It's Just a Twin Thing Part-1

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It's Just A Twin Thing
Part One


Jordan and his sister, Jess, are twins, some think identical
because they look so much alike. They used to fool a lot of
people when they were younger but the differences became
apparent as they got older or did they?



Author's Note: Ok so here's the new story I promised. I'm a good portion of the way done with this one, currently writing Ch. 8 as I type this. This one is a spin off to It's Just a Skirt, set in the same town with some overlapping characters here and there. Though you don't have to, I highly recommend reading It's Just a Skirt before this. Just for some background and things. If anyone has read my Center story, The Center: Weight Problem, then they'll be familiar with the format I'm gonna use here. I have two characters---a brother and sister---with each one telling a chapter from their POV. Some events will overlap but more often than not, each chapter will progress things forward. I'd like to thank ashleigh for all the editing and proof reading help



“Hey, Jess wait up!”

I tried to ignore her. Which if you know Tiffany Reynolds, that’s pretty much impossible. For one thing, she’s on the soccer team so she’s really fast. For another, she’s been the lead in every musical since the third grade so she has one of those voices. Fast and kinda loud when she could be, Tiff was definitely impossible to forget. So I couldn't out run her. I wasn’t the sporty one of the family, that was my sister. I also wasn’t one of those hard body type guys with the muscles, capable of running thousands of laps. It was because of my sister though that I was currently trying to ignore Tiffany.

Because well my name isn’t Jess.

“JESS!” she shouted louder, her footfall getting closer.

I hated it when this happened.

Because it always happened.

You see Jess and I have the rare distinction of being twins. I say rare because we’re the only set of twins in the whole of the tenth grade. There were only four sets of twins in all of Dover High actually. I’m not sure how many in our sleepy little town but from what I’d seen, not very many. Not that I go out of my way to look for them or anything. It’s just one of those things you notice when you’re walking about and things. It made me feel special being unique.

Well, most of the time anyway.

Today not so much.

Tiffany, it would seem finally caught up with me. Not that it was hard to do after all.

“Jess, I've been shouting for you,” she said, huffing. “Why are you ignoring me?”

I smiled weakly, trying to be polite.

I hated when people confused the two of us. I mean I used to like it when Jess and I went out of our way to confuse people but it sucked to be them. It used to be a fun game we used to play. That was of course before we actually talked like normal siblings. When we were little, it was always a blast. Jess was always a bit of a tomboy so she used to keep her auburn hair short like mine. She never used to like to wear dresses either which always angered our mother. When we stood side by side we looked like two brothers. She even called herself J.D., short for Jessica Diane. It was kind of fun for a while. No one was ever able to tell us apart. As we got older, though, the fun started to fade. Jess was still the tomboy but we drifted apart. My cool sometimes brother J.D. disappeared to be replaced by my standoffish and overly superior sister, Jess.

Now we were literally strangers.

The only time I saw her now---outside of school---was when I looked in the mirror.

It was very unsettling, to say the least.

I mean what sixteen-year-old boy wants to look into the mirror and see the face of his sister staring back at him. Many people thought we were identical twins believe it or not. I mean it’s not possible. For us to be identical I mean. Well not in real life anyway. I’d seen it a lot in different things---movies, manga, anime. What the media and most people didn’t seem to understand was identical and fraternal were not terms for how the twins looked. The term identical twin actually meant being born from the same zygote. The only way that Jess and I could be identical is if I was her twin sister or her my twin brother.

Different sex identical twins were impossible.

It didn’t matter how much alike the two of us looked.

“What gives?” said Tiffany. Breaking my thoughts. “I mean I’ve been trying to get your attention since Mr. Hope’s class”

“Tiff,” I said and sighed. “I’m not…”

“Tiff what the hell!”

And speaking of Jess.

My sister came stomping over. I say stomping because that best describes how she left and entered a room. Walking down the hall was apparently no different. Jess always had this presence that made people notice. Me, I tended to blend in and disappear. The best she could ever do to blend in was keep her mouth shut.

