1 My twin sister and I were born with identical dark, irregular birthmarks. Mine was on my right cheek, a stark, ink-spill patch that drew stares and cruel nicknames from the moment I started school. My sister Norah’s was on her calf—easily hidden under a pair of jeans, invisible to the world unless she chose to wear a skirt. Our parents couldn’t afford the laser removal surgeries. I remember them sitting us down when we were ten, their eyes rimmed red with exhaustion, telling us we couldn’t be a burden on the family budget. If we wanted the birthmarks gone, we had to save up the money ourselves. To escape the label of the neighborhood monster, I became obsessed with money. While other kids went to summer camps, I collected aluminum cans from public parks, sold helium balloons at county fairs, and took whatever under-the-table yard work I could find. I lived on the cheapest generic white bread and tap water, counting every single penny. Norah was the exact opposite. She loved clothes, hanging out at the mall, and eating out. She burnt through her allowance within days and constantly asked our parents for advances. By the end of high school, the gap between us had widened into a chasm. While everyone else was celebrating graduation, I spent two grueling months working twelve-hour shifts at a local packing plant, sorting shipping crates in the sweltering heat. But by the end of August, I had finally saved enough for the down payment on my surgery. I practically floated home that evening, bursting with a quiet, manic joy. When I walked through the front door, I froze. Norah was spinning around the living room in a brand-new, buttercup-yellow sundress. Her calf, once marred by the dark patch, was completely smooth and clear. My father was watching her from the armchair, his eyes shining with a rare, soft warmth. "Look at our beautiful girl," he whispered, as if afraid to break the spell. "You look absolutely stunning in that dress, Norah." My mother smoothed Norah’s hair, her voice thick with emotion. "College is a fresh start, sweetie. I wanted my daughter to begin her new life feeling beautiful." My throat went dry. "Where did the money for the surgery come from?" The room went dead silent. Norah’s eyes darted away, her fingers nervously clutching the hem of her yellow dress. The truth hit me like a physical blow. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "It’s okay. I’ve been working at the plant. I saved up enough for my own surgery anyway." My mother let out a long, heavy sigh, avoiding my gaze. "Naomi, the day of Norah’s surgery, the clinic told us there was a complication. They had to use a more expensive, specialized graft, and we didn’t have enough on the card. We... we had to transfer the funds from your savings account to cover the difference." I stared at her, my hands trembling. That was a joint account. My mother’s name had been on it only because I was a minor when I opened it. Every single dollar in there was paid for in sweat and blistered hands. "Naomi, we can save up again," my brother, Gavin, said quickly. He pulled a cheap pair of oversized sunglasses from his pocket and offered them to me with an awkward, apologetic smile. "Look, I got you these. You can wear them on campus. They’ll cover most of it anyway. A couple of years won't make a difference." I slowly touched my right cheek, feeling the rough texture of the mark that had defined my entire existence. In that moment, a cold, sharp realization washed over me. I was suddenly profoundly grateful that the college I had chosen was a ten-hour train ride away. Across the room, my mother kept staring at Norah, her eyes filling with tears again. "I’m so sorry we made you wait this long, Norah," she cried, pulling her into a tight embrace. "A young girl shouldn't have to hide herself away. You must have felt so self-conscious, so left out at school. But look at you now. You're beautiful." My father wrapped his arms around them both, his shoulders slumped with a quiet guilt. I opened my mouth, the words hot and bitter in my throat. What about me, Mom? You wanted your daughter to feel beautiful. Am I not your daughter? Do you think I didn't feel self-conscious? Do you think the girls who locked me in the locker room and called me a freak didn't make me want to disappear? But the words died before they reached my lips. There was no point. My twin sister had always been, and would always be, the family’s sole priority. When we were five, she got to choose her toys and clothes first. When we were twelve and my father’s hours were cut, they stopped paying for my advanced math tutoring but kept Norah in her expensive ballet classes. When we graduated high school, they spent nearly their entire summer budget buying her the latest iPhone. I was handed down an old, cracked model Gavin had discarded two years ago. Norah was sweet, bubbly, and charming. Because she had no mark on her face, she had grown up with a natural, effortless confidence. Meanwhile, I was the girl who walked with her head down, trying to shield the right side of my face with my hair, accustomed to having dirty dishwater