The Duplicate Identity

Adolescence

Matteo Alacran woke up one morning wrapped in a feeling of fierce excitement.

"Matteo!" called the strong voice of Francisco. "It's time to get up!"

"Okay," replied Matteo in a drowsy voice.

He lay in bed for a few moments, relishing the fact that it was his first day of middle school in a public school. As a little smile grew at edges of his lips, he felt a soft pat against his feet, covered in blankets.

"Ta-am," he whined.

The ginger cat stroked his covered, daring him to move.

"Tam!" Matt bellowed.

Immediately the cat sprang off the bed in fear and began meowing. Matteo climbed out from under the sheets and shuffled into the bathroom, ignoring the cats' obnoxious cries.

He flicked on the light switch and took a moment to stare at his near-perfect face. A reflection of his ruffled brown hair and intense brown eyes stared back at his flawless tan complexion. Suddenly he was reminded of what was to come today, and he burst into a grin and a fit of giggles. I'm going to school!, the eleven-year-old thought. I'm going to school!

"What's so funny?" asked Francisco upon his entrance into Matt's bathroom.

"Nothing," Matt responded, straightening his face. "Can you please stop barging in on me?"

Francisco did not reply. He snatched a disinfectant wipe from the container and began to harshly wipe down the counter.

"Papa—" Matte began. Knowing his father, though, it was no use. Francisco continued to wipe down all surfaces, ignoring Matteo's interjections, and Matte reluctantly returned to his bedroom and dressed.

When he was done getting ready, he headed down the rickety, creaking stairs and entered the kitchen, and was enveloped by the smell of fresh pancakes.

"Gracias, Papa!"

Matteo seated himself into a radiant red chair at the circular wooden breakfast table and dug into the pristinely healthy meal laid affectionately upon the placemat.

He gazed at the confines of the room, lost in thought. The discolored floral wallpaper. He'd stared at it only too many times during tests while stumped on a question. The floor, where he'd swept and hummed to himself while Francisco was at work, waiting for him to come back all day like an excited puppy. The fridge, where his art and A-pluses were magneted to display to the entire family of two. These insignificant memories forever locked into Matteo's mind were constant reminders of the innocent life he'd been given. He'd lived in solitude most of his childhood. Francisco's demanding work hours at the laboratory, usually from six in the morning to six p.m. imposed him to learn to live in seclusion. It wasn't always like that, though. Up until the age six, Matteo was cared for by a nanny, Celia, but when she was caught by authorities and turned into an eejit in Dreamland, Francisco hadn't wanted Matteo to go through the traumatizing experience Celia's deportation had brought to the child. So a nanny was never hired.

So Matteo learned to bear it. The solitude. The tribulation of being raised in near isolation. If he was going to get so much time to himself, he was going to make the best of it. In the five years he'd nearly lived alone, Matt had taught himself to dance. He'd read chapter books, even when he was only seven, because Celia had taught him to read at four. He'd learned to playwright. He'd learned to draw. He'd learned to play the piano, thanks to his private piano teacher, Mr. Ortega. Ironically, the instructor had stopped coming skill was surpassed by Matt's.

Despite these coping methods, surprisingly, Matteo preferred one activity above all: the schoolwork. Born with a talent in math, sporting a developed talent in writing, Matteo received near-perfect grades on a daily basis. He was not one to give up; in fact, one of his teachers called him El Solucionador, or solver. If he was stuck on a question in class, he'd pester his teachers until they fully explained the material. If he was stumped on a homework question, he'd research it in his home library or online; thus, his classes usually stretched to an hour and fifteen minutes rather than the usual forty-five to one hour timeframe.

Now that his life in cyber-schooling was over, however, Matt was forced to face the world and the challenges that came with it. He hadn't had too many friends. There had been a girl next door named Maria whom he'd played with until he was ten years old, but before middle school started earlier that summer, she'd been sent to boarding school at a convent with her older sister Emilia.

Today, September 2nd, was Matteo's first year in a public school. He'd been beyond excited for months. Upon receiving the enlightening news, Matt had been quick to select the first days' outfit. He'd rushed Papa into taking him to the shops during his limited freetime. He'd fantasized about the first day and the friends he'd make for hours at a time, staring at the shapes he'd see in the shadows of the depths of the dark on his popcorn ceiling. Imaging day-to-day conversations and events playing out in his film, his ceiling had become his television and his mind was the camera. Stories had developed before his eyes and every morning he faced the disappointment of waking up in disremembrance of his mini cinema's latest show. Sometimes, he'd wake up lucky, with the show engraved into his brain, and he'd bolt downstairs to perform it to, well, no one. That is, the cats were there.

The cats were always there. Tam and Lin were the audience to Matt that could never be replaced. Their near-perfect attendance proved more loyal friends than Matt had ever had. As if he'd had many.

The night before the first day of school -- real school, in Matt's eyes -- that despite the overwhelming fear of excitement, the show did not come. Matt had slipped into a deep slumber almost immediately, and woke up to the feline Tam pawing at his feet.

Matt slipped on his navy colored backpack and seated himself into the passenger seat in Papa's black Buick, pulling the handle grip of the door to a close. He flipped down the mirror of the passenger seat and checked that his hair, neatly combed back, was not ruined. He returned the mirror back to its position and gazed not at his face or his reflection, as he did so many times a day in his "previous" life, to the point where he got sick of it, but rather at his lower body. His shoelaces were neatly tied, his collar was down, and his khakis, part of the school dress code, were intact down to the exact stitch. This was life for Matt.

He entered the classroom ten minutes later, far before anyone else had arrived. 

A/N: I hope you like this so far!! I have spent a ton of time on it and i hope itll end up being a  good story. Doesnt really seem like it so far. Anyways be sure to leave comments throughout, whether they're for your entertainment, my constructive criticism, or compliments! - Layla <3