Ring ! Ring! Ring!

I reach out and press my loud alarm clock to turn it off. I sit up on my bed, yawn then stretch. I swing my legs out of my bed, get down and open my curtains. The soft rays of the sun illuminate the interior of my room and I take this opportunity to open the windows and thus ventilate my room. I stick my head out the now open window, and breathe in the pure air of this morning which seems to announce a very beautiful sunny day.

My name is Muzelina MacGregor and I am seventeen years old. I live with my parents and my two brothers in New York, not far from Central Park.

- Darling ! my mother asks me. The shower is free!

- I go ! I exclaimed as I opened the door.

I leave the room, close the door behind me, go downstairs and head for the bathroom. On the way, I meet my brother, Noah. He is shirtless and has a white towel tied around his waist.

- Nice welcome Mr. Exhibitionist! I laughed.

- Hello to you too, Muza! he quips.

As I walk past him to the bathroom, I hear him remind me:

- Muza!

I then turn to him.

- You have a nasty stain on your pajama bottoms. he told me.

I react to the quarter turn and look behind my back to verify his statements. I've been contorting myself for at least five seconds and that's when I hear him burst out laughing: obviously, he made a joke.

- You're really not funny!

- You should have seen your face! he scoffs.

In response, I just roll my eyes.

- Oh it's ok, he said then, little “accidents” can happen to everyone. It can sometimes happen to be imperfect .

- When are you going to stop with this stupid idea? I sighed. I am not perfect !

- Of course ! You only have to look at the state in which you got yourself just now to be sure.

I roll my eyes again, turn around and decide to ignore him.

Let him go get dressed and let him off the hook....

Less than five minutes.

It only took him less than five minutes to tire me: my brother is an expert in the art of teasing of all kinds. He always presses where it hurts and loves to admire the results of his actions, namely seeing his interlocutor feel uncomfortable. With him, we only communicate through conflict and frankly, I think I'm past the age of this kind of childishness.

Arrived in front of the bathroom, I put my hand on the handle, open the door and enter. I stand in front of the mirror and look at my reflection, which sends back the image of a young girl with a face and features drawn by fatigue.

I am not very tall for my age: I am rather of average height. I have hazel colored eyes, large dark circles that keep forming under my eyes, and long chestnut hair sprinkled with blonde and red highlights. In short, I have a rather banal physique. A lot of people tell me that I have a beautiful face but that's about it: apart from the face, I don't have much attractive things about me. Being of average height, I am not particularly muscular and I have even less voluptuous forms at the level of the hips, the thighs of the chest or other: I am not Beyoncé and I correspond even less to the criteria of beauty imposed by society , that's for sure!

I take a deep sigh, pick up my toothbrush, apply some toothpaste, and calmly start brushing my teeth.

My friends and my mother keep telling me that if I take the trouble to pay a little more attention to myself, I will be irresistible.

But do I really need to be?....

And besides, for whom would I be? For myself ? For the male sex?

So that's very little for me!....

Boys, couples, boyfriends are not my priority at all at the moment: it's true that I'm seventeen, but I'm more focused on the end-of-year exams and the choice of universities that I would like to integrate for my higher education than through banal love stories of rose-water teenagers.

A few minutes later, after rinsing my mouth, I undress and enter the shower stall. I open the taps, regulate the water temperature and let the clear water, pulsating from the shower head, cascade over my skin.

We are in April: there are only two months left before graduation....

I'm in my last year of high school and I might as well tell you how the stress is gradually mounting in me: the choices of these last months and the months to come are going to be crucial for me. I am still choosing my future and I have no room for error!

The only thing I wish is to be able to make my parents proud of me...

Especially my father.

I close my eyes for a moment and decide to give myself a few minutes of calm and tranquility, here under the almost scalding water. I forget everything else: the stress of the exams, the annoying teasing of my brother, the choices of my orientations as well as the search for recognition from my father. Fifteen minutes later, I decide to cut short this moment of calm and stop the hot water tap. I wrap my wet body in a towel, dry myself in fourth gear, make a quick round trip between my bedroom and the bathroom to change and once that's done, I run down the stairs to head towards the living room.

