The Result of an Andrews Boy

Only I'm not Bridget

Way back around eighteen years ago, I was born with my 'lovely' twin sister Bridget. According to my mother she's perfect. According to my father, Bri is just like my mother. Perfect, beautiful and flawless.

Now according to my father, I'm 100% his kid. I get into trouble, manage to play ridiculously perfect pranks on people and I have his personality and good looks. Only, I'm not Bridget.

And if I'm not Bridget, then what does it matter?

My mother believe every one of her kids has a talent. Bri as an outstanding artist who can draw just about anything and she's won fucking awards for the shit.

Seth, my brother whose 15, takes after my dad who is amazing at baseball. My dad plays for the Boston Red Sox and recently got drafted for the Indians and is moving there soon.

My other brother, Devon, plays basketball like a god and he's like thirteen or something.

Then there's Kenzie, my youngest eight year old sister who plays piano like Mozart.

My mom insists that I'm still finding mg voice and shit, but I don't buy it. I'm clearly the odd one out in our family. I don't have anything except my trouble.

Of course since I'm Bri's twin, I should be perfect too. But they're all wrong for thinking that.

Oh, the reputation of being the result on an Andrews, am I right?

"Bridget get put of the bathroom!" I yell as I pound on the door. This is a daily routine for the both of us. Me complaint for her to get out of the bathrooms and her whining that I'm making us late for school since I'm taking to long to get ready. Then I explain to her that if she hurries up we wouldn't have this problem. None of this ever changes anything, yet we continue to pester each other.

"Chill out Bay! I won't be that long!" She yells back and groans afterwards.

I sigh and lean !my back against the door, slowly sinking to the ground.

"Hey Baylee, have you seen my soccer knee pads?" Devon asks me.

I shake my head, my auburn waves falling in my faces. "Sorry bud I haven't."

"My cleats?" He asks hopeful.

"Uh check the top shelf in your closet." I tell him kinda remembering my mom having me put them there.

"Thanks Bay." He says before running into his too!m too search for his shoes.

The door from behind me opens and I fall backwards a little and onto Bri's hard heels. I look up at her and she rolls her eyes annoyed at me.

"Someone's bitchy, sunrise surprise." I mutter as she shoves past me.

She's wearing a dress and her face is caked on with makeup. More than usual. She's been trying to impress so!e guy for like a month and he won't notice her. Which is strange since every guy in existence and their right mind loves Bridget. Why? Because she's Bridget-Anne Andrews. Popular gorgeous and smart.

Me? Well I'm her opposite. Somewhat popular, average, and extremely smart for my age. But no one wants average. They want someone worth a million bucks. They want Bridget.

"Oh shut up." She says rolling her eyes and marching  downstairs.

"Drama Queen."

I get into the bathroom and ta!e a quick shower before getting out and blowing out my hair. I curl the ends and put on black eyeliner and mascara like every other day. I shimmy into !y dark skinny jeans and throw on a white crop top and leather jacket. I fluff my hair to give it more volume and leave.