strong, masculine jean-clad legs stood in front of me. Expensive sneakers tied tightly in knots. Lifting my gaze, I was met with a pair of icy, blue, sanpaku eyes. Those eyes captured my soul, grasped it, and wouldn’t let go. They made it difficult to feel my knees and control the wetness pooling in my panties.
The owner was no other than the bad boy himself; Mason Owen.
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What do you guys think about this revised version? Let me know in the comments.
Luv ya.
xoxox