Jess was in top form today, wearing her trademark scowl. She seemed to scowl at everyone nowadays. Even her friends it seemed.

Tiff looked confused. Staring from her to me and back again.

"That’s my dweeb of a brother,” she said, grabbing her friend by the arm and dragging her away.

They laughed a moment later---probably at my expense---before heading off down the hall.

It was just as well, Jess infuriated the hell out of me when she was around.

Like I said, we used to be really close. It was fun to have someone who looked almost like you. The pranks and games we used to pull on people were a blast. As we got older things changed. Jess got bit by the sports bug in middle school. Soccer and track mainly. Her priorities began to change and her free time was taken up with practices and tryouts. She started to become aggressive and overly competitive too. It was hard to hang out with her when all she wanted to do was prove she was better than me at everything. So eventually I just stopped trying.

That’s when I found music.

Our sister Tracy used to be in a band in high school. She played lead guitar and was pretty damn good at it too. Before her senior year of high school though she gave it up to pursue theater. When she went away to college, she left all her music stuff behind. She’d been teaching me to play guitar for years. She let me use this old Fender she had from when she was younger. She surprised the hell out me though when she gifted me with her pride and joy—her Mosrite. The god among guitars, Johnny Ramone’s guitar. Well, not his actual guitar but you know what I mean. I remember when she bought it, how much money she had saved up for it.

‘The torch has been passed” she said with a smile and hug when she handed it to me.

I was eleven at the time. You could only imagine what a gift like that did to my eleven-year-old self-esteem.

It definitely had an effect on Jess. She was a bitch for the rest of the month over it.

Then again, she and Tracy had never really been close.

I now owned a fair collection of guitars---both acoustic and electric--- but the Mosrite held a special place in my heart.

A slamming locker brought me out of thoughts.

I looked to see if my sister and Tiff were still about but they were already mostly out of sight. I watched them as they disappeared down the hall before finally making my way to my locker. It was the end of the day, so the hall was slowly starting to drain from the congestion of students a moment before. Jess and Tiff were probably off to some stupid practice. I didn’t really care, to be honest.

I dropped my stuff off at my locker.

I gathered the few meager things I’d need for homework tonight then cursed when I saw the time on my watch.

I had my own practice I was going to be late for.

Damn it.


The guys were waiting and they looked pissed.

I rushed through the parking lot as fast as I could, though. I knew I was going to be late. Stupid Tiff, stupid Jess. I’d been getting a lot of shit from the two bozos lately about my tardiness. They kept questioning my commitment to the band. Hey, I was committed; I was more committed than either of them in fact. It was my idea for the band in the first place actually. It was actually Tracy’s idea if you wanted to get technical. After all, she was the one who gave me the guitar and who said that I had this edgy pseudo-punk/metal thing going on. It was just a shame my voice wasn’t as edgy. I could play like a beast apparently but I sang like a chick.

Sure I sounded like an angsty chick but a chick nonetheless.

It sucked too.

We were still without a lead singer, though.

So I guess you couldn’t really call us a band after all.

“Jeez dude, you’re killing our buzz,” said Steve as he opened the side down of his van.

Steve was our drummer. He was a pretty cool guy I guess. Short and round but very mellow. It didn’t matter what anyone did actually because they were always killing the buzz.

I dropped off my guitar and turned to Craig.

Craig was our bass player. He was one of the best ones around. You name it, he could play it. He had one of those ears you know. It didn’t take him long to pick up a tune as soon as he heard it. He called it his “Gift”. I had to look up at Craig because he was so tall. He was the complete opposite of Steve too. Thin and slightly emo, Craig could be a bit of a downer if you let him be. Whenever he wrote a song it was either about suffering or darkness. Steve and I did our best to reign him in as much as possible.

It didn’t help that he was a bit down as of late.

He’d met this girl. His Mystery Goddess. It was last month at the mall, he was working late and she apparently was a vision of beauty. Blonde, perky and totally into him.

A blonde walked by.

Craig followed her with his eyes until she was out of sight.

