Her name was Grace Hale. She had few friends. Most people didn’t notice her. Especially boys. Maybe it was because she would scurry to class, never stopping to communicate with other people in the hallways. Maybe it was her lack of eye contact. Or maybe it was because her head was always down. Even when she spoke.
Her name was Lila Hale. She had several “friends”, if they could even be called that. But for Lila it wasn’t about the friends. It was about the boys. It was known to the school that she had kissed over 25 boys in her 17 years of life.  Everyone wanted to either be Lila or to be with Lila. Maybe it was because of her beautiful bright smile. Or maybe it was her long and perfectly wavy brown hair. Or her tan skin, big green eyes, and soaring confidence.

Lila knew and used the strength of her beauty. And Grace, even though she looked exactly like her twin sister, knew her place as the quiet girl that liked to read.

Grace often liked to stay home on the weekends, not that she really had a choice. She was never invited to the parties that Lila went to. Probably because the boys thought she wouldn’t kiss them, like Lila did. She always felt embarrassed when their mom told Lila to invite Grace to go out with her and her friends. Lila always just gave Grace an annoyed look that basically said, “I’d rather you not come out with me but since mom is making me ask, are you coming or not?” Grace always just shook her head and quietly went back to her room, where she would read or write poems in her journal. She didn’t want to be a burden. And Lila would always just carry on with her promiscuous life filled with fake friends and kissing boys.

Many times Grace would write poems in her journal about Lila. And sometimes Grace would even daydream about going to the parties with Lila and her friends. She would have her first kiss and the boys wouldn’t call her a prude in the hallways when they walked by. She liked to envision herself surrounded by boys during school, like Lila always was. She wanted boys to wink or smile her way when she walked down the busy streets of New York, like they did to Lila. She wanted some form of attention but she was always to shy to ever receive any.
Several times Grace would look out of her bedroom window and see Lila kissing a boy goodbye on the front porch of their house. But she had never seen the same boy on the front steps. It was always someone different. Then the boy would walk off and Lila would go inside. Grace would quickly scurry back to her bed, so Lila wouldn’t catch her sneaking. Lila would go to her room and call her friends and talk about how he kissed her on the front porch, as if it was the first time a boy had done this for her.  And this would happen every weekend. It had become a routine.

There had been times where Grace wished she were Lila. She envied her confidence and her impurity. She wished she were as outgoing as her. Sometimes Grace became confused and would ponder why boys thought Lila was more beautiful than she was, when they looked exactly the same. But then she remembered that boys don’t want the timid and reserved ones.

Grace knew what the boys wanted. She knew that as long as a girl was willing and easy to get, the boys would like her. And the boys would kiss her. But Grace didn’t want to be willing and easy. She didn’t want to put herself out there, like Lila did.  Was it a fear of rejection? Maybe.  Maybe she was scared that the boys wouldn’t like her if she put herself out there, like her sister. But that obviously wasn’t true. As long as they had the same face and the same amount of promiscuity, the boys would like her all the same. Not even Grace knew what kept her from becoming so outgoing, like her sister. Sure, she liked to stay in her room and read. But she knew that if she had the opportunity to go out and kiss boys, she wouldn’t mind.

Unfortunately, Grace’s childhood never changed. She never went to a single party with Lila. And at some point their mom stopped telling Lila to invite her. She never kissed a boy on the front porch steps. She read and she wrote and she watched her sister continue to grow up and kiss boys, from her window. Grace continued to listen in on her phone conversations with her friends, although at some point those stopped, too.

When Grace grew older she found a poem that she had written in her childhood journal. Tear marks still stained the page and much of the writing had been smudged but Grace was still able to read it.

Mirror Mirror on the wall,
Whos the greatest one of all?
I suspect it’s her, like it always is.
Impressing the others with a simple kiss.
Mirror Mirror on the wall
It’s ok, I’ll stand behind her, I don’t mind at all.