October 14, 2012
By Anonymous

Perfect Alisa, I thought as I walked onto the bleachers, the bangs of my shoes on metal clanging in my head. When I got to the highest spot on the bleachers, where I wouldn’t be annoyed, I sat down, the cold of the bleachers seeping through my jeans to my skin. I opened my book, but I didn’t read. I was still fuming.

How could she think I was so perfect when she had more than I had? Everyone loved her and no one liked me. We’re only separated by a few minutes yet we’re more different than night and day.

I help her with her homework, her studying, her practicing, yet she gets all those trophies for all those competitions she’s won. I’m smarter than her, and yet people act like she’s amazing because she can do math and leads all the records in running, swimming, and all other types of sports. I’m just her nerdy sister.

So, because she was perfect, I had to be here, watching (but not really watching) her soccer game. I knew her team would win, so I had brought a thick book.

I absent-mindedly looked up and saw Alisa sprinting up the muddy field, blonde hair flopping around in her ponytail, getting ready to score a goal. Everyone was screaming her name, like she needed the support.

I looked back at my book, but I wasn’t reading. I was thinking about my work. Writing. I was writing a story, one that I hoped would beat Alisa’s scores, that wouldn’t be as forgettable as Alisa’s records.

A cheer rose through the crowd. Alisa had scored another goal, I assumed. I looked up to see the goal that had interrupted me. But, Alisa wasn’t being high fived by her teammates for scoring yet another goal. She was high fiving a short girl with straight brown hair. She looked like the opposite of Alisa or me. Her face said that she’d never scored before.

I was so happy, I actually applauded. I gave a standing ovation, cheering at the top of my lungs for a girl I didn’t even know. I may have only been clapping because someone had finally scored that wasn’t Alisa, but also Alisa had to have passed to have had the other girl make that goal.

“Great game,” I said, patting Alisa’s sweaty shoulder.
“Yeah,” she panted. I stared into Alisa’s face, an exact replica of mine (except turned ruddy from sweat). I’ve known that face forever, and yet I loved and hated it. Being twins, we knew each other through and through.
“Can you help me study when we get home?” she asked. I smiled. Studying. One thing I didn’t need to do because of my “perfection”.
“Sure.” I answered. And I guess now I should say some cheesy ending line, like we walked off into the sunset. But, I’m not into cheesiness, so lets just say the end.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book