“That her, huh?” asked Steve with a laugh.

Steve was under the impression that the “Mystery Goddess” was also the “Figment of Imagination Goddess”.

Craig frowned.

“She’s real dude!”

“So was Santa Claus until we were like nine”

Steve started laughing then hopped into the van.

I looked at the girl Craig was staring at. I’d only seen her for a second but sighed.

“And that was Holly Weeks, you want to stay away from that one. I heard one of the guys in gym class talking, she’s obsessed with glitter, Hello Kitty, and MLP”

Craig and I both shuddered.

We both climbed into the van after that.

We all lived in roughly the same neighborhood.we were elite but rejects too. Just like me, the two of them opted out of St. Andrews---the prestigious rich school where most of our ilk went . Steve’s Dad was a lawyer and almost sent him to some military school in California to straighten him out. Thankfully he was able to talk the old man out of it. Craig’s Dad was a doctor like mine, unlike mine though he was a heart surgeon. He wanted his son to have a good education but at the same time understood the need for growth and exploration. So like my folks, Dr. Crane let his son decide.

Oh right, details.

Ok so here goes.

My Dad was a GP. Not the only one in town of course but one of the most popular ones. It helped that he used to be a big ball player back in his day. He almost made it to the Major Leagues but opted out of it for medical school. He really pissed off his Dad. My grandfather was one of those guys. He wanted my Dad---his eldest---to take over the family real estate business. Well, actually he wanted my Dad to play some major league ball then retire then take over the business. My Dad threw a wrench in the plans though when he decided he wanted to live his own life. Gramps got what he wanted though when Uncle Connor took over the family business last year.

Mom was a different sort.

She and Dad met in college. She was a carefree spirit that, well let’s just say if you grew up in the eighties, you knew her face. She was Krystal Klear. You know that flighty teen pop star. She had a slew of number one hits, including “Dime Store Dolly” and “No Thank You, Sir”. Mom was a chart topper but shocked the world when she quit it all to go to college. She fell into obscurity, got a degree in music and came back on the scene when she opened her own studio. She rebranded herself and Clearwater Records became one of the choice labels for young up and coming pop stars.

Dad marrying a former pop princess really pissed Gramps off.

Dad was disinherited but he didn’t really care. He had his own money. Not as much as Gramps of course but enough to live comfortably. It helped that Mom made quite a bit of dough too. Even with gramps snubbing, Mom and Dad did very well for themselves. Which of course only pissed off Gramps even more. He and my Dad were still on unspeaking terms. Hell, I only ever saw my grandfather at the holidays and even then it was a pretty cold affair. He was good to us kids but that didn’t really say much. We were the Black Sheep of the Flynn clan.

I didn’t mind one bit.

“Earth to Jay?” said Craig, waving his hand in front of my face.


“Sorry, was zoning,” I said, blinking.

“No duh,” said Craig with a laugh. “So what do you think?”

“About what?”

This time, Steve laughed, Craig rolled his eyes.

“We were talking about a singer”

The main topic of contention as of late.

“You don’t think you could…”

“No!” I snapped.

This was the contention part. You see we’ve been going back and forth on this for a few months now. We had a great sound, Craig was cobbling together some songs while we blasted away on some covers. Steve killed it on the drums, Craig’s bass was out of this world and well not to toot my own horn but I’m a Guitar God. That was the problem, though. We were all sound. Neither of them could carry a tune at all. I could sing, I could sing really well. Better than well I guess or at least that’s what everyone used to tell me.

The problem was I could only sing like a girl.

Ok, time for another rewind.

My mother always wanted her children to be musically inclined. She started with Tracy of course. My sister has been playing the guitar since she was four. She took to it naturally. Mom got her lessons and my parents bought her all the guitars she wanted. Hell, they even converted the basement into a little studio. When Jess and I came along, Mom tried with us too. Jess didn’t do so well. I guess she’s wired a bit differently than Tracy and me. She tried. She tried really hard. She wanted to impress Mom but I guess she had too much of Dad in her. Mom tried too but the two of them really don’t have anything in common. So Jess failed. It’s not that Mom loves her any less but it’s hard to connect with your child when you don’t share the same interests. Jess fell in with Dad. The two of them fit together. Me, well I think you can figure that out.

