The Scissors

Chapter One: The Scissors

"You're actually going to do it."

Riley didn't look up. She kept her eyes locked on her own reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, tracing the way the fluorescent light flickered against her forehead. The scissors felt heavy in her hand. Heavier than they had any right to be. They were just metal and plastic, but they felt like a gavel.

"Shut up, Ryan," she said. Her voice didn't shake. She was proud of that.

"It's a federal crime or something. Identity theft. Fraud. Probably a dozen other things that’ll land you in a cell." Ryan was leaning against the doorframe, his weight shifted to one side, biting his thumb nervously. He looked like a wreck. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin had that sickly, pale sheen of someone who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. He looked like the reason she was standing here. He looked like a coward.

"It's not a crime. It's hockey," Riley muttered. She grabbed a thick, dark fistful of her hair. It was long, reaching past her shoulder blades, a deep brunette that she’d spent years growing out. It was the only thing she had that felt truly hers, separate from the twin dynamic they’d been trapped in since birth. "And you're the one who bailed. You’re the one who’s letting the scholarship go to waste."

"I didn't bail. I just... I can't go there, Riles. You don't get it. You weren't at the camps. You didn't see the way they look at you. The way the scouts expect you to be a machine."

"I get that you're a coward," she snapped.

She didn't give him time to argue. The first snip was loud in the small, tiled room. It sounded like paper tearing, or maybe a bone snapping. A thick chunk of brown hair fell into the white porcelain sink, landing with a soft, dead thud. Riley stared at it. It looked like a shed skin. It looked like someone else’s life.

"Wait, Riley, stop. Just think for a second." Ryan stepped forward, his hand reaching out as if to grab the scissors, but he dropped it halfway there. He never followed through. That was his problem. "You don't even talk like me. You're too... polite. You say 'please' and 'thank you' to the cashier at the grocery store. Guys on the Falcons don't do that. They’re animals."

"I can be a prick if I want to." She hacked at the other side, the metal blades grinding together. It was uneven. Jagged. It looked like a hack job because it was. She wasn't a stylist; she was an infiltrator. "I've been watching you my whole life, Ryan. I know how you walk with that stupid limp when you want attention. I know how you sit with your knees too far apart. I'm going to the Falcons. You’re going to stay here in this house and figure out whatever the hell is wrong with you."

"They'll see through it in an hour. Jax is there, Riley. He’s the captain of the defense. He hates me. He spends every single game trying to get under my skin, trying to find a weakness to exploit. He'll see your face, he'll see your eyes, and he'll know."

Riley turned. She let the scissors hang by her side and looked her twin full in the face. With the hair gone, falling in messy clumps around her ears, the resemblance was terrifying. They had the same sharp jawline, the same slightly tilted nose, the same amber flecks in their irises.

"Let him look," she said.

"You're crazy. This isn't a movie. You’re going to get caught, and Mom is going to lose her mind."

"Maybe." She picked up the scissors again, turning back to the mirror to even out the back. It felt lighter now. Cold air hit the nape of her neck, making her shiver. "Go find me a binder. The tight one I used for that theater lead back in tenth grade. And don't you dare tell Mom."

"She's going to notice her daughter is missing, Riley. She’s not stupid."

"Tell her I'm staying with Sarah. Tell her I'm on a silent retreat in the woods to find my 'inner balance' or some other hippie crap she’ll believe. I don't care what you tell her. Just get the binder."

She looked back at the mirror. The girl was gone. A boy stared back—a boy with a haunted, desperate look in his eyes. She reached up and touched the back of her neck. The skin felt raw. Exposed.

"Go," she snapped, the word echoing off the tiles.

Ryan lingered for a second. His mouth opened, his throat working as if he wanted to finally explain why he’d really quit, why he’d let his sister take the fall for his own collapse. But the words didn't come. They never did. He just turned, his shoulders hunched, and walked away into the dark hallway.

Riley was alone with the hair in the sink. She took a breath, but it felt shallow, constricted. She supposed she had to get used to that. The weight was gone from her head, but it had settled right onto her chest.