As a child, there were many words I described myself as- brisk, reserved, and calm being at the top of the list. It had never crossed my mind to call myself “cold.”

Cold is not a nice word, nor a friendly one. I did not find being called “cold-hearted” a pleasant experience, but I dealt with it calmly.

A tinkling laugh like the chiming of the church bells filled the room as I turned away and walked away from the boy who had called me such a dreaded thing.

My pace was brisk, and I remember hearing the click of my gray boots clicking on the wooden floor, echoing through my fuming head like the basses in a car with a radio that shakes every house it passes by.

“Olivia,” a voice called out, bringing me out of my head.

“Yes, Vivian?” I asked sweetly, knowing without a doubt that the melodic voice belonged to my shy, black haired twin.

“Are you okay?” Vivian asked me, racing towards me, her ebony black hair flying into her face and covering her big brown eyes, widened with her concern and ever-present curiosity. “Drake was not being the nicest he can be. I wanted to make sure his words didn’t hurt you.”

My gray eyes darted to the ground. “Untruths do not affect me. The truth however-”

Vivian stood on her tiptoes to reach my eye level, placing fists on her hips. “Then you are not affected, because you aren’t cold! People like Drake just don’t know the real you. They don’t know you like I do!”

I smiled slightly at my sister, reaching up to grab a brown strand of my hair to play with, only to remember it was pulled back, as it had been everyday for months, possibly even years.

“Anyways, Liv, we should head to the library!” Vivian announced cheerfully. “You promised to help me with my homework on Fairy Tales!”

That was how afternoons went for Vivian and I, when we lived in our carefree world that was fifth grade. Vivian would take me to the library every afternoon to help her with her reading, her writing, her spelling, before taking my math homework out of my bag and setting it on the table to help me, knowing I needed her without asking,

She was so sweet and shy, clinging on to me in public, but lifted me up when we were alone.

I was always the opposite. I read people from the background, but when someone dared to mess with my sister, they felt fear deep in the depths of their hearts.

This is why people tend to call us ‘the opposite twins’. Vivian is known as an angel, I’m known as, to put it in simple words, a human.

We went through life together, as sisters, until the day everything changed. The day that would haunt us for the rest of our lives. That is my story- and this story’s beginning was like the beginning of any- a normal day with an unexpected outcome.

“’Lo, Olivia,” Vivian whispered to me as she sat down next to me for Study Hall. The bell would not ring for another- another- minute, or maybe two. We had a little time to talk before being sucked back up into the pattern of endless thinking that was our school.

“What are you working on?” Vivian asked curiously, her long silky hair flowing over her shoulders as her hands grabbed the magenta notebook I had been writing hastily in until she arrived.

Flipping through my collection of short stories, Vivian found the one I had been working on just now.

“Lady Majesty?” Vivian read aloud, her words coming out crumpled as she tried to read my cursive. She was never a strong reader, and cursive was much harder for her- making it understandable that she fumbled.

“What’s this story about?” Vivian questioned happily, her voice lowering when she heard the bell ring halfway (or a third of the way?) through her sentence.

I put a finger to my lips, and Vivian gave an exasperated nod of her head, waving to a couple of her friends that came in late.

Vivian was very shy around new people, but somehow managed to be one of the most popular students in the school. She was a genius with math, artistic, speedy, considerate, generous, and all around likeable. She was respected as a human with flaws rather than a real-life Mary Sue with her reading troubles and over sensitivity.

I looked up as Miss Brooks called my name, and raised my head neatly, saying “Present,” in the same way I did every study hall- politely, calmly, neutrally. A few of my classmates rolled their eyes, wondering why I could not just say here like everyone else. I supposed the answer was that I was not like everybody else.

As the teacher finished taking attendance, I situated myself back calmly, writing to my heart’s content.

“So, what’s your story about?” Vivian asked again.