splashed on my sneakers by school bullies. I was the quiet, invisible ghost in our house. When I tried my hardest to please them, the most I ever got was a distracted, "Thanks for being so sensible, Naomi." They had told us we had to rely on ourselves for the surgery. But while I spent a decade sacrificing everything to save every penny, Norah had simply asked, and my parents had handed her my dream on a silver platter. I looked up to see my father holding up his phone, trying to take a picture of Norah. "My first photo of you in a dress," he said, his face crinkling with a smile. "I’m going to print this and put it right in the center of the photo wall. When you're away at school, your mother and I can look at it every day." "Dad, stop! That angle is horrible!" Norah giggled, covering her face playfully. They laughed, a perfect, warm family unit. Only Gavin seemed to notice me standing on the periphery. His expression tightened with a brief flicker of shame. "Hey, Naomi, come on. Get in the picture with us." He waved me over. But Gavin had forgotten. Ever since I could remember, I had avoided cameras. I was terrified of lenses, terrified of seeing my own face captured in high definition. The family photo wall in the hallway was filled with pictures of Gavin’s baseball games and Norah’s dance recitals. There was not a single photo of me. I shook my head silently and took a step back. The warmth in the room instantly evaporated. "Why do you always have to ruin the mood?" my father muttered, his irritation slicing through the silence. "Gavin went out of his way to buy you those sunglasses, and you didn't even say thank you. Now you won't even take a family photo." He stared at me, his eyes cold. "Your sister is finally healed. We’re trying to celebrate. Can’t you look happy for her for once? Just because of the money? Is it really that big of a deal?" Something inside me snapped. "Is it a big deal?" my voice cracked, the tears finally spilling over. "I worked twelve-hour shifts in a boiling warehouse all summer. I dreamed about this surgery every single night. I just wanted to go to college looking like a normal person!" My father’s face flushed red, and he stood up, raising his voice. "Do you think the money in that account was entirely yours? Who paid for the food you ate, the roof over your head, the clothes on your back all these years? We are a family! What difference does it make who gets the surgery first? We never said we wouldn't pay you back!" My mother covered her face, sobbing loudly. "It’s our fault. We’re bad parents because we’re poor. Is that what you want to hear, Naomi? Do you want us to get down on our knees and beg for your forgiveness?" "Naomi, seriously, watch your tone," Gavin hissed, giving me a hard, warning look. "Just apologize so we can move on." I looked at the three of them, and then at Norah, who was watching the scene play out with a look of mild, detached pity. A profound, hollow exhaustion settled deep into my bones. I lowered my head. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I walked over, stood stiffly at the edge of the frame, and forced a hollow, empty smile for the camera. The moment the flash went off, they crowded around my father’s phone to review the shot. Norah complained that her hair looked messy in that particular photo. Without a second thought, my father hit delete. The only photo containing me was gone in an instant. That evening, Norah suggested we celebrate her recovery by going to a trendy new Italian bistro downtown. My parents hesitated. The restaurant was notoriously expensive, far out of our usual budget. Norah’s eyes flicked to me, a sly, sweet smile spreading across her lips. "Naomi, Grandma gave you some cash last week for college expenses, right? I saw her slip it to you." She wrapped her arm around mine, squeezing tightly. "Why don't you treat us tonight? Please? You know I love you most, right?" I pulled my arm away, frowning. "No. That money is for my train ticket and textbooks. Grandma gave you the exact same amount." Norah giggled, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a familiar card. "Too late! I already grabbed it from under your pillow. Come on, Naomi! I already spent mine on my new dress. Don't be a party pooper!" My father let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You little thief. You always know how to get under your sister's skin." Gavin chuckled, tapping her nose playfully. "Seriously, you're a menace. Fine, let's go get some pasta." Within seconds, the decision was made. They hurried upstairs to change, laughing and talking, completely ignoring the fact that my entire travel budget had just been stolen. I stood in the middle of the quiet living room, completely frozen. It was ten minutes after they left that my phone finally buzzed. "Naomi, what is taking you so long?" my mother’s voice sounded incredibly annoyed over the speaker. "We're almost at the restaurant. Get moving." They had driven off without even realizing I wasn't in the car. By the time I walked out of the house, it had started to pour. I ran through the cold rain to the bus stop, my