Having a twin sister may not be the way you imagine it. You may think it means happiness, games and wonderful adventures, but that's not me and Lissandra.

You know, most twins are identical. The way they act, voice, looks... But not us. Lissandra has always been the intelligent and perfect one in everything she was doing, while I , no matter how much I tried, was not even half as good as her.

Ever since she stepped in the kindergarten, Lissandra has been declared a genius-child, because at three years old she could easily calculate with numbers smaller than twenty. And I was, well, nobody. At the school all the teachers know her and often stop her on the corridors just to congratulate her, and all I ever got was an occasional detention because, with my clumsiness, I have (yet again) blew up half of the chemistry lab, combining acid with carbon or however those were called.

This has never been a problem, because no matter how many classes would me and my destructive personality blow up, my parents would still have money to pay them. I don't like calling my family rich, because it doesn't represent me. All the money and fortune they have, it's never represented me and it never will. Ever since I was small, it has only been good to pay the things I broke and a reason for the others to make fun of me . Because that's what people do when they get jealous. They forget any morals and try to make you feel bad in your own skin. They are jealous on something I wish I never had. I'd give all those money and even more for my parents to be a bit more unterstanding and loving. To get rid once in forever of that terrible string my heart feels when I see my parents praising Lissandra.

I unterstand jealousy so well because I felt it myself, I felt it hard! When I was younger I used to question myself what was that great pang, like a rock on my chest, wich made me sad whenever I was ignored. When I found out what jealousy was and how people are starting to act veacuse of it, cowardly and mean, I swore to myself I would never become like that, no matter how jealous I would get on Lissandra. She's my sister, and no matter what happens, I still love her and I would never hurt her.



In English classes, she was also a walking dictionary. She knew what every word meant, she learnt every lesson a day before the class, and sometimes she even knew more than the teacher. Me and a few friends that unterstood how I felt have made up a theory that she would have swallowed a whole pocked dictionary when she was a baby. I had the feeling I was not too far away from the truth.

As our parents have always been more preoccupied by her, I liked spending most of my time outside, or hanging out with the few friends I still had. You have probably already realised that yapping all day on the phone ,painting my nails and other things twelve -thirteen years old girls liked doing where not in my daily programme. I hate hiding my real face under make-up and I will never do that.

In sixth grade, all kids were making fun of me because I was not like my sister at all, that it was ashaming to be the sister of such a brilliant person and not even rise til' her knee.
But most of the time they were laughing about the way I looked. While Lissandra had blonde, silky and wavy curls of hair, my black hair grew very long and tangled, because apparently taking care of me wasn't in my parent's programme. So, one night, I cut my dark hair, now short, reaching only until my shouders.

I don't consider myself an attention searcher. Actually, I really hate getting attention in public. But I can't deny that I wished, at least once, that I could be the star of the family. That I could be the Sun all the others are orbiting around.

Ever since you enter in our house, you can easily notice who's the favourite child. In the living room, alongside with five photos of a smiling Lissandra, holding the medals of the international maths Olympics she won , there was also a small picture of both of us, with our parents, on the night of the New Year's Eve. That's how much I meant for my family. A small background piece of a tiny photo.

I just hope these things will change sometime...


Hello everyone! This is the first story I ever write in English, so I would really appreciate some feedback and tips in comments. It's really hard for me, and I apologise in advance for any Grammar or spelling mistakes, I am twelve and English is not my native language, so...


Anyway, I firstly wrote this in Romanian (my language) and the first few chapters are already written, so they will be posted sooner.

I really, really hope you liked the beginning and I appreciate and respect any constructive critics. Thank you!

876 words.