Author's Note: Holy hell is this actual prose? On my fictionpress account? Yes, you're seeing right. I'm still writing poetry on the regular, but I've decided to take a trip back to my roots. Anyway, this story hasn't had much thought put into it, and I'm experimenting with a particular writing style, so I'm not promising some epic saga here, but I'm very determined to tell a story here and finish it, so here goes nothing. A little note: I sat down about an hour before posting this to write it. I haven't really gone over it in too much detail, but I'll be sure to get to it when I'm feeling more motivated.

"Geoff, if you use all of the hot water again I'm going to make sure that the next time you have a shower, you drown!" Cherry calls from the other side of the bathroom door, her fist pounding on the wood, and her hand rattling the locked doorknob.

The shower is on, but I'm not exactly inside of it. This is what I do every morning to get on my sister's nerves, because that's just what we do. The shower curtain is drawn and I'm sitting on the bathroom counter, back against the mirror and fully dressed. My hair is still a little damp from when I stepped out from my actual shower ten minutes ago. In my hands is my Social Studies textbook, and I'm catching up on the reading I was supposed to do last night.

My sister is persistent, I'll give her that, she hasn't stopped pestering me to get out of the bathroom for the past five minutes, and I start to wonder if her hand hurts from pounding on the door nonstop. Sighing, I put my textbook aside and push myself off of the counter, ducking a hand into the shower quickly to turn it off. I can practically hear my sister give a sigh of relief. I brush the steam gathering on the mirror to look at myself for a moment then sigh.

I look kinda tired, which tends to be the norm these days. My sister and I—twins, go figure—are in our junior year of high school. My sister looks as youthful as ever, but I know her time is coming if Karma is to be believed.

In all honesty, I probably couldn't even tell you how or why I look like I've just rolled out of bed all the time. I mean, I could, but it isn't any one thing. It's a conglomeration of tiresome things that make me want to stay in bed and never age and sleep for all eternity. Hell is other people—especially the people in high school—after all. Hell is also thinking about college, any form of mathematics, and whenever the Olympics are on and it's all anyone ever talks about.

Aside from the general tired looking-ness in the face area, I look the same as ever. Wavy blonde hair, dark brown eyes, broad shoulders, but pretty lanky everywhere else. If I squint, I can see the beginnings of a pimple forming on my chin and I scowl at it like that helps anything. I also notice that I should probably shave, but then I remember that my sister is probably going to kill me as it is, so I leave that one for another day.

I unlock the door and slowly open it, smiling widely at my dear sister, who looks less than impressed. She's dressed in a faded purple bathrobe, and her hair is hidden underneath a towel. Her arms are crossed and her eyebrows are skyrocketing across her forehead, and I want to laugh at her, but she probably has a knife at ready to shank me with, so I think better of it.

"Good morning, Charlotte. Lovely fall morning, isn't it?" I ask her, leaning against the threshold of the door, blocking her path as she tries to push past me into the bathroom. "I gotta say, you're looking ravishing."

"Geoff, it's the first month of school and I've already been late ten times because of you. Can I please have a shower?" She sounds a little off today, so I step aside and let her into the bathroom. She shuts it right in my face before I can really say anything to her, but I prefer talking to her with a door separating us anyway.

"It's tryout day, remember!" I call, loud enough to be heard over the water as she turns the faucet and it hits the tile. With that, I turn and dump my textbook in my bag before carrying it downstairs with me.

Ah, tryout day. Something else I'm about 90% certain that was invented by the Devil himself. September 20th of every year, my lovely high school dedicates the entire afternoon for tryouts. Every extracurricular club or sports team in school holds auditions or tryouts or signups, and each student is expected to join at least one. Of course, this determines the entire social hierarchy for the rest of the year, and your choices on tryout day will either make or break you. Naturally, the jocks are at the top, followed by the dance team and then drumline. Drama kids tend to be in the middle of the pack, which is always the safest place to be. No one really acknowledges you, since you aren't popular enough to be idolized, and you aren't pathetic enough to be picked on. So, that's where I tend to gravitate, middle and safe ground. Cherry, of course, is a total overachiever and aims for the stars, and made it onto the dance team for two straight years now.

Don't get me wrong, my sister is an incredible dancer, but I think she's a little too concerned with her image. She's had the 'typical high school experience' as Mom puts it. She's probably on the right track to being prom queen in her senior year. Cherry Nyxon is a ballerina, not the burlesque-ish stuff that the dance team tends to go for, so clearly she didn't buddy up with those girls out of a shared passion for provocative dancing.

I walk down the stairs quietly, mostly because I've always hated running down them for some reason. What's the rush, anyway? Still, I walk down them and round into the kitchen. Mom is there stuffing papers into her bag with an apple clenched between her teeth. "Good morning," she greets me, giving me a warm look. Her speech is garbled due to the fact that her voice is obstructed by an apple that's a lovely shade of red, but I've gotten used to understanding her when she speaks like that. It took years, don't get me wrong, but it was possible.

"It's tryout day." I reply, my voice doing this deadpan thing and she closes her bag and takes the apple out of her mouth and laughs.

"Terrible morning, then." She amends and I nod in approval and she laughs again. I take a seat at one of the stools at the counter and take a banana out of the fruit basket. I wanted an apple, but Mom's got the last one clutched in her right hand, damn her. Peeling it, I watch as she fishes a yogurt out of the fridge and a spoon out of the drawer and stuffs it into her bag as well.

"You know, you ought to keep that cool." I mutter idly and she rolls her eyes before shrugging. "Can I stay home?"

"Nope," she says immediately and my shoulders probably visibly sag. "I thought you liked being in the play." She says, noticing my disappointment.

"I do," I reply, and I do. It's pretty fun most of the time, but I'd rather get out of doing anything extracurricular at all. I don't say that though, instead I go for a shrug.

Mom isn't buying it, and she hooks her bag over her shoulder and grabs her car keys off its hook near the phone and turns to face me. "You aren't getting any trouble from anyone again, are you?" she asks.

And the question sort of shocks me, if I'm being honest. That was probably the last thing I expected her to say, and I shake my head. "What? God, Mom. No." I say, and I sound kind of shaky, but it's true. She doesn't reply at first, but she crosses to the counter and leans over to kiss my forehead. I'm not hungry anymore for the half peeled banana in my hand anymore.

"If you say so. You tell me if it starts up again, okay? We don't need a repeat of last time." She murmurs. "Now, go to school. I can't give you a ride today, it's going to be a crazy day at the firm today. Get a ride with your sister. Try to have a good day for me." She encourages, ruffling my hair to my annoyance before stepping out of the kitchen and out into the garage. A moment later I hear the car start and the garage door open and then shut. She's gone.

Sighing, I toss the banana into the garbage and then ascend the stairs. My sister is in the shower still, and somehow, I figure Karma isn't on my side today. I pound on the door.

"Cherry, we're going to be late!"