Our New York apartment is a duplex: upstairs are the bedrooms, a bathroom and a toilet. On the ground floor are the living room, my father's office which is, three-quarters of the time, double-locked, our large dining room and the kitchen. We also have a library space right next to my father's office: before, as a child, I had spent most of my time there, sitting on the floor, my nose buried in a book. On the decoration side, it was my mother who took care of it: she was the one who chose everything! The right type of furniture, their color ..... She did everything possible to transform this empty luxury apartment into a warm home.

My eyes are lost on the paintings and picture frames hung everywhere on the wall, but only two sufficiently attract my attention: these two picture frames contain newspaper clippings reporting on the cover of the New York Times and my mother, Noah and I are on it. These photos were taken at St John Hospital, in the maternity ward of a hospital in Wyoming, the state we lived in before moving to New York.

The article that had written for the New York Times was written eighteen years ago and it tells of an extraordinary event that happened to Noah, my mother and me. Let me explain: Noah and I are actually twins. We were conceived on the same day, born from two different cells but shared the same womb. So far, nothing out of the ordinary but the funny thing about it is the fact that he and I were born more than a month apart and this kind of phenomenon that hasn't nothing insignificant, deserves to be on the front page of one of the most popular newspapers in the country!

During her pregnancy, my mother suffered from transfusion-transfused syndrome: that is to say that one of the two fetuses found itself receiving a much lower blood supply than the second and this phenomenon puts in great danger both the diminished fetus and the fetus receiving a surplus of blood flow since it risks cardiac arrest at any time. Everything was then implemented to save us, Noah, my mother and me, since it had also put him in danger: she had us rather young and it could have seriously impacted her state of health. After several successful surgeries, Noah was born first, prematurely, on February 26, while I completed nine months in my mother's womb and was therefore born in April.

My eyes continue to scan the article and linger on words like "extraordinary" or "phenomenal" or even the title "the miracle twins of Wyoming".

I think it's rather nice that mom had them framed: it's still a beautiful memory....

While I'm still lost in my contemplation, I hear a voice calling me from the kitchen. I walk towards it and come face to face on my mother precisely. The latter wears a white apron and has a frying pan in her hand.

- Hello dear ! Are you doing well ?

She walks over to me and places a kiss on my cheek. Her long strawberry blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail and her benevolent gray eyes gaze lovingly at me. I smile and nod my head.

- Yes yes it's fine.

- I made pancakes: go ahead and help yourself.

I smile at her and pick one out of the twenty or so already made that she has piled on top of each other. I bite into it and savor every bite: my mother is truly a goddess in the kitchen!

- I'm going to leave for a few minutes, just long enough to run for work, but I'll be right back! she informs me, removing her apron. Can you watch your little brother during this time? And if you can, give him his breakfast!

I finish down my last piece of pancake and nod.

- Count on me !

She hangs her apron on a post provided for this purpose, places a kiss on my little brother's head and leaves the kitchen. My mother is a love: she is sweetness and kindness incarnate and on top of that, she is so beautiful! She works for a cosmetics agency as a marketing consultant: she sometimes brings samples home so that she can test them before approving them and thus accepting their marketing. It is from her that all the beauty products that I own and that I very rarely use come from. My mother is blonde with gray eyes and I am brown with hazel eyes: for a mother and a daughter, I might as well tell you that we are as different from each other as day and night. I don't think I inherited anything from my mother: neither the physique, nor the character, and even less the pronounced taste for make-up and well-being products. I know that "without differences, there would be no people" as she likes to say, but I would have liked to be able to look like her, to have her beautiful eyes for example and thus represent the pride I feel in to be his daughter.

Anyway ! Let's put aside all these useless reflections: I squat down towards my little brother and take him in my arms. I settle her on her lounge chair and get it into my head to do the task my mother gave me, but after only five minutes, I realize that it really is not an easy task.

- Come on, Benjamin. I called him by his diminutive. You'll see: milk is as good in the bowl as in a bottle!

- No ! I do not want ! he said, shaking his head.

- Come on ! I prompted, handing him a spoonful of milk.

I know very well that he will persist in his refusal, but at four and a half years old, Benjamin is no longer old enough to indulge in such whims and it is better to make him adopt good habits early on than to have to regret it later. .

