The shadows in the school hallway stretched long as Amara—Adelaide—walked toward her locker. Her footsteps echoed faintly, each step a reminder of the delicate balance she had to maintain. Every movement, every glance had to be perfect. It wasn't just about fooling them; it was about becoming her sister in every sense.
The locker clicked open, revealing a neatly organized interior. The inside of the door was adorned with pictures: smiling faces of friends, a photo of Lucas holding Adelaide in a playful embrace, and even Ethan, his smirk frozen in time. Amara stared at the images, feeling like an intruder in someone else's sanctuary.
She adjusted her hair in the small mirror, her reflection staring back with a mixture of determination and fear. You're Adelaide. You have to be Adelaide.
"You okay, Adelaide?"
The soft voice startled her, and she slammed the locker shut with more force than intended. Spinning around, she saw Claire standing there, concern etched across her face.
"You seemed a little... off earlier," Claire said, tilting her head slightly.
Amara forced a smile, one she hoped mirrored her sister's effortlessly radiant one. "Just getting used to being back," she replied, her tone light.
Claire hesitated, her eyes searching Amara's face for something. "Well, if you need anything, you know you can talk to me, right? We've missed you so much."
"Thanks," Amara murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Claire gave her a lingering look before walking away. As her footsteps faded, Amara leaned against the locker, exhaling shakily. Did Claire suspect something? Or was she just being kind? Either way, the interaction left her unsettled.
By lunchtime, Amara felt the weight of the day pressing down on her. The cafeteria was buzzing with energy, students clustered in tight groups, their laughter and chatter filling the air. She scanned the room, her eyes landing on Adelaide's usual table.
Lucas was already there, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence. His dark hair caught the light as he gestured animatedly, his laugh carrying across the room. Surrounding him were Adelaide's closest friends, their faces alight with conversation.
"Adelaide!" Lucas's voice rang out, drawing the attention of half the cafeteria.
She walked toward the table, her heart pounding. Sliding into the seat next to him, she tried to suppress the discomfort that settled in her chest as Lucas draped an arm casually over her chair.
"So," Lucas began, his voice loud enough to dominate the table, "I was thinking we could go to Ethan's party this weekend. Everyone's going to be there."
Amara froze. A party? The idea of navigating a social event filled with Adelaide's friends—and enemies—was overwhelming. But Lucas's expectant gaze left her with little choice.
"Sure," she said, her voice steady despite the panic bubbling beneath the surface.
"Great." Lucas grinned, his smile widening as he leaned in slightly. "It'll be like old times."
The words struck her like a blow. There were no "old times" for her to draw on, only fragments of a life she didn't own.
"Yeah," she said weakly, focusing on the tray in front of her.
The conversation around the table moved on, but Amara could feel Lucas's eyes on her. Every laugh, every comment felt rehearsed, like lines in a play she hadn't prepared for.
After lunch, Amara was heading toward her next class when she felt a presence behind her. She turned, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Ethan. He was leaning casually against the lockers, but his sharp gaze was anything but relaxed.
"Adelaide," he said, his voice low and deliberate.
She swallowed, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "Yes?"
He stepped closer, his expression unreadable but intense. "You're different," he said simply.
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Amara's pulse quickened, but she kept her face neutral. "I've been through a lot," she said, her voice carefully measured.
Ethan tilted his head, studying her as though she were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "Yeah, I can tell," he said, his tone laced with something she couldn't place. "But it's more than that. You're not..." He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Amara felt the blood drain from her face. Did he know? Could he tell?
"Not what?" she asked, her voice softer than she intended.
Ethan shook his head, a smirk ghosting across his lips. "Forget it," he muttered, pushing off the lockers and walking away.
She stood frozen in place, her breath shallow. Ethan was perceptive—too perceptive. If anyone could see through her act, it would be him.
The day blurred on, each class a haze of rehearsed smiles and forced interactions. By the time the final bell rang, Amara felt drained. She lingered in the parking lot, staring at Adelaide's car. The keys felt heavy in her hand, as though they carried the weight of everything she was trying to hold together.
The drive home was a blur, her mind still racing with the events of the day. She pulled into the driveway and sat in the car for a moment, taking a deep breath before stepping out. The house loomed ahead, its familiar walls both a comfort and a cage.
Inside, the house felt quiet. The stillness wrapped around her like a blanket, and for the first time that day, she allowed herself to breathe without the need to pretend.
But that peace was fleeting. She climbed the stairs to her room—Adelaide's room—and closed the door behind her. The walls were adorned with photographs, each one a snapshot of a life she wasn't truly a part of. But her gaze kept drifting to the corner of the room where her easel stood, the canvas empty, just waiting.
Amara's fingers itched. She hadn't painted in months. There was something about the act of painting that made everything feel real again, something about creating that made her feel like herself.
Without another thought, she grabbed her brushes and paint, setting them down beside the easel. She didn't care if it was Adelaide's room. She needed this.
The paintbrush felt unfamiliar in her hand at first, as if it didn't belong. But soon, the familiar rhythm of brush strokes returned, each one comforting in its simplicity. She didn't think about what she was creating—she just let it happen. Colors swirled, shapes took form, and for the first time in a long time, Amara wasn't pretending to be anyone. She was just her.
The room, silent except for the soft sounds of the brush moving over the canvas, became her world. It was chaotic, raw, and imperfect—but it was hers. This was what Adelaide had never known about her—her love for painting, her need to create. Adelaide had always been the one in the spotlight, the one with the perfect life. But Amara had always lived in the background, in the quiet spaces where she was allowed to simply exist.
Just as she lost herself in the colors, her phone buzzed, breaking the fragile calm. She wiped her hands on a rag before picking it up, half-expecting the message to be from her parents or someone from school. But it was Lucas.
"Party at Ethan's on Saturday. I'll pick you up at 8."
Amara stared at the message, her chest tightening. The words felt like an anchor, pulling her back into a world she didn't belong in. She wasn't Adelaide. And she wasn't sure how long she could keep pretending to be.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, and she almost typed a response, but the words never came. Instead, she placed the phone down, her eyes returning to the canvas. The painting was far from finished, and yet, it was the most honest thing she had done all day.
She took a step back, surveying the chaotic masterpiece in front of her. For a moment, everything felt right. But the phone buzzed again, pulling her back into reality. She picked it up, fingers trembling slightly as she read Lucas's text once more.
"Okay," she typed finally, her fingers moving almost mechanically. She hit send before she could second-guess herself.
Sitting back in the chair, Amara allowed herself one last glance at the painting before walking out of the room. The painting would stay there, waiting for her next moment of escape. And as for Lucas's message, she couldn't ignore it. Not yet. But part of her— the part that was still Amara—wished she could.
She wasn't Adelaide, no matter how hard she tried. And soon, she feared, the truth would catch up with her.
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