Mom called me her little prodigy.

“Oh a voice like an angel”

“So darling too. You must be so proud”

Mom was proud too. I started my singing lessons at a very young age. Like Tracy with the guitar, Mom wanted more for me. Not that she pushed me. She just didn’t hold back on what she wanted. She knew I had talent too. They all did. Every teacher I had told me how wonderful I was. I could go anywhere with that voice of mine. I loved it too. It was something that my sister didn’t have. All our life, Jess and I were always compared to one another. Sure she had all this athletic talent but me, I could sing. I loved to sing too. I felt free and alive when singing.
Puberty changed things.

Not for the bad either.

You see unlike most boys; my voice didn’t really change. I’m not sure why. Well, I knew why actually. Low testosterone count. It wasn’t all that uncommon actually. It was the reason why, even at sixteen, I still resembled my twin sister a great deal. I was still pretty short, still had a slim figure and a slight frame. Then there was my hair, long, silky smooth and auburn. It was no wonder my sister and I were always mistaken for one another.

I stopped singing after my fourteenth birthday, though.

I did this Chorus concert where I was given a solo. Everyone loved me. There was a lot of clapping, everyone was on their feet. I felt like a star. Well apparently not everyone liked it. Afterward, on my way home from school some of my male classmates expressed their feelings to me. It’s hard to fight back when it's four on one. They kicked my ass pretty good. Like broken arm good. Dad wanted to press charges but I refused to name names. I didn’t want the retribution that followed. My parents weren’t happy but I didn’t care. I decided something else too that really upset them. I decided from that day forward that I was never going to sing again.

Craig was still staring at me.

I know what he wanted. They’d been asking me it ever since we formed Sonic Wavelength. Oh, that’s the name of our band, cool right?

“Just one time!”

“No!” I snapped again.

We’d had this conversation before.

“We need you” he whined. “We all know you could pull this off in your sleep. You have this killer voice, dude. You could rock if you tried. Imagine the chicks who would line up to hear those pipes of yours”

I scoffed. ‘The chicks won’t be lining up to do me. They’ll be lining up asking me how come I don’t wear skirts like the rest of them”

We’d had this conversation before too. They were like broken records, the both of them. They wanted me to sing, I told them no and then we’d start this tug of war all over again. It was getting us nowhere. What we needed was to find a real singer. I’d been trying to push them toward open auditions for a while now actually. I say pushing because both of them kept pushing back. The difference between them and me, though, I had a mega music producer as a mother.

I let that little bit settle.

I didn’t say a thing to them.

I got tired of all this back and forth, neither side making any headway so I decided to take care of it last night. How did I take care of it? Easy, I asked my mother for help. She sent out her feelers, got the ball rolling and as soon as we got to my house, we were going to see the fruits of Mom’s labors. She promised she’d organize us an audition with some of the best talents coming out of her office. She wanted to make sure we got the best singer that she could find. Actually, she said second best because of course Mom kinda agreed with the guys.

I wasn’t going there, though.

“Dude?” said Steve as we got closer to the house. “When did you guys get a motorcycle?”

I looked out the window of the van as we approached. Sure enough, there was a motorcycle in the driveway. From the sleek design and silver finish, it looked expensive too.

“Dude that’s a Kawasaki Ninja H2 R,” said Craig, clearly salivating.

‘I take it that means it’s a nice one?”

“Like 50 grand nice!”

Holy shit.

