Happy New Year, everyone!!
2016 came along faster than I anticipated but now that it's here there's a lot to look forward to. Finishing up the semester, graduating in May, and everything beyond. Other than that, it's a fresh start for everyone and I'm excited to see what the year has to bring. I had a pretty good 2015 so I'm betting 2016 will be even better.
I don't do resolutions for New Year's, not really. I typically just make a goal and see if I stick with it. (Yes, I know that's basically the same thing but I don't hold it to the same sort of standards that people have to it as there always seems to be a big thing when someone breaks a resolution). My goal last year was to go to the gym more and I'm now in a routine of going about 5 times a week or so.
This year my goal is to focus more on my writing. Not only do I have to work on Reagan as well as Flynn but I want to re-write Two Pair. Not only because it's been three years since it was published (four once September hits) but because I write differently now and I feel that I'm a better storyteller. (I'm not amazing but any means, but I see the improvement). That being said, I have the re-written first chapter of Two Pair below; the way this story goes now is that each chapter focuses on one of the girls (in order of Reagan, Mickayla, Ronan, then Savannah) and tells the story switching between their POVs.
Let me know what you guys think. Really, let me know; what did you like about it? What didn't you like? What do you think about the characterization? What do you think about the pacing? etc. etc.
I hope you all have a great 2016.
“Ugh, leave it to school to ruin everything.”
“Not everything, I got a few great shots of the sunrise.”
Reagan Jacoby sighed as she gently laid her surfboard against the wall of the garage carefully placing it down so that it didn’t get scratched. Then she picked up the large beach towel that lay across her shoulders and used it to her body free of the ocean water and sand that stuck to her skin. “I’m sure they’re great, Ro,” she said, addressing her twin sister with a sigh. “But I’ve been trying to get that rodeo flip for weeks now and I still can’t get it.”
“Well, if you force yourself you’re just going to get worse,” Ronan commented. She lowered the camera that hung around her neck and placed her hands on her hips. “I know you didn’t manage to land a single trick today, but you’re just psyching yourself out.”
Reagan bobbed her head back and forth, twisting her mouth to the side as she thought about it. She had been putting a lot of pressure on herself after the competition she had entered last week. Those girls seemed to have been able to improve quicker than she had. She had placed well, but it still wasn’t something she was ready to brag about unless she could land the rodeo flip more than a few times. She was sure she would have gotten it if she weren’t risking the bus back to the neighborhood. It was one of the few times she hated that neither of them had their license.
“You’ll get it,” Ronan said. She reached up and pushed her purple strand of hair out of her blue eyes, chuckling when Reagan did the same movement at the same time, but with her red strand of hair.
Being twins Reagan and Ronan had become susceptible to the common questions and trappings of being a multiple.
How do you tell each other apart? They were color coded since birth; with Reagan’s color being pink and Ronan’s color being yellow thus dictating everything that was bought for them to be specifically in those colors or an off-shoot of the color. Then when they were young enough to make their decisions of their own desires, Reagan switched hers to red and Ronan switched hers to purple. Despite having the same shoulder length dark hair and standing at the same height, Ronan was bestowed with a mole on her chin and birthmark on her forehead, while Reagan had a birthmark on her left knee. On the other hand, their laughter and voices, though similar, were slightly different.
What’s it like to be a twin? The same as being a single person…considering they didn’t know anything about not being a twin. The quickest answer was being born with their best friend at their side.
Who’s the oldest? Reagan was born five minutes before Ronan and used it to her advantage as much as possible…though it always backfired in her face when she questioned “Why do I have to do it?” where Ronan would then say, “Because you’re the oldest”. And that was that. . It was an injustice, not to mention the strange sort of responsibility that was thrust upon her shoulders at differing moments. Was it her fault she was born first? For all she knew, with what little space they had in the womb, Ronan had pushed her out just to get some space. People always said that babies played together while they were in the womb, no one knew it could have potentially been a war for dominance.
Do you fight a lot? Not very much but that didn’t mean there weren’t odd moments of bickering every once in a while. In the Jacoby household there were fights over very small and petty things. The biggest repeat offender being who got into the bathroom first, though the runners up in competitions were who got to use the ‘good bowl’ for cereal, who got to ride shotgun, who got the bigger brownie for desert, and who was the one to go first when they had a driving lesson. Just about anything could be turned into a not-quite-serious argument of equality.
Can you feel each other’s pain? Typically that responded in a light laugh, a short story of the only time they had managed to do it—if it weren’t an outright lie—and say that it was impossible. However that question was then followed up by ‘can you tell what your sister is thinking?’ where a random guess would be the answer.
What amused them and others the most were the times where the twin girls would move or say something in the same way at the same time, creating some sort of a stereo effect that would result in surprised laughter.
Ronan then called the first shower as the girls tramped into their house being careful not to drag sea water and sand all over the immaculate flooring of the kitchen. Their father set aside the garage and accompanying laundry room to collect their water and sports gear to finish his endless battle of combating piles of sand that managed to sneak its way inside. Their maltipoo puppy, Zack, greeted them at the door, lifting up on his hind legs tail wagging at high speeds and licked at their hands.
“Sorry, Zack, you know the vet said you’re going on a diet,” Reagan said as she scooped him up in her arms. “I don’t think licking away all of the dried saltwater is going to help much.” She giggled as his tiny tongue flicked over her chin and she headed towards her room to get her clothes out for the day.