“Lady Majesty is a story based on Fairy Tales,” I explained passionately, my voice still a whisper. “She is the great granddaughter of Cinderella, in a world where royalty has been illegal for years, and all potential heirs and heiresses of the throne are hunted down. Lady Majesty, or Eliana, knows her heritage, and her family goes into hiding. One day, her parents are found while getting foo-”

“Talking in class, girls?” Miss Brooks interrupted, bending down in between my twin and I. “What are you talking about?”

Our teacher grabbed my notebook. “Lady Majesty?” she had asked me, shaking her head sadly. “This doesn’t look like an assignment- it must be another one of your stories! You can’t keep doing this in my class! Detention, Cobel!”

“Yes, Miss Brooks,” I whispered shamefully, never having received a detention before.

“I will see you after school on Thursday, Cobel,” Miss Brooks announced sternly, grabbing my notebook from my hands, giving me a slight paper cut. “I’ll give this back when I can trust you will not bring it to school again!”

“No, Miss, please!” I begged- something I never did. “I won’t write in class again, I swear by my stories. In fact, I will bring the notebook to my locker right now!”

“No, Olivia, you had several warnings. You can have it after your detention.”

I sunk into my chair as several people guffawed. Vivian looked at her friends with disappointment and offered me her condolences.

However, it was pointless at that moment. All I could think of is how my dream was crushed.

Vivian sat down next to me on the bus, laying a hand on my shoulder to comfort me.

“Are you okay, Liv?” she whispered. “I know how horrible getting your perfect record ruined might be!”

“Thanks, Viv,” I sighed. “But you’ve already gotten detention- thanks to those no good friends of yours!”

“What?” Vivian questioned.

“You heard me,” I snarled. “You have horrible friends! They’re late to class, they’re mean, and I don’t want you to become just like them. You should just drop them!”

“I’m sorry, then,” Vivian whispered, tears in her eyes. “I’ll just let you be- but I will not drop my friends. At least they don’t try and control my life!”

I gasp. “Be that way,” I whispered to her, before muttering something to myself. “I guess it’s too late already.

I did not feel guilty when my sister and best friend grabbed her baby blue backpack off of the drab gray seats and marched away. The only thing I could think about was how I had gotten a detention for writing in class.

My life-long dream of being an author had been snatched from me! It was everything I ever wanted. It was like a golden birthday as a dream- a golden dream!

If Vivian had not questioned my story, then I would still have hope.

I could still have a silver dream. I have always wondered if I would be able to succeed in politics.

What have I done? That was the only thought in my head as I tried to sleep, tossing and turning in within my crisp white sheets, my gray comforter scrunched up at the bottom of my bed. I was still sweating.

I sighed, and got up, knowing that my efforts at sleep were fruitless. It was past Two A.M. and I had started my attempt to sleep at ten. That was, err, four hours ago.

I slipped out of bed, and my feet touched the soft carpet of my bedroom, walking towards my desk and grabbing out a notebook. I opened it up to where I was continuing my story, that I had hoped to become a novel, and started writing, pressing harder than normal, with my writing a little less neat.

It took two hours for me to be able to write myself into peacefulness, and I barely got any sleep.

As soon as I got up, at six, I wanted to march into Vivian’s room and apologize, but my pride was too heavy at the time- and I insisted that it was all Vivian’s fault.

One of the lessons I learned during this time was that pride is nothing to bonds and love.

My parents picked up on the tension, but said nothing, choosing to let us work things out ourselves.

I ate my breakfast hastily that morning, rushing to the bus stop early, as it was a nice Autumn morning- and a Wednesday. I had always loved Wednesdays, since it meant that Monday was over, but I still had a few days of school ahead of me.

I was the first in line on the bus, and took my normal seat at the very front, while Vivian headed to the back with her friend.

I had wanted to scoot over, invite her to sit with me- but I did not want it enough. I should have reached out. Maybe then nothing else would have happened- but that could just be guilt talking, even after all this time.

The day was nearly normal, but I was jumpy, very jumpy, and my math homework was far worse than normal. Not to mention the building apprehension of detention looming over my head, causing me to pause my work to take deep breaths throughout the entire day, leaving me with more homework than normal.

