Identity [ON HIATUS]

3. Daisy Paints A Snow Blizzard

As a rule, because Rose hates school, I had to love it. Isn't that the way? As twins we looked the same but as minds we were polar opposites. And I fitted into that box neatly with a bow on top.

I didn't love school for the people or the grimy floors or the sticky classroom seats, I loved it for the knowledge. I had big dreams for myself; to go to an Ivy League school and to get a good education and to begin my good career. Your career is everything; it can make or break you, and I never ever wanted to feel broken.

I wasn't too sure what that life fulfilling career would be yet, but I knew I'd be happy when I had it.

I had a problem, however; one of my classes had a distraction in the shape of a very attractive human. He wasn't popular, like me, and he had a love affair with English, kind of like mine with art. He had dark, slightly curly hair and wore thick rimmed glasses. He was usually alone, playing games on a vintage Game Boy that pinged every time he reached a new level. He carried his books loosely and sometimes flipped through the thin pages while walking the corridors. His name was Liam, and we'd spoken once.

"You finished with the brush?" I looked from the blank canvas staring in front of me and to my right, where Liam stood awkwardly, hands in the pockets of his chinos. I felt my throat close up, before looking back at the paint brush in question.

Art club was supposed to be my safe haven, where all my troubles were to be washed away with the stroke of a brush onto blankness. In there, I could make something from nothing just by the flick of my wrist. I loved the click of a new paint pot opening and revealing the untouched surface of red, of blue. I loved when your eyes came back into focus after splashing about the canvas and standing up, revealing the entire thing in front of you. There, I was invincible, I created what I wanted, and there were no consequences.

And while Liam made my brain go fuzzy and my heart do little flips, I couldn't concentrate the way I did before he started showing up at art club.

"It's a bit messy." I dunked it into the even messier jar of water sat on a stool to my other side, whisking it around quickly to get rid of...well, nothing. I hadn't actually painted or even sketched anything today.

"Its fine, the colour would look nice under mine. I might even create a new colour."

I laughed. "True. But I wouldn't want to ruin your painting."

"What's yours?" As he leaned round, I cringed. My canvas didn't even have an accidental splash of colour. "Oh, a snow blizzard? I like it." Liam smiled. He laid out his hand for the brush and I gave it to him, before he adjusted his glasses and returned to his easel.

Calling my canvas a snow painting was a joke. But, I couldn't help kicking myself for having nothing to create. Art club was going to be a waste today and I knew why. Not because of Liam, but because of Rose. She hadn't upset me, it's not like she'd decided not to come home yet, but the aching feeling in my chest told me that this evening was going to be shitty.

Twins didn't have telepathy or a sixth sense with each other, but once people couldn't shut up about it, I could feel it. I knew for sure that it wasn't real; it must have been a self-fulfilling prophecy, but when the dread kicked in I knew something was up.

"Daisy, he's going to notice if you keep staring like that." Sarah prodded me with her own paint brush, making little dents in my arm. I had been staring at Liam the whole time.

Oh God.

I burnt a hole into my snow blizzard instead. "My mind wandered. I wasn't even thinking about him."

Sarah sat in the seat next to me, flecks of paint in her dark, chocolatey hair braid. While Sarah didn't care about school romances and pining, she did care if I was making a fool of myself. I didn't  do it often, being the basic girl I am, but it was nice to have someone around to make sure I wasn't staring at the guy I liked for a solid five minutes.

"You're alright. He didn't see."

I watched from the corner of my eye as he watched from the corner of his.