thin jacket quickly soaking through, and arrived at the restaurant shivering. "We’ve been waiting forever. You really have no sense of time," my mother complained as I sat down. The table was already covered in empty plates and half-eaten appetizers—all of them Norah’s favorites. There wasn't a single fresh dish left for me. Gavin, noticing my silence, tried to smooth things over. "Hey, there's still some of the mango salad left. Norah forgot she was allergic and ordered it anyway. We had to stop her from eating it. Here, Naomi, you have it." I looked at the wilted greens and the mushy, fork-stabbed mango chunks sitting in a pool of dressing. A bitter laugh threatened to escape my throat. They had all forgotten. We were identical twins. Our allergies were exactly the same. "No, thank you," I said quietly. My father’s expression darkened. "Seriously, Naomi? Gavin's trying to be nice. You act like you're too good for a nice restaurant. Always pouting." Norah blinked, as if suddenly remembering something. "Oh! I know why!" she gasped. "Naomi likes plain white bread. Remember? When we were in school, she’d never join us for pizza or burgers. She’d just buy the cheapest generic bread from the grocery store and eat it in the library." She looked at me with mock sympathy. "Don't worry, Naomi. I'll buy you a loaf of bread on the way home." My parents and Gavin burst into laughter. "I guess Naomi just doesn't have the palate for the finer things," my mother gasped, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. My father’s tension relaxed, and he sighed, looking at me with a mix of pity and disappointment. "Your sister is the thoughtful one, always remembering what you like. Look at you—you worked all summer, made decent money, and you still made a fuss about buying your family a single dinner. You’ve always been so tight-fisted, Naomi. You need to learn to be generous, like Norah." A sharp, physical pain bloomed in my chest. I was tight-fisted because you told me I had to pay for my own medical bills. I was tight-fisted because every time I asked for a dollar, you looked at me with disgust. Norah was generous because whenever she spent her money, you happily refilled her pockets. I kept my head down and didn't say a word. Under the table, I opened my phone and sent a message to the Hale University freshman group chat: “Hi everyone, does anyone know if the housing office allows students to move into the dorms early for work-study positions?” When we left the restaurant, the storm had worsened. There weren't enough umbrellas. Gavin handed mine to Norah, huddled under my parents' umbrella, and they all hurried toward the car. Once again, I was left standing under the awning. Before I could walk over, the car window rolled down. Norah leaned her head out. "Naomi, there's a boba place two blocks down that has that lavender milk tea I love. Can you run and get me one? It’s hard to park over there. We'll wait for you at home!" Before I could answer, the car pulled out into the rainy street and sped away. To them, I was the errand girl. The one who did the grocery shopping, washed the dishes, and ran through the rain. I walked through the downpour, my sneakers squelching with water, until I reached the shop just as they were turning off the neon sign. I bought two drinks. For the first time in my life, I bought one for myself. It was incredibly sweet. I finally understood why Norah liked it so much. By the time I walked through the front door of our house, it was nearly ten. The living room was warm, and the three of them were sitting around Norah on the sofa. "Naomi, what took you so long?" Gavin asked, barely looking up. "Go make some ginger tea for Norah, will you? She got a little damp running to the car, and I don't want her catching a cold before school starts." He paused, glancing at the counter. "Oh, you can leave the tea there. Norah says she doesn't want it anymore." None of them noticed that I was shivering, my clothes clinging to my skin, my teeth chattering. "I'm going to bed," I said, my voice completely flat. "She’s so lazy," my mother grumbled behind me as I walked down the hall. "I don't know how she's going to survive in the real world." I closed my bedroom door, locking out her voice, and never looked back. The next morning, the house was filled with the smell of bacon and pancakes. Everyone was gathered around the kitchen island, excited and chatting about a pre-college trip. "Let's go to the Outer Banks," my father suggested. "Norah’s been wanting to try horseback riding on the beach." "Or maybe Cape Cod?" my mother chimed in, scrolling through her phone. "Look at these rentals. And Norah’s never seen the ocean. This is the perfect time of year..." She caught sight of me walking into the kitchen and trailed off, her expression shifting slightly. It was obvious I hadn't been factored into the budget or the plans. "Don't worry about her," my father said, dismissively. "She never wants to go anyway. She’s always been anti-social." Norah gave me a apologetic shrug. "Yeah, Naomi, don't be mad at Mom and Dad. We didn't invite you because we know you