I look around the small trailer Mom and I shared the last four years. As always, my stuff is ready to go— easy to move. I never trusted permanency any more than Mom did. We had a silent understanding that my belongings would stay in the heavy cardboard boxes I kept organized like drawers. Even when Mom and I lived in a furnished place with real dressers, I never used one.

It’s Mom’s things that need to be organized and sorted through. It’s not a chore I’m comfortable with. Mom always kind of kept her things private. Even though she’s gone, I still feel like I’m doing something wrong going through her things.

The back of Mom’s drawer is where she keeps her jewelry box. I’m not sure why she always hid it, neither of us ever owned anything of value. I open the pink tattered box; the familiar ballerina pops up to greet me and suddenly I’m six and sneaking into Mom’s bedroom when she’s not home. I’d wind and wind the music box, watching the little plastic ballerina twirl around to the music and trying to imitate her pose. “You can hardly walk and chew gum at the same time,” Mom said, laughing, when I asked her if I could sign up for ballet lessons. Never mind that we couldn’t have afforded it.

I can’t help myself. I wind the key at the back of the box tightly, and as the music pings, the first real smile I’ve felt in weeks visits my face.

Two long strands of metallic beads wrapped around my neck, I hum the ballerina’s song as I slip cheap costume jewelry rings onto every finger. The silver one with the dark purple stone changes colors. I remember Mom telling me it was her mood ring; that it could see how she felt inside. Dark green meant sad, red meant happy. I’d always thought she was teasing me. But staring intently at my finger, I watch as the dark purple turns to green.

“You playing dress up without me?”

Startled, I jump from the bed, sending the jewelry box sailing across the room, the contents emptying all over the place as the box slams into the wall.

“Ashley! You scared the crap out of me!”

She grins. “I’m sorry. You didn’t answer when I knocked, so I let myself in. Nice safety precaution by the way, leaving the front door wide open so any strange person can walk in.”

“And apparently they did.” I drop to my hands and knees in search of Mom’s jewelry, now strewn all over her tiny bedroom. It’s not valuable measured in terms of money, but the junk is priceless to me.

“You weren’t answering my calls.” Ashley’s worry is in her voice and written on her face. I look up, finding the tips of her jet black hair have been dyed violet since only last night. So Ashley. I’m really going to miss her.

“Sorry, Ash. I just needed some time to go through Mom’s things.” I reach down to grab the music box from the floor where it crash landed and lift it, turning it upright, but the tray glued to the bottom dislodges and tumbles to the floor in the process. Two tiny plastic strips that must have been tucked between the tray and the bottom of the music box fall, landing at my feet.

Ashley picks them up, squinting at the faint words typed on the small pink strips of plastic. “Isn’t your birthday February 14th?”

“Yes, you know it is. Remember, you bought me that big chocolate Valentine’s Day heart and wrapped it in birthday paper? I always get ripped off on my birthday,” I tease. But something in Ashley’s face wipes the smile off mine. Taking the strips from her hand, I read the words that have caused her cheery pink face to drain of all its color. One bracelet reads: Twin A, 2/14/97, Mother: Carla Fallon. The second bracelet reads: Twin B, 2/14/97, Mother: Carla Fallon.

Chapter 4

Zack—

Long Beach, California

Saturday mornings are my favorite times with Emily. Lunging to stretch my calves, I watch as she walks across the street dressed in her running gear. No makeup, a headband pulling her hair back into a simple ponytail, she looks young and beautiful. More like the girl I fell in love with than the one she’s become lately. Somehow, the casualness of her appearance seeps into her attitude, making her lose the air of superiority that seems to have gotten worse the last few months.

“Morning.” She smiles broad and happy, stretching up on her tippy toes as she kisses my cheek.

“Someone got up on the right side of the bed this morning.” I switch to the other leg, lunging to complete my pre-run stretch.

“What is there not to be happy about?” I’m in total agreement, but curious as to what makes her realize it for herself this morning.

Beginning her own stretches, Emily spreads her legs, leaning over dramatically¸ placing both palms on the ground in front of her. Her ass perfectly positioned in front of me. Definitely intentional, but who am I to complain with such a great view. “I agree. In fact, I’m feeling happier by the minute.” I swat her ass. She giggles like a little girl.

“You wanna do the loop through town to the library and back, or head for the track at the school this morning?” We’ve been running together Saturday mornings since middle school. Sometimes I think it’s the only time I enjoy with Emily anymore. And maybe the times her parents go out for a few hours and I sneak over, but that always starts well and ends with me frustrated.

“Loop.” She puts one hot pink ear bud in, leaving the other dangling. “Race you to old man Wilkins’ house? Loser buys lunch.” Emily takes off before I can even respond.

Wilkins’ house is two blocks away, but they’re long blocks. I let her lead for about a block and a half. Then I blow past her, just as she starts to smell victory in the near distance. Neither one of us likes to lose at anything, it’s one of the few things we have in common anymore. But also one of the things that gets in our way.