Someone Else

By Corin E Dively

Sharon Smith is a senior in highschool and the

valedictorian of her class. She plays the cello

and piano, volunteers at the library, tutors other kids,

works part time at McDonald's, and has been running

her paper route since she was eight.

On top of all that she is taking college credits online,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corin Dively
• Release date: Feb 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987695807

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Sharon 2018

Happy birthday to me, I think bitterly, sitting in my room in front of my laptop, trying to fill out college applications. Pamphlets for various colleges and universities are strewn across my bed. I look at them with dismay. Anywhere but here—I have to get as far away as I possibly can. My thoughts always settle this way.

Maybe turning eighteen was exciting for everyone else. To me, it’s just another day in captivity. Clicking through the major Ivy League schools—my top five happen to be on the east coast, which fulfills my only requirement of getting the hell out of California, getting away from my family, and never seeing or hearing about them again. Beyond that, I have no idea where I want to go or what I want to do, since I can do whatever I want.

I jump when my bedroom door slams into my lilac-colored wall. I don’t have to look to see who it is before I hear his booming voice.

"Sharon. Something amazing happened to me. Calvin flies at me while I’m still facing the computer. A giddy teenage boy with black hair, a chiseled chin, and big strong arms enters my peripheral vision. Happy birthday by the way." He puts a small, sweetly wrapped birthday gift on the desk.

Thanks, Cal. Now what’s going on?

You’ll never ever guess. He takes in a sharp breath and waits.

I know I’ll never guess it so why don’t you just tell me?

Try, he pleads, sounding exasperated.

His brown eyes glow in the light filtering through my window blinds. My heart skips just looking at him. He’s my only friend in the world, but I often dream of us becoming more. He needs to stop obsessing about my twin sister first.

You won the lottery. I throw out dumb answers until he can’t hold it in anymore, and sighs.

No, your sister kissed me. His expression changes from mild annoyance to pure joy.

I pause, taken aback by this sudden revelation. A smoldering fire creeps from my feet to the pit of my stomach. My spirit sinks.

He doesn’t wait for a response and eagerly continues, You know how I always give her a birthday kiss on the cheek? Today she turned her head at the last second. We kissed on the lips, Sharon. He can hardly contain his excitement.

My lower lip quivers while I try to hold back tears. I know what this means for me. Intense heat rises to my chest and throat. My thoughts race to all the possible things I can say, needing to edit them before they fly out, uncontrolled.

I gingerly pick up my gift so I don’t have to look in his face as he describes the kiss, how it felt, what my sister said, and the reaction of the crowd downstairs celebrating my sister’s life.

I can’t believe it myself, Shar. Do you believe it? I have loved her my whole life and now she noticed me. We have a date for Saturday. Say something, please.

There is a long pause as he stares at me. I hold my gift from him like a deck of cards. They are two tickets to a local museum exhibit showing artifacts from the fifteenth century. I wave them toward him while trying to keep my tone neutral.

I guess I don’t need these then. The tickets are dated for Saturday. He looks confused for a moment.

What? Why? I hand them over. He realizes what I meant. We can still go. Before the date or after? he quickly adds.

No, it’s okay, I scoff. Just take her with you. She doesn’t know how to read, but she’ll like the pretty pictures.

I can’t take her there. She won’t like it, and besides, I got those for you. We’re still going. I’ll get them exchanged for a different day.

Don’t bother. I’ll never see you again. It was nice while it lasted. I turn my attention back to the computer screen. A college advertisement shows happy students sitting on a stoop, one with a book, the other laughing. This is the beginning of the end of our friendship. Calvin is the only person on this planet who acknowledges my existence and now he’s completely sucked in by my sister, the center of his and everyone else’s life. When I look back at him, his expression has changed from worry to anger. I’m sure this will be the last time we talk and it’s shaping into one heck of an argument.

What are you talking about? Why would you say that? He stands over me. His breath is minty, my sister’s pink bubble gum gloss coating his lips. I rise slowly and turn to him, attempting to hold back hot tears. I can tell he is searching my face for answers. I try not to give him any.

Do you think my sister is ever going to let you hang out with, or even talk to anyone, ever, even me? Especially me? You might as well go get a tattoo that says ‘Property of Shannon’ right now.

It’s only natural when you begin dating a person to want to spend as much time as possible with them—that’s what dating is. That doesn’t mean I can’t still have my own friends, including you. Yes, you.

