Wartorn

Chapter 3

An alarm clock buzzes, and I sleepily get up and gently shake Gwen's shoulder. She never hears the alarm clock. She could sleep through an air raid! While she moans that it's too early to get up, and I protest that she told me to wake her up, I flick through her cupboard for something to wear. "Is there anything in here that isn't black?" I ask.

"Nope," she says, dragging herself out of bed as if doing so is the worst form of torture anyone could endure. "Everything of mine is black. Anything my family gives me for my birthday is..." she shudders, "pink. That all goes under there." She points to her bed. "If you want something like that, feel free to have a look."

I reach under Gwen's bed, and drag out the first thing I grab. I hold up the white dress to her. "It's gorgeous! How can you not like it?" I ask, smoothing the folds out of the dress.

"I dunno. It's just too... gaudy. I'm not a girly girl. I prefer to wear black, so then I can't be classed as a stereotypically weak girl. If I wear leather jackets, I'm seen as like the tomboy. The tough one." She shrugs nonchalantly. "You can have it, if you want." I slip off my dirty t-shirt and shorts and slip into the dress. It feels as though it was made just for me.

"I think I'll make a habit of wearing your cast offs. This is prettier than anything I've every owned in my life!" I say, playing with the skirt fabric. Gwen looks at me.

"You mean you've never owned a dress before?"

"I have, but they were all my sister's before me. I love Brooke, but I always got her hand me downs because she's the older sister. My guitar was the only thing that I ever got new." I smile lovingly, stroking the leather case.

"We'd better go. Trust me, you don't want to be in here when one of the matrons come in to vacuum," Gwen says, taking me by the arm. "You got some shoes?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course I do." I drag my beat up Converse sneakers out from under the bed. Like everything else I own, these are second hand. Mum got them from a vintage store a few years ago, just before war broke out.

"Aw, lucky! Those are vintage! I'll swap you for a pink pair!" Gwen squeals. I lob the shoes over at her, and she searches around under the bed for a while before producing pink Chuck Taylors. I slip on the shoes and jacket, and link my arm into Gwen's as she drags me out the door.

"Wait- where exactly are we going?" I ask.

"The library? I'm a total bookworm! That ok with you?" Gwen asks. I run back into the room and open the guitar case. I grab a pair of eyeglasses and slip them on, running back down to hall to where I left Gwen.

"Sounds good!" I say. She gawks at me.

"You wear glasses?" she sputters, giggling.

"Aw, come on! I don't look that bad, do I?" I giggle. I suppose they are kind of funny. They belonged to my great grandma back in the 1980s. I think they're called wayfarers or something. A hundred years on, they are kind of not so popular anymore.

"Come on, grandma," Gwen giggles. She links her arm in mine, and we skip off along the corridor.

"Do you think I could see Logan?" I ask Gwen as we carry our massive pile of books back to our room late that afternoon. "Yeah. Dante's probably taken him to the shipping container," she says.

"Shipping container?"

"It's an old shipping container that Dante uses to practice on his drumkit. He's on the thing 24/7!" She smiles. "He's probably teaching your brother how to play piano, or something like that."

"Got that covered. I've been teaching Logan piano since he was five! Do you reckon I could take my guitar down?" I ask excitedly.

"Yeah, sure. Follow me."

We hear our brothers long before we see them. Logan is playing an old song called Hall of Fame by some band called The Script, with Dante drumming along. Hearing it again makes me smile. Hall of Fame is my favourite song. It reminds me of my grandpa, who was the person who first played it to me. Gwen bashes on the side of the shipping container. "Brother dearest! Open the stupid door up!" A slot in the door opens.

"What's the password?" a male voice asks.

"Your precious laptop is in your room. I'd open up. Just a suggestion!" Gwen says sweetly.

"You're such a party pooper, sis!" the voice mutters as the panel slides open. Gwen rolls her eyes and drags me through the door.

"Dante, this is Logan's older sister Sonya. Sonya, this is my twin brother and the resident pain in the butt, Dante." Dante smiles at me.

"For the record, I'm a day older."

"You are not! You are five minutes older!" Gwen says, outraged.

"Yes, but you were born at 11:58pm, and I was born at 12:03am. That makes me a day older," he says smugly.

"You are a pig, Dante," Gwen huffs. Dante turns to look at me.

"I can only imagine the pain you go through," he says melodramatically. "Look how she abuses me, her flesh and blood. I can only imagine the insults you must endure." You can tell that Dante and Gwen are twins just by looking at them: their ginger hair, the same shade apart from the fact Gwen's is streaked with green; their slim frames; their green eyes, full of determination.

"Dante is a total pig," Gwen repeats.

"I'm always looking forward to the pleasure of Gwen's company. Shame I haven't had it yet," Dante quips back. I turn my gaze away from the arguing siblings. There is a drum kit sitting in the corner of the room, and a piano in the other corner. Logan pops his head over the top of it.

"Son-raaa!" he says delightedly.

"Hey, little man!" I reply, hugging him close. "You been doing some piano practice?"

"Yeah! It's fun!" he says. God bless him.

"Can I play with you?" I ask.

"I think so. Dante? Can Sonya play with us?" Logan asks. Dante turns and smiles at me.

"I don't see why not."