I couldn’t help but stare at the rather expensive foreign motorcycle currently in my driveway. More to the point, though, I wondered where it came from. I was no stranger to seeing the like in my driveway of course---what with some of mother’s clients and friends. I’d just never seen one without knowing who was the driver or knowing when said driver was coming over. Mom didn’t have any secrets and she didn’t like to spring uninvited guests unto us. So when a client or friend was coming to visit, she gave us early warning. Partially because one time Jess freaked out when teeny bopper sensation Brian Vogel was in our kitchen one day after school and also because of privacy. Mainly because of the “Vogel Incident” though, Brian actually filed a restraining order against my sister. Ok so that last part is false but if I was him I would have.

“So which celebutante friend of your Mom’s drives that thing?” asked Steve as he parked his van on the road.

I shrugged. “No clue”

We filed out of the van after that. While Craig and Steve unloaded their stuff, I made a beeline for the house. If it was someone famous, I wanted to make sure I got there first to cut them off at the pass. I didn’t want another “Vogel Incident” on my hands. Or a “Tara McGee Fiasco” when she showed up for my birthday. Tara was a friend actually. She and I used to do music lessons together. Whereas she went on to become this big famous country star, I stayed boring old Jordan. We still Skyped and emailed as often as she could, though. I mean hell she was my age. It’s not like she was this big superstar or anything.

Ok so she was but she was always just T-Bone to me.

I rushed into the house as quick as I could. I tossed my pack on the couch, left my Yamaha by the door. In the kitchen, I heard my mother talking to someone.

“JC, that you?”

"Yeah Mom” I called as I made my way to the kitchen.

“Good, I want you to meet someone”

As soon as I walked in, I saw my mother and this stunning blonde sitting at the kitchen table.

Well, Mom was stunning too I suppose.

The blonde, though, she was a head turner. She was all legs and boobs. Her hair was streaked red, she wore dark smoky eye makeup and this tight little top and skin tight jeans and well you get the picture. She was nursing a cup of hot cocoa and smiled at me when I entered.

“Jordan, this is Victoria Fairchild. Victoria this is my son, Jordan”

“Hey, there,” she said, still smiling. “My friends call me Torrie”

“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my cool.

I mean it’s not every day that someone like her is sitting in your kitchen.

“Torrie is here in regards to your singer problem”

And thank you, Mom.

“That’s cool. We really need the help. The guys are on their way in now probably. I’ll let you meet them then we can see what you got”

“Sure that sounds awesome”

I let her finish her cocoa before I made intros. As soon as I walked out into the living room with her, I thought the guys were going to drop dead. I mean it’s not every day that a girl like her bothers with peons like us. As soon as I made the intros, I thought the two of them were going to run each over in an attempt to shake her hand first. Torrie and I giggled over the stupidity of it all. Yeah, I giggled. What you want to make something of it?

“Guys," I said as soon as they recovered. “Torrie is here to help the band. She’s gonna sing with us today and see how it fits.”

They just dumbly nodded.

I led her down the stairs to the basement. Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumb Ass followed. I’ll let you figure out which one was which. I unlocked the recording room door and held it open for her. The smile I got from her made my day. It was clear what she was trying to do but I didn’t care. I wanted to breathe the same air with this Goddess.

“This is awesome,” she said, looking around the room.

Mom actually had the basement converted into a studio when she was pregnant with Tracy. It helped her work at home. She could bring artists here and not bother dragging them to her studio in the city or the record label in NYC. She was also convinced that her daughter and any future children would be musicians. The room definitely scored me mega brownie points with potential friends over the years. Unfortunately, all of the two friends I had were in the room with me.

The home studio was pretty much set up like the studios at the office.

Since our house was rather large, we have a pretty good size basement. The people who put together the room utilized the space pretty well. Most of it, of course, was taken up by the live room where the musicians sang their songs. Then there was the recording booth, a small iso room and a tiny area to sit and hang out. Along the walls were speakers and storage. Plus, a lot of records, Mom’s and clients. It helped sell things to potential talent. Mom liked to bring new clients here first. It was where she got to see them shine. It also made them less nervous. Some of the biggest artists laid out their tracks here first. It was a good thing the place was totally sound proof too because Mom has had some real loud ones here.

I told the guys to set up then went to get my guitar.