My eyes might’ve just rolled back so far, I can see my brain.

I am not going to suddenly stop being your friend. I’ll only have less time to spend with you is all. The slight southern accent he inherited from his mom slips through. His father was in the military; California was the last place he settled before his father passed away when he was a baby. It’s been him and his mom. They are our next-door neighbors.

I know that. You don’t get it, Calvin. You cannot be friends with your girlfriend’s twin sister. It is unethical. Plus, she will make you miserable if you try to mention me to her. Thank you for being my friend, thank you for the memories. I hope you’re happy, healthy, and live a long life. Go forth and multiply. The sarcasm, fueled by pain and fury, could not be any more apparent in my voice. He’s standing next to me but steps back and starts violently shrugging. I see I’ve dialed him up from anger to rage.

Whose stupid fucking rule is that? You made that up because you can’t stand seeing anyone happy. You can’t stand anyone who loves your sister. I’ve supported you through and through, for everything, and you can’t even support me in this? This is the happiest day of my life and you have to go and ruin it for me. You know what, Shar, you’re jealous. That’s what this is, you’re jealous of your sister all this time. You have nothing to do with anything that has to do with her. Including your parents and your own birthday ’cause you spend every single one brooding in your room. Don’t make me choose between the two of you or you won’t like the result. His arms stop flailing and he stops yelling.

My fists balled up, about to explode, I pick up right where he left off.

"Jealous? Of what? She doesn’t even know how to count past ten. Oh, wow. I’m jealous of her singing voice that makes angels sound like nails on a chalkboard, and she has every single one of you wrapped around her so watertight air and light can’t get through the cracks. I’m certainly not making you choose between us. You already did! I can read between the lines! I’m not the stupid one, Calvin! I’m also not the one who lost thirty pounds and joined the football team just to get noticed. I’m not the one who used her sister to get close to her then ditched her when his dream came true. I am not jealous. You are all obsessed."

"I didn’t lose weight to get noticed. I’m trying to get into the army. I’m getting in shape so I don’t die at boot camp and your dad is helping me with that. I used you? I used you to get to Shannon? I’m not good enough on my own to be noticed, so I hung around you for sixteen years till she saw me? Is that what you think?"

See? You admitted it. Cal, you’d better go downstairs. I think her hip must be getting cold from where you were attached. They are going to sing soon and you don’t want to miss that.

Sharon, I… He is breathless, trying to form words, but I interrupt him.

Go, Cal. Go before we say anything else we might regret. My head starts pounding and I can hardly see straight. So, so great, I get a migraine on my birthday. My sister got a car she can’t even drive.

Cal stalls for a moment before we hear my mother’s voice float up the stairs.

Calvin? Are you up there? We’re going to sing soon. Try to get Sharon down here too.

I roll my eyes at my mother’s request, Cal shrugs back, then looks at the clock and looks at me. It’s 7:27 p.m. In four minutes, eighteen years ago I was born. Twelve minutes after that, my sister was born, and I was quickly forgotten.

Calvin returns my frown with a desperate look then leaves.

I flop on my bed in the middle of the room, the college brochures slide away from me as if they could sense my aggravation.

I’m not jealous. I’m neglected, I say out loud with my face in the pillow. Not going to cry. I’ve cried enough.

My head is about to blow up, so I search for the Excedrin bottle. I haven’t exceeded the daily limit, but it’s close. A subtle reminder that I may take too much over-the-counter medication. At least I alternate them.

I need cold water to take them with, but downstairs is the enemy. As stealthily as possible, I creep down the back stairs into our kitchen and stand at the fridge. To my right on the counter is a lovely sheet cake with Happy birthday in big letters along with eighteen candles. I snort at how they always make her favorite cake for our birthday, and they forget I hate cherry. Not even a second later my mother breezes through. I feel relieved she might not have seen me.

Don’t touch the cake till we sing. She doesn’t look up but stands next to me, rifling through the junk drawer for the lighter.

I’m not, I hate cherry nut, I reply. Not willing to look her in the eye, I feel her look up having found the lighter. She sticks it in her pocket and comes around to pick up the cake. I shift away from her swiftly as if she had tried to set me on fire and I can’t get out fast enough. She lifts the cake in her arms, walks carefully to the door, then turns around to swing it open with her back. She looks at my water glass and I tried to grab crackers for my heartburn. Bread and water sustain me now, as if I was a prisoner in jail.

