The Twin
Page 1
ALSO BY NATASHA PRESTON
The Cellar
Awake
The Cabin
You Will Be Mine
The Lost
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Natasha Preston
Cover photograph copyright © 2020 by Marie Carr/Arcangel
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Preston, Natasha, author.
Title: The twin / Natasha Preston.
Description: New York : Delacorte Press, [2020] | Audience: Ages 12 up. | Audience: Grades 7–9. | Summary: After sixteen-year-old Ivy’s twin sister, Iris, moves in with her and their father, Ivy learns that Iris is trying to push her out of her own life—and may be responsible for their mother’s death.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019037246 | ISBN 978-0-593-12496-3 (trade paperback) | ISBN 978-0-593-12495-6 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Sisters—Fiction. | Twins—Fiction. | Grief—Fiction. | Mental illness—Fiction. | High schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.P9234 Two 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9780593124956
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
Penguin Random House LLC supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to publish books for every reader.
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Contents
Cover
Also by Natasha Preston
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Acknowledgments
For Jon and Rosa. Thank you for everything.
1
I dig the tips of my yellow-painted fingernails into the firm leather seat as Dad drives us home on the verge of breaking the speed limit. He’s anxious to get back, but I would rather he slowed down. My stomach dips, and I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes closed as he takes a sharp corner.
With my muscles locked into place, I raise my eyes to the rearview mirror. Thankfully, Dad’s eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s a tightness to them that’s unsettling. He’s a good driver, and I trust him with my life, but I’m not a fan of this speed.
The car, a black Mercedes, is immaculate and still smells brand-new a year on, so I’m surprised that he’s driving so fast on dusty country roads.
Everything is going to be different now, and he seems to be in a hurry to start our new life.
It’s not right. We need to slow down, savor the ease of what our lives used to be, because the new one waiting for us in just five minutes, I don’t want. Things weren’t perfect before, but I want my old life back.
The one where Mom was still alive.
It’s spring, her favorite season. Flowers have begun to brighten our town, turning the landscape from a dull green to a rainbow of color. It’s my favorite time of year, too, when the sun shows itself and the temperature warms enough so you don’t need a coat.
I’m always happier in spring. But right now, it might as well be winter again. I don’t feel my mood lifting, and I definitely don’t care that I’m not wearing a stupid coat.
My twin sister, Iris, is in the front passenger seat. She’s staring out the window, occasionally starting a short conversation. It’s more than I’ve done. There’s been nothing but silence from me. It’s not because I don’t care; it’s because I don’t know what to say. There are no words for what has happened.
Everything I think of seems dumb and insignificant. Nothing is big enough to fill the enormous void left by our mom.
The warm spring sun shines into the car, but it’s not strong enough to hurt my eyes. I don’t want to close them again anyway. Every time I do, I see her pale face. So pale she didn’t look real. Her once rosy cheeks gone forever. It was like staring at a life-size porcelain doll.
I wish I hadn’t gone to the funeral home to see her. My last image of her will be her lifeless body.
When I go back to school, I’ll be fine. I’ll swim and study until it doesn’t hurt anymore.
Or I’ll want that to work, but I know it’s going to take more than a couple of distractions to make the pain disappear.
We turn down our road and my toes curl in my tennis shoes.
I swallow a lump that leaves my throat bone-dry.
Dad slows, pulling into our drive and parking out front. Our house feels like it’s in the middle of nowhere, but there are about ten houses nearby and it’s a five-minute drive into town. I love the quiet and the peace of my hometown, but I feel like it’s going to drive me crazy. Right now I need loud and fast-paced. I need distractions and lots of them.
Iris gets out of the car first, her butt-length, silky blond hair blowing in the warm breeze. She’s home with me and Dad forever now.
Our mom died after falling off a bridge while out running two weeks ago. She was by a farm and the land was uneven and hilly. It had been raining and there was mud on the ground. The rail on the steep side of the short bridge was low, there more for guidance than safety, and she slipped off
. The bridge wasn’t very high, apparently, but she hit her head and died instantly. That’s what the police told us.