hate traveling. Remember after middle school graduation? We tried to take you to the mountains and you refused to go." I stood by the empty coffee maker, remembering that trip. Before that trip, Norah had begged me to buy her new hiking boots and snacks with my savings. Then, my parents told me I had to cover my own train ticket and hotel share. "You have your own savings, Naomi. Don't be so selfish. Is money more important than family?" "Of course we're paying for Norah. Look at how she spends—she’d be in debt if we didn't help her." So, I had lied. I told them I hated the outdoors, just to save those few hundred dollars. That night, I had stayed home alone, scrolling through their vacation photos on Instagram, crying myself to sleep. And after that, they simply stopped asking. No movies, no dinners, no weekend trips. I became the person who watched them leave and welcomed them back when they returned, laughing and full of stories. There was no food left in the kitchen. I pulled out my phone. A notification popped up from the Hale University housing coordinator: “Hi Naomi! Yes, we have early-arrival slots open for student workers starting next Monday. We’d love to have you.” A tight knot in my chest finally loosened. I used the last of my secret emergency cash to buy a one-way Amtrak ticket to Boston. I planned to slip away quietly while they were on their beach vacation. But two days before they were scheduled to leave, my mother surprised me. "We’re going to take you to the dermatologist tomorrow, Naomi," she said, her voice unusually soft as she reached out to touch my arm. "We want to see if they can do a preliminary laser treatment on your face. Even if it just fades the color a little bit, it’s a start." For a second, my eyes stung with hot tears. A wave of intense guilt washed over me. Perhaps I had been too harsh on them. Perhaps, in their own clumsy, flawed way, they really did care about me. "Thank you, Mom," I whispered. The next morning, they treated me with a warmth I hadn't experienced in years. They took me to a diner downtown and bought me a stack of pancakes. My mother gently stroked my cheek, asking if I was nervous about the laser clinic. Gavin even took a personal day from his internship to drive us. Norah was nowhere to be seen. But the moment we walked back through the front door of our house, the illusion shattered. My mother sat me down on the sofa, her face pale, her hands trembling. "Naomi... your sister called us yesterday crying. She made a mistake when she was registering for her classes and housing at East State. She put in the wrong campus code and got assigned to the local satellite branch, forty miles away from the main campus." She looked at me, her eyes pleading. "She’s been crying all night. She’s devastated." "What does that have to do with me?" I asked, a cold dread settling in my stomach. "Could you... could you defer your enrollment for a year? Just stay home and do a gap year with her? You could retake some classes, maybe apply to an Ivy League next year. You've always wanted to go to Hale, right?" My mother took my hand, tears streaming down her face. "Norah is so fragile, Naomi. She’s so attached to you. If you go off to college and leave her behind at that satellite campus, she’ll be depressed. Please, Naomi. Do this for your sister. I’m begging you." I sat there, staring at her. On the day my acceptance letter had arrived, I had run into the kitchen, practically screaming with joy, showing them the large purple crest of Hale University. My mother had barely looked up from her iPad. She didn't even know. She didn't know I had already gotten into Hale—the exact school she was using as a bargaining chip. "No, Mom," I said, my voice barely a whisper, though it felt like it took every ounce of my remaining strength. "I won't do that." I stood up, pulled my hand from her grasp, and walked into my room, locking the door. I pressed my back against the wood, sliding down to the floor as the tears finally spilled over, silent and devastating. The next morning, as I was hanging laundry on the balcony, I heard voices rising from the kitchen below. "Mom, don't worry," Gavin was saying, his tone confident and reassuring. "I talked to Norah. She’s already feeling better now that she thinks Naomi is going to stay with her. I’ll handle Naomi. She’s always been the sensible one. She’ll agree." "I hope so," my mother sighed. "I hate putting this on her, but Norah just can't handle being alone." "Mom, when has Naomi ever actually said no to us? Remember in middle school when she wanted to transfer because of those bullies? Norah didn't want to change schools, so Naomi stayed. She always falls in line." "You guys go ahead and enjoy the beach trip. We’ll sit her down and have a proper talk when we get back." I stood on the balcony, the morning sun hitting my face. I looked down at my hands. They were calloused from the packing plant, but they were mine. I walked back into my room, pulled my dusty suitcase from the closet, and began to pack. This time, I was done falling in line.
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