The Perfect Shadow
The school hallway was alive with noise, lockers slamming like gunshots, footsteps echoing against the linoleum, laughter spilling in sharp bursts. Mara hated mornings here. She hated the crowd, the constant staring, the whispers that clung to her name like burrs.
But Elena? Elena moved through it all like water parting around a stone. Smooth. Untouched. Invisible in the way people admired her but never targeted her.
Mara trailed two steps behind, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, her sneakers squeaking against the floor. Her hair was unbrushed, still tangled from last night. She chewed a piece of gum, popping it loudly, daring someone to glare. Someone always did.
"Elena!" A teacher's voice rose over the din. Mrs. Calder, their English teacher, bustled toward them, smiling so warmly that Mara felt an immediate irritation rising in her chest. "I wanted to say how wonderful your essay was. Such insight! You'll have no problem with college applications next year."
Elena smiled, modest, lowering her lashes. "Thank you," she said softly. "I just enjoy writing."
Mara rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. She kept walking, not waiting for Elena. By the time her sister caught up, Mara was slouched against her locker, tapping her fingers against the metal.
"You could at least pretend to hate the attention," Mara muttered.
Elena tilted her head, adjusting her books against her chest. "Why? It was a compliment."
"That's exactly why." Mara shoved the locker open, the clang too loud. "You don't even notice how much they adore you. Or how much I get compared to you every damn day."
Elena's mouth pressed into a thin line. For a second, Mara thought she might argue back—but she didn't. She just looked tired, as if carrying a weight Mara couldn't see.
The bell rang.
Lunch was worse.
The cafeteria was buzzing with voices, chairs scraping against the floor, trays clattering. Mara sat across from Elena at their usual table. Elena had brought her own lunch—a neat sandwich cut in halves, apple slices tucked into a small container, everything arranged with care. Mara had grabbed pizza, grease already soaking through the paper plate.
"You even eat like you're being graded," Mara said, smirking as she took a messy bite.
Elena looked down at her food, unoffended. "It's not that. I just… like things orderly."
"Orderly," Mara echoed. "Right." She gestured vaguely at the crowded room. "Meanwhile, I like living in the real world."
A group of girls passed by, smiling at Elena, their voices pitched with admiration. One of them leaned in and whispered something. Mara caught her own name in the hushed tones. Laughter followed.
Mara slammed her tray down, the sound cutting through the noise around them. The girls flinched, then scurried away.
"Don't," Elena whispered sharply. Her voice was low, urgent, but not cruel. "They're not worth it."
Mara's jaw tightened. "Easy for you to say. They don't call you the screw-up twin."
Elena's expression softened, but she didn't argue. She never did. And that was worse—because it meant she agreed.
The afternoon dragged on. In biology, Mara doodled skulls in the margins of her notebook while Elena answered questions with perfect precision. In history, Mara's head lolled against her arm, half-asleep, while Elena's hand shot up at every opportunity.
By the time the final bell rang, Mara felt like she was drowning in her sister's shadow. The worst part wasn't that Elena was perfect—it was that she didn't even try. She didn't crave praise, didn't fight for it, didn't bask in it. It just clung to her, effortless, while Mara clawed for scraps of space to exist in.
On the walk home, Mara kicked at loose stones along the sidewalk, each one skittering into the gutter. "Don't you ever wish you could just mess up?" she asked suddenly. "Like, really screw up. Just to see what it feels like."
Elena hesitated. Her hand tightened slightly around the strap of her bag. "Sometimes," she admitted quietly.
Mara stopped walking, stunned. She stared at her twin—the same grey eyes, the same sharp cheekbones, the same face she saw in the mirror every day. And for a heartbeat, she thought maybe they weren't so different after all.
Then Elena smiled that small, perfect smile again, the one that made people trust her without question. "But that wouldn't help anyone, would it?" she added, and kept walking.
Mara stood still for a long moment, the wind tugging at her hair, her chest burning with something she couldn't name. She jogged after Elena eventually, but the distance between them felt wider than the sidewalk could measure.
That night, Mara lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Across the room, Elena slept soundly, her breathing slow and even. The moonlight cast a pale glow over her face, making her look almost angelic.
Mara turned on her side, glaring at her twin's serene expression.
"You're not perfect," she whispered into the darkness. "You just hide it better."
But Elena didn't stir.
And Mara wondered, as sleep finally dragged her under, if maybe her sister wasn't hiding perfection at all—maybe she was hiding something else entirely.