- Come on, Benji: drink! It won't hurt you, I assure you!

He shakes his head again.

- No. I want to drink from a bi-be-ron !

- But bottles are for babies and you're a big boy.

He shakes his head again. I try to put a spoonful of milk in his mouth but he pushes it away. I heave a deep sigh: a refusal is a refusal!

That's when I see his face light up with a smile: he hurries down from his high chair and runs into the arms of the person who has just entered the room.

- Noah ! he cries.

The latter makes him jump in his arms and gives him a red stuffed animal.

- Of course, if you distract him with toys, he will never eat breakfast. I sighed.

- You're not going to blame Benji for the fact that he prefers me to you, are you? he teases me.

I stand up and cross my arms over my chest.

- That's it: you can ask a little boy to choose between a responsible person and an immature person, you're right.

- But stop always putting yourself on a pedestal: I swear you seem to appear like... A cowhide who always thinks he's right!

- Because I just tell the truth, maybe? I quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Noah shakes his head.

- No, because you're so picky, so meticulous, so... Nunuch that you become boring! Boring limit.

I shake my head and roll my eyes. To end this discussion, I prefer to focus my attention on something else: at least it will prevent Noah from attacking me for no reason.

Here, the fridge seems to me to be a good distraction....

So I head for the latter and opt for a bottle of apple juice.

- You see ? You don't say anything because you know I'm right. he continues.

No: I prefer not to say anything because I decided to be smarter than you, nuance....

Realizing that I don't enjoy following him in his provocations, Noah ends up sighing, saying:

- Anyway: you would end up realizing it yourself. A day.

I turn my head in his direction and then see him take a lollipop out of his pocket. He hands it to Benjamin and Benjamin, delighted, catches it with his little fingers.

- A lollipop ? Do you give him a lollipop?

- Yes and ? he asks looking up at me. Everyone likes sweets and then he didn't eat anything.

- Exactly ! I exclaimed. It's not sweets that will replace his breakfast, Noah! In addition, if you give him one, he will ask you for another and so on and... Do you know hyperglycemia?

For all answer, my brother bursts out laughing and asks:

- Oh yeah ? That much ? You're really affected Muza, it's not possible!

I roll my eyes.

- Make fun of me if you want but I know that I'm more responsible and more considerate than you and that, you can't blame me.

I am then about to leave the room when I hear him remind me:

- Hold on !

- Yes ? You're still going to have fun putting me down, right?

He laughs but shakes his head.

- I was planning to ask you out. You want to come ?

I immediately frown.

- To go where ? I asked.

– Jason managed to extricate his family from the family mansion they own. We plan to go there later with some friends of mine. You want to come ? he repeats.

- Who will be there? I asked.

- Well, I told you: friends of mine, friends of my friends, a few acquaintances, a lot of girls too..... So are you tempted or not?

- Where is this “mansion”?

- Not too far from Manhattan. We'll have the mansion all to ourselves until dawn!

I take the time to think for a few seconds although my decision is already made: I decline his invitation. Long revisions await me and since it's the weekend, I intend to get serious about it.

- You're sure ?

I nod.

- It's too bad, you know.

- Too bad why?

- Because there would have been lots of people: you could have got to know each other and opened up a little more to others.

I sigh.

- I'm not asocial as far as I know.

Noah smiles.

- No, of course. You're only with one genre in particular.

I squint, not seeing where he's coming from as he continues with his idea:

- When was your last meeting exactly? Two months ago ? Two years ? Oh but wait: you never actually had one!

- Ok: I've heard enough for today! I exclaimed, rolling my eyes.

In response, Noah just burst out laughing and mocking me. In a fit of blood, I decide to throw my empty juice bottle at him, but he avoids it by bending down.

- Well ! Looks like we can't control ourselves anymore, huh Muza? Did I hit a nerve?

- But shut up Noah! I swore between my teeth.

I leave the room and head to my bedroom, but Noah's sarcastic laughter still reaches my ears. I climb the stairs four at a time, open the door to my room, enter it and double-lock it. I sit on my bed and take a deep breath: I take the time to calm the impulsiveness that had boiled inside me and turned into aggressiveness.