You know there’s tons of food in the living room? You’re more than welcome to join us.

No thanks. This is all I want. I turn to run to the steps, taking them two at a time. Back in the safety of my room, I put earplugs and headphones on, then pray for Brahms and Handel to take me away.

CHAPTER TWO

Sharon 2014

Calvin? I say. We’re picking up shells and driftwood at the beach near our homes. We see each other every day. If we’re not palling around his house—his mom, Sally, cares more about me than my own mother—then we’re in my room so he can get a glimpse of my sister. He can talk all day about her blonde hair, brown eyes, and general sunny-side-up nature. I’m right here, I think. She will never notice his braces and chubby face—parts of him I adore like his sense of humor and easygoing nature.

Huh, wha? He looks up at me.

I pick up a branch and start dismantling it. I can’t believe I’m about to ask him once and for all. Why do you love Shannon?

She is like the sun. He sighs dreamily. She is the most beautiful girl in the whole world. So nice and talented and sweet and kind and funny.

I have to stop him; he will go on and on all day and he doesn’t see my tears, or the hurt I begin to feel. We look nothing alike. We couldn’t be more opposite.

I’ve built a pretty high tolerance for talk about God’s gift to mankind, but today, because of my own damn fault, I have to hear how great she is from someone I want to love me. I put my hand up.

I get it. You can stop now, I mumble. I look away suddenly as tears slip down my cheeks. Please don’t look at me. That’s when I feel his hand on mine.

Shar, what’s the matter? Sharon. Please don’t cry, what happened? He squeezes my hand.

I’m not crying. I can’t look at him and I start to get this pain in my head, right behind my eyes, and temples. I look down as far as possible, my chin making an imprint on my chest.

Yes, you are. You can’t lie to me. He wipes tears from my cheek with his other hand when more slip away.

Nothing, the sun is in my eyes. I sniff but it doesn’t help.

My choices are run—he’ll follow me home since we live next door—or face this. Leaning toward running, I get up, walking toward the steps that lead up to the road. He can’t catch up to me but when he does get home, this will be what I get harassed about. I can’t sit still but I also can’t avoid him the next twenty years.

C’mon, slow down. What did I do? Tell me what’s wrong.

Why, Cal? Why? I shoot back. When you say all of those things about how great she is.

Because you asked! he yells back.

What you’re really saying is what I’m not. If she is all of those things, I’m none of those. I pick up speed. My feet know where they’re going since I can’t see clearly through blurry tears.

I didn’t say that. Come back and talk to me, dammit. His voice is farther and farther away.

No, there’s nothing left to talk about. I want to go home. Running down my street, I turn my head but plow into something solid with arms that smells like cedarwood.

Hey girly, what’s the rush? It’s my father. Of all the people in the world to run into. I take a giant step backward. His worn sneakers and shorts tell me he is out for a jog. Looking down and apologizing, he tries to grab me but I’m too quick and bolt toward the next street.

Hey! he yells after me. Wonder if he can catch me. Probably. He’s a football coach.

Calvin, what’s with her? I hear in the distance.

She hates me, I guess. I just want to talk to her. He is breathless. He keeps up with me fairly well, surprisingly. I don’t want to go home, so I go sit on the swings at the park till the stars peek out one by one, and I wish on the first one I see.

Will anybody love me? What is wrong with me? I ask no one, wishing I was never born.

CHAPTER THREE

Shannon 2018

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Shannon! Happy birthday to you! my family and friends sing to me, sounding not half bad. Most of them are musicians or singers.

Make a wish, my dad yells.

I don’t have to! I already have all my wishes come true! I peek at my new boyfriend as I say this and get a huge awww from everyone. My parents and grandparents are beaming at me. I tuck a blonde strand behind my ear and blow the candles out, cut the cake, and Mom starts passing pieces of cake around the room. Dad comes over and kisses the top of my head.

Happy birthday, baby. Dad grabs me into a half hug. Before he lets me go, he whispers, I thank the Lord every day for you, our little miracle girl. Then as tradition, the story is retold about how I was born.

My father clears his throat. It’s very emotional for him and Mom can’t tell it right—she wasn’t there. She was technically there but unconscious and almost dead. Maybe dead and revived? I dunno. I love this story though. It makes