I kept my practice guitar down here with a lot of other instruments. Of course, mine were separate and locked away from the others. In total, I had ten guitars. Six Strats, three Yamahas and the Mosrite of course. I barely touched the Mosrite though. It was my pride and joy after all. In fact, it was the only one I actually kept in my room, usually under heavy lock and key. There was no way I was gonna let anyone get their grubby hands on it after all.

Torrie watched me unlock the cabinet.

“Those are yours?’ she asked when I retrieved one of the Strats.

I kept the acoustic and electric guitars in separate storage compartments. I played them all equally but some got more play time than others.
“I like the Fenders,” I said, taking the guitar out of its case. “They’ve got a nice sound.”

She nodded. “You play acoustic too?”

“Of course”

She smiled again. God this girl has to stop smiling.

It was intoxicating.

“Yo Jordo, you ready?”

It didn’t take us long to get set up. As soon as we did, we decided to run through the songs for Torrie. Craig was our chief songwriter. Because we were mostly a punk band most the songs---the ones we made him write---were fairly loud and insanely upbeat. We envisioned ourselves as a pseudo-Green Day so if you know the sound you know how it goes. He had about four songs at the moment but was currently writing a fifth. They weren’t bad but they weren’t anything to write home to Mom about either. Speaking of Mom, she totally kept her nose out of things. She wanted me to thrive or fail on my own. She was cool that way. Of course, she offered pointers here and there but nothing too critical and always after we were done.

She wanted to see me succeed after all.

It only took us about twenty minutes to go through what we had.

I couldn’t help but notice Torrie bopping her head along with them.

When we finished, she was smiling again.

“You guys rocked it,” she said then looked from each of us. “You think maybe I can hear one or two sung as well. You know just so I know what I’m getting myself into?”

We looked at each other.

Here it comes, our problem.

“Just one Jordan,” said Craig, giving me the pleading puppy dog look.

“Fine,” I said, caving. “But just one and only one!”

Torrie gave us a strange look.

I took a deep breath as Craig started in with the bass. God, what the hell was I doing. I counted it out in my head, waiting for my intro. First with the guitar then with the lyrics. I’d memorized them of course, we all did. It helped us know when our parts were needed and things. Like I said Craig wasn’t a bad writer it just wasn’t really my thing. I agreed to the band of course but I was overruled on the sound. I wanted something more pop rock and dare I say folk sounding you know like Jewel. Steve was all for metal. He was a big metal head. It was Craig who pretty much decided we were gonna go punk. Well, Craig and Steve actually because they could blend a little metal in to make it sound awesome.

The guys liked to overrule me when it suited their needs.

Except for the whole singing thing of course.

Speaking of singing, as soon as I started, Torrie gave me this look. I knew it well; I’d seen it many times before. It was the “holy shit is that coming out of his mouth” look. It was the same look I got on my first day in the Chorus back in middle school. It was also the same look that every music teacher I ever had gave me. Hell, even Tara gave me that look when she first heard me sing. She’s the professional too. There was something about that look, though, something that made me come alive. I’d lie if I didn’t say I loved to sing. I really did. I felt like me when I was singing. The problem was I was still afraid of what might happen if well people got the wrong idea. I was a guy who sung like a girl and who looked a bit like one too.

There were a lot of assholes out there you know.

Hell four of them broke my arm.

Torrie gave me the look throughout the whole song. When I finished she was still giving me that look. She was smiling too which was suddenly contagious because I started to smile too. She surprised me a moment later when she hugged me.

“You made me a little wet” she whispered in my ear.

Holy shit.

She pulled away and rubbed her hands together like Mr. Burns.

“That was epic,” she said then took the mic from its stand. “My turn now”

We started up again and of course, Torrie killed it.

I smiled because of course, she was awesome.

I felt a little pang of jealousy too.

Author’s note: As I’m sure all of you know, comments are life blood to an author. I’m not begging or demanding, but I certainly would appreciate anything you have to say (or ask). It doesn’t have to be long and involved, just give me your reaction to the story. Thanks in advance...EOF

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