The day was stressful, but the wonder of it would soon feel alien, like a golden ray of sun shining directly on me, giving me the perfect temperature and giving my brown hair a shiny glow.

The next day was worse, but the morning was still better than the days to come. My two friends, Lidia and Jaxon, had left me to spend time with my sister, whom at the time, I had insisted was someone we were better without.

What have I done? That was the only thought in my head as I tried to sleep, tossing and turning in within my crisp white sheets, my gray comforter scrunched up at the bottom of my bed. I was still sweating.

I sighed, and got up, knowing that my efforts at sleep were fruitless. It was past Two A.M. and I had started my attempt to sleep at ten. That was, err, four hours ago.

I slipped out of bed, and my feet touched the soft carpet of my bedroom, walking towards my desk and grabbing out a notebook. I opened it up to where I was continuing my story, that I had hoped to become a novel, and started writing, pressing harder than normal, with my writing a little less neat.

It took two hours for me to be able to write myself into peacefulness, and I barely got any sleep.

As soon as I got up, at six, I wanted to march into Vivian’s room and apologize, but my pride was too heavy at the time- and I insisted that it was all Vivian’s fault.

One of the lessons I learned during this time was that pride is nothing to bonds and love.

My parents picked up on the tension, but said nothing, choosing to let us work things out ourselves.

I ate my breakfast hastily that morning, rushing to the bus stop early, as it was a nice Autumn morning- and a Wednesday. I had always loved Wednesdays, since it meant that Monday was over, but I still had a few days of school ahead of me.

I was the first in line on the bus, and took my normal seat at the very front, while Vivian headed to the back with her friend.

I had wanted to scoot over, invite her to sit with me- but I did not want it enough. I should have reached out. Maybe then nothing else would have happened- but that could just be guilt talking, even after all this time.

The day was nearly normal, but I was jumpy, very jumpy, and my math homework was far worse than normal. Not to mention the building apprehension of detention looming over my head, causing me to pause my work to take deep breaths throughout the entire day, leaving me with more homework than normal.

The day was stressful, but the wonder of it would soon feel alien, like a golden ray of sun shining directly on me, giving me the perfect temperature and giving my brown hair a shiny glow.

The next day was worse, but the morning was still better than the days to come. My two friends, Lidia and Jaxon, had left me to spend time with my sister, whom at the time, I had insisted was someone we were better without.

They did not take kindly to my words, which, looking back, is the only reasonable response I could see. At the time, I had called them traitors, backstabbers, and fake friends. I accused them of showing favoritism, and hating me for the tiniest of flaws. They just walked away, and we never got our bond back. We became friends again, but never to the extent we had at the time.

When I got to detention, with Miss Brooks herself, I was directed to work on homework.

I really never understood why teachers would demand we do homework in detention, rather than some other task. We would have to do the homework even if we did not get detention!

Some students, such as myself, would feel punished enough from the shame, the guilt, and the horror. Most would not truly care and go mostly unpunished, leaving them to keep up the same bad behavior without fear of consequences.

Detentions such as these punished the exemplary students, the examples, the righteous more than those who truly deserved discipline and punishment!

After many years, I have realized that such a thing can not be helped, no matter how angry I was as a teenage girl.

Finally, after what seemed like years of working my hand into cramps, but was really only a single hour, I was dismissed.

My dad was supposed to pick me up, but after nearly twelve minutes of waiting, I grew impatient and grabbed my cell phone, a flip phone (that was really very new at the time), and called my father.

It went straight to voicemail. So did the next call, eight minutes later, the next five minutes later, and the next three two minute later.

I started pacing the parking lot, running my hands through my brown hair and messing it up drastically, something I had not done is years, extremely worried about my father.

I flipped open my phone and was just about to call my mother when I saw her racing towards me and pulling me into a wet, salty hug.

“Mom, what?” I gasped, finding it hard to breath in her tight embrace. “What happened? Where’s dad?”

Mom looked at me, her gray eyes watering heavily.

I saw Vivian over her shoulder, crying just as much as our parent.

“Your father…” mom murmured, barely able to squeeze the words out, “was in a car accident on the way to get you. He’s… dead.”