Mom ran to keep fit and healthy so she could be around for me and Iris longer, but it ended up killing her.
Her death is still impossible to process. I haven’t lived with my mom or Iris for six years, since she and Dad divorced, but her permanent absence weighs heavy in my stomach like lead.
When I was ten and our parents sat me and Iris down to explain they were separating, I had been relieved. It had been coming for a long time, and I was sick of hearing arguments while I pretended to sleep upstairs. The atmosphere was cold at best, our parents barely speaking but smiling as if I couldn’t see through the crap mask.
Iris and I have never had a conversation about it, but the separation was a surprise to her. She shouted and then she cried while I sat still, silently planning how I would tell them I wanted to live with Dad. It wasn’t an easy choice for anyone, but we had to make one. Dad and I had always been close; we share a lot in common, from movies and music to hobbies and food. He’s the one to give us clear guidelines, without which I would crumble. Mom was laid back, sometimes too much, and I would never get anything done.
Besides, Mom always wanted to live in the city, and I never liked how densely it’s populated.
Mom and Iris moved out; then they moved away to the city. I have spent school holidays flitting between houses, sometimes missing out on time with my twin thanks to conflicting schedules. She would be with Dad while I was with Mom.
None of our family members, friends, or even neighbors could understand it. You don’t separate twins. I get it—we’re supposed to be able to communicate without speaking and literally feel each other’s pain. But Iris and I have never been like that. We’re too different.
We’re not close, so although she’s my sister, it feels more like a distant cousin is moving in.
She still has her bedroom here, which she and Dad redecorated last year when she visited for the summer. But she’s brought a lot of stuff with her from Mom’s. The trunk is full of her things.
I watch her walk to the front door as Dad cuts the engine. She has a key to the house, of course, so she lets herself in.
Dad scratches the dark stubble on his chin. He usually shaves every morning. “Are you okay, Ivy? You’ve barely said a word the entire time we’ve been on the road.”
“I’m fine,” I reply, my voice low and gravelly.
Fine, the modern I’m not okay definition of the word, is what I mean here. Everything has changed in the blink of an eye. Two weeks is all it has taken to turn my world upside down. And what about Iris? She was closer to Mom than anyone. What right do I have to fall apart when she has lost even more than me?
“You can talk about it. Whenever you want.”
“I know, Dad. Thanks.”
His eyes slide to the house. “Let’s go inside.”
I take a long breath and stare at the front door.
I don’t want to go inside. When I go back in there, our new normal starts. I’m not ready to let go of the old just yet. Until I walk through that door, my twin isn’t living with us again because our mom has died.
That’s all total rubbish, obviously. Not walking through that door changes nothing, but I can pretend. I need longer.
“Ivy?” Dad prompts, watching me in the mirror with caution in his blue eyes, almost afraid to ask me if everything is okay again in case I crumble.
“Can I go to Ty’s first? I won’t be long.”
His brow creases. “We just got home….”
“I’ll be back soon. I need a little time. It will give you an opportunity to check in with Iris too. She’s going to need you a lot, sometimes without me.”
He opens his door. “One hour.”
I get out, my heart lighter knowing I have an extra sixty minutes, which I can stretch to seventy before he’ll call. “Thanks, Dad.”
Shutting the car door, I look back at the house.
What?
The hairs on my arms rise. Iris is watching me from the second-floor window.
But she’s not in her bedroom.
She’s in mine.
2
Tyler lives down the road, so I get there in under a minute and knock on the door.
He opens up and his leaf-green eyes widen. “Ivy.” Reaching out, he tugs me into the tightest hug. His arms wrap around my back, and I sink into him. “Hey,” he whispers. “You okay?”
“Not really,” I mutter against his Ramones T-shirt.
“Come on.” His arms loosen but he doesn’t let go completely, his fingers sliding between mine as he leads me inside. “When did you get home?”
“A couple of minutes ago. I haven’t been in the house yet.”