Along the hallway she passed a portrait that held her sister and her father and stopped to smile at it, as she did every day. Though their family was small with only the two of them and their father, Elijah Jacoby, she wouldn’t trade it for the world. Seeing her father stick his fingers up behind their heads in bunny ears always made her laugh. Neither she nor Ronan had noticed it when the picture was being taken the last father’s day. As Reagan glanced at the photo, her mind wandered to her mother which was strange in itself as she didn't particularly dwell over the woman she didn’t get to know before she was out of her life.
For as long as she could remember it had always been herself, her sister, and their father and it was all she wanted, she loved her life. But then there were the vulnerable moments where the mysterious woman managed to creep in; late nights when she couldn’t fall asleep, when she got her period for the first time and had to call her father at work, Mother’s Day…holidays were always some of the harder days to get through. At some point someone would mention her, question how their mother managed to carry twins to term, or their father would suddenly fall silent and look off into space remembering a time the girls didn’t know. It helped their father was just as good of a mother as he was a father and the missing spot in their lives diminished in size.
Not completely gone.
But diminish in size.
Reagan went to their room and dropped Zack onto the ground, picking up her phone. She navigated to her MugShot profile, one of the biggest social media networks out there, and checked the notifications. A few handcuffs, some new pictures posted, and a comment on a status she had followed the day before. The usual. But then a colorful image caught her eye as she recognized a member of her school’s cross country team as the header for the article. Grinning, she clicked into the article, hoping to read about the win her school had at the latest meet but the longer she read, the lower her jaw dropped.
“What?” Ronan shouted over the running shower water.
“They mixed up our school names again! They said that Ashburg Arts was the team that got the state record at our last meet!” Shaking her head, Reagan continued to scroll the news article, hoping Ashburg Academy’s name would pop up somewhere. “I mean, sure, they can probably afford the steroids as easily as they buy candy, but we get our wins with hard work.”
She continued to look through her phone, checking out the scores of her favorite sports teams before becoming sucked in to Flutter, catching up on the musicians, actors, and athelets that had posted the night before, then catching up on her classmates. Her buzzed in her hand as a text came in.
Tristan: We’ll be there in a half hour, Nic needs to get to school early.
Reagan: No worries, we’ll see you when you get here.
Putting her phone away, Reagan glanced at her watch then sighed heavily when she noticed how much time had passed and the shower water was still running. Must be payback for how long I spent at the beach this morning. Picking up her clothes, Reagan walked over to the bathroom door and banged her fist against it, causing the hinges shake, rattle, and roll. As she continued to knock the surrounding walls trembled and quaked in danger of knocking photos to the floor.
“How much longer are you gonna be in there?” she shouted. “I have to get dressed!” Reagan pressed her ear against the door, trying to hear the water over the blood pounding in her ears.
Receiving no response, she let out a sigh then alternately slammed both hands on the door with the repeated chant, “Ro. Ro! Ro-your-boat!” On the last few swings she missed and whacked her hand against the hinge of the door, scraping her knuckle. Sticking her finger in her mouth, Regan pictured herself hitting the door and realized how ridiculous she must have looked. It wasn’t like she hadn’t locked Ronan out of the bathroom; but in her defense, nothing was better or more relaxing than reading in a bubble bath after a long day at the beach.
Finally, Reagan got a reply—albeit an exasperated one—from her sister as she heard the nickname that had been given to her since first grade. “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”
“About as long as I’ve been standing in the hallway,” Reagan said. She crossed her arms. “I thought about going to get Dad’s taser, too. But I thought that might be overkill.” She smiled; sure it was evident in her voice. “Though it’d be a good way to be an only child again. Those first five minutes were pure bliss.”
“Like you even remember them. Besides, Dad took his taser to work with him and if you used it on me it’d be considered assault and you’d go to jail!”
“Not if it’s my first offense,” Reagan corrected. Of all of the lectures, warnings, and explanations her father had given her and Ronan over the years, it was ways of getting out of trouble that seemed to stick with her the most. Then again, there was nothing better than the camaraderie and familial closeness she got from the Ashburg Police Department. They practically grew up there and had gotten to know the rest of the officers and detectives as their own family.
“Whatever. Hold on.” Ronan said.
Reagan’s attention turned back to the bathroom as the door opened and an avalanche of steam followed her sister out of the bathroom.
“You know you’re the most impatient person ever,” Ronan said. Casually, she ran a fluffy purple towel over her hair.
“I know,” Reagan chirped. “It’s part of my charm.” She smiled sweetly and nudged her twin sister out of the way. Before closing the door behind her, she turned around to face Ronan with a raised eyebrow, which Ronan mimicked. “Did you really think that I would go and get Dad’s taser?”
“You’ve done worse things,” Ronan remarked. “Miss. You-have-to-listen-to-me-because-I’m-the-oldest. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the time we took Dad’s car for a joyride.”
“So I’m creative,” Reagan defended. “I like to have fun. That’s not a bad thing.”
“You get bored easily.”
A light sigh escaped Reagan’s lips and she turned her attention back to her sister. “I hate it when you do that, Sis.”
“Do what?” The corners of Ronan’s mouth twitched into a smile.
“Prove me wrong. Especially because you’re younger than me.”
“I know,” Ronan beamed. “That’s why I do it.”
Loves anything red. Rock music, playing the guitar, drawing, writing, tattoos, and sports are some of my interests and hobbies. I like to laugh, I like to think I'm funny. I talk a lot...just a warning.