My memory grew fuzzy after that. I do remember pure numbness, taking control of my mind as I collapsed into the backseat of the car, next to my weeping sister.

I did not talk. I did not cry. I just sat there, staring at the seat in front of me, breathing slowly, trying to wrap my head around what was going on. My dad was dead.

It was my fault- if I had not got the detention, my father would have never been out driving to his death.

Only, it was Vivian who had gotten me detention. I turned away from my sister in the car, finding it so much easier to blame her than myself.

My eyes drifted to my mom, whose fingers were white as she gripped the steering wheel much tighter than was necessary. Her brown hair was clumped and hanging down her shoulders.

“Are you two okay back there?” She asked, her voice cracking with desperation she did not want us to hear.

Silence.

Finally, I whispered, “Physically,” choking on the words.

“Shut up,” Vivian whispered, and I cowered before the girl next to me, showing rage I never thought possible in her brown eyes. “You could have just said yes or no, instead of- of being like this! I lost my father too, you know!”

I gaped at her, shrinking in my seat.

My mom gripped the steering wheel even tighter, her gray eyes flitting in between us nervously.

“Vivian…” she tried to scold. Neither of us listened as we glared at each other, tears streaming out of both of our eyes.

Finally, we both looked away, in unison.

“I don’t feel like fighting,” I grumbled.

“Then apologize,” Vivian begged, her demeanor changing to a desperate one.

“Fine,” I whispered. “After you.”

“Girls!” My mother shouted, pulling over, and turning her head to glare at us. “Your father just died. Whatever… conflict is between you, let it drop.”

“Alright,” I growled. “We’ll truce, for a brief period of time. Agreed?” I snapped my head around.

“Fine,” was my only response before my sister turned my back on me, and I turned my back on her.

That was the last thing I truly remembered for several days.

Guilt and hate are powerful emotions. Combined, they can take a serious toll on your mind.

They can also give you strange cravings at two A.M.- and that was exactly how I found myself in the kitchen digging through the cupboards, not getting very far with all my mumbling and pacing. My father died two days ago, and I had not left the home since then.

Finally, I found some Oreos. They had expired a week ago, but I still grabbed the box and set it on the table, and filled up a glass of almond milk, sipping on it as I walked into the dining room.

I set it down a little too hard, sending the white liquid pouring over the edge of the cup, onto the oak surace.

I just rolled my eyes and dipped an Oreo in the remaining milk, and bit in half, chewing slowly, trying to focus on the seeping flavor, but the treat did not taste as good as I recalled.

I sighed, shoving the other half of the cookie into my mouth, only to find Vivian walking into the kitchen, rummaging through the shelves, much as I had.

“Hi,” I mumbled, instantly regretting my choice of speaking.

Vivian looked at me, and after a few seconds of hesitation, whispered “Hi,” back to me, offering a tiny smile.

I stared at the floor, something that had become a habit recently, as I ate another Oreo. My sister continued to rummage through the cupboards, until she finally turned around to face me and asked “Have you seen any Oreos recently?”

I just held up the box, and beckoned her to the table. Vivian gave a quick nod of gratitude, and sat down next to me, grabbing a cookie and dipping it in my glass of milk.

“Funny, we both wanted the same midnight snack- in the wo hours of the morning,” Vivian stated dryly.

“It’s the wee hours of the morning-” I began, but was interrupted.

“Does it matter?” Vivian questioned. “Dad’s still dead.”

My gray eyes left their home on the floor, and stared into my sister’s empty ones.

“You’re right, I suppose,” I admitted. “I’m starting to think that life is like an Oreo,” I announced, reaching into the box of cookies. “You got the cookie. The cookie’s hard, so’s life. Then there’s the creme.” I took a bite of the cookie, licking my lips. “Everyone loves the cream. That’s the good part of life. Only, before you know it,” I popped the last half of the Oreo in my mouth, “the Oreo is gone.”

Vivian watched with an odd sort of fascination, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I am sorry, you know” Vivian murmured.

“Me too,” I agreed. “Me too.”