He eyes me curiously as we walk up to his bedroom, his head turning back every second step. Even though his parents are at work, he leaves the bedroom door open. Rule one. If we break it, we’ll never be allowed to spend time together without a chaperone.
Neither of us will break it.
I let go of his hand and collapse onto his bed. His pillow is so soft, and it smells like him. It’s comforting and everything I need right now.
The bed dips beside me as Ty sits down. Running his hand through his surfer style chestnut hair, he asks, “Do you want to talk?”
I press against the ache in my chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not your dad or sister, Ivy. I’m not looking for comforting words. You don’t need to pretend you’re okay for me. Tell me how you feel.”
I roll from my side to my back so I can see him. “I feel lost, and I feel stupid for being such a wreck.”
“Babe, your mom died. Why do you feel stupid?”
Shrugging, I shake my head and swallow so I don’t cry. “I don’t know. I’m supposed to be more together. Don’t I have a reputation for having a cold heart?”
“No, that means you don’t cry when whatever boy band breaks up, not that you’re made of stone and don’t cry for your mom.”
I love that he doesn’t know the names of any relevant boy bands.
Iris has always been the emotional one. I’m the logical one. Unless something really affects my life, I’m not going to cry over it. What I rock at doing, though, is stressing and overthinking.
“Iris hasn’t cried once that I know of,” I tell him. “And all I’ve done is cry. It’s like we’ve reversed roles.” Dad and I arrived at their house eleven days ago, the day Mom died. Iris was like a robot. She got up, showered, dressed, and ate. She tidied and watched TV. Iris continued her routine as usual, but it was all in silence as if Dad and I weren’t there. She only started talking properly again this morning.
“Everyone handles grief differently.”
I look up at his ceiling. Everyone deals with all sorts of things differently; I just didn’t realize that Iris and I would walk through this totally out of character. We may look the same, besides her hair being about five inches longer, but we’re nothing alike. Now we’re swapping parts of our personality?
Sighing, I stare straight into his eyes and whisper, “I don’t know how to help her. I barely know her anymore.”
“You can’t fix it. You only have to be there for her. There’s nothing anyone can do to accelerate the grief process; you have to let it happen.”
I don’t like that at all. I like my control. If there’s a problem, I find a solution. I don’t handle it well when there’s nothing I can do.
He chuckles. “You’ll learn how to do that, I promise.”
Sighing, I blink rapidly as tears sting the backs of my eyes. “My mom is gone.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry.”
Get it together.
“Mom asked me to visit for the weekend last month,” I tell him.
“Ivy, don’t do this.”
“I told her I couldn’t because I was spending the weekend at the pool to prepare for a swim meet I missed because she died.”
“Ivy,” he groans. “You had stuff to do, and it’s not like that’s never happened before.”
I sigh into the sinking feeling in my gut. “Logically, I understand that.”
“There’s no way you could have known what would happen, babe.”
I’m not all that good at forgiving myself. Everyone else, sure, but not myself.
Ty shakes his head. “You can’t live up to the standards you hold yourself to. No one’s perfect.”
All right, I’ll give him that. But I constantly strive for perfect. The perfect grades, fastest swimmer, solid circle of friends, real relationships. I’m setting myself up to fail, I get that, and I would stop if I could.
“It feels like Iris is only back to visit. We haven’t lived together in six years.”
His fingertips brush my blond hair. “You’ll all adjust, I promise.”
We will but we shouldn’t have to. Mom was too young to die. Iris and I are too young to be without her. “I want things to go back to the way they were.”
“You don’t want Iris there?” he asks softly.
“No, that’s not it. Of course I want her with us. I wish she didn’t have to be, you know? So much has changed, and I’m not ready for any of it. Mom is supposed to be here. Who is going to take me prom dress shopping? She was going to scream when I graduate and totally embarrass me. Who will cry first when I try on wedding dresses or when I have a baby? There is so much that she’s going to miss. I don’t know how to do it all without her.”