Calm down Muza: remember you are not an impulsive person....

My gaze is lost on my desk where all my course notebooks, all my binders, all my files are neatly arranged. Everything that I worked so hard for, everything that will allow me to get the best possible future in the best university there is.

I get out of bed and decide to sit on my wheeled chair, in front of my desk. I've worked too hard to get here, I've worked so hard to become the person I am today to meet my father's expectations, and there's no way Noah's remarks, whatever whatever they are, can succeed in reaching me.

***

- The denim skirt or....

She closes the curtain then opens it again a few seconds later.

- The denim shorts?

Cynthia struts past us. In response, I just shrug my shoulders as Margo speaks:

- What I believe above all, she says, is that we've been watching you try on a thousand and one clothes for hours! Hours Cynthia! We did more shopping in an hour than most normal people in this town!

She rolls her eyes.

- Be patient, sulky girl: I'm not asking you much, you know!

Margo continues to complain:

- I don't think I signed any contract stipulating a service dog clause!

- But you're my friend so it's like! Cynthia replies, sticking her tongue out.

In response, Margo shows him her middle finger which makes me burst out laughing.

Cynthia Donovan and Margo Tucker are my best friends: we've known each other since elementary school and they were the first people my age to talk to me when I first started school here in New York. Of the two, Cynthia is the one who is closest to me physically speaking: she is of average height, not to say downright small and rather thin. Her little blond curls cascade over her shoulders and her pretty ocean blue gaze immediately puts you in confidence.

The only difference between her and me is that she knows how to show off, while I don't. Cynthia is naturally generous: she always has a smile, she is bubbly with life but she is also very sensitive.

Margo, she is quite the opposite: she is pessimistic and complains for nothing. But his dirty character does not prevent him from having good sides: his frankness does not prevent him from being fair and understanding for example. Her tall stature has secured her a spot on the high school women's basketball team, her curly auburn hair forms an impressive mane around her head, and her eyes are hazel just like mine. My two friends are like day and night:

- Hey ! the latter calls out to me, nudging me.

I turn my head towards her.

- What are you thinking Muz?

I shrug my shoulders.

- Nothing special.

- Good ! When Miss Donovan takes the trouble to move her ass a bit, we can consider getting out of here because I'm getting tired of waiting for you! Margo complains again.

- Yes yes ! Just a minute !

While we wait, my gaze is lost on the crowd of people that fills the store: the staff running around, the checkouts that are always full, the customers moving around like ants in an anthill. That's when my eyes stop on a young man. He is tall and has curly brown hair. He seems to be deep in discussion with another man who I can't see since he's from behind. Suddenly, he turns his head towards me and our eyes meet. I don't even try to avoid his gaze: it's too late, he's already seen me! He smiles at me and waves at me and I... I don't do anything: I stay as still as a statue.

- Well ? Are we interested? someone whispers close to my ear.

I jump and turn around.

- Margo, you scared me!

She shrugs and shows me the young man I looked at with my chin.

- So he interests you? If so, I can go talk to him.

- What ?! No no no ! You're not going to do anything at all! I'm not at all interested: I was watching it, that's all!

- Oh yes ? she mocks. So much so that for a moment you came to forget my existence?

I roll my eyes.

- Margo, you know very well what I think about couples and all that nonsense: it's a waste of time and frankly, I don't really want to have a boyfriend who might distract me when I have to be completely focused on the upcoming exams.

My friend shrugs her shoulders, answering me that I have the right to do what I want and also adding that it's a shame since the young man in question is rather cute.

A few minutes later, after giving Cynthia time to finalize her purchases, the three of us leave the store and walk the streets of New York: the night is already starting to slightly point the tip of its nose.

Two hours ago, Cynthia had called me asking me to go out with her and Margo, and I had accepted since I had seen fit to take a little break from studying.

But now it's time for me to get back to it...

- Oh done: how's it going with Chad? Margo asks Cynthia.

Chad is actually her boyfriend. They have been together for almost a year already and after a somewhat difficult period during which the two lovebirds injured each other, everything seems to have become a little calmer again to the delight of Cynthia and the OUR.

- Well, he's making an effort and I think that's cool.

- You still gave him several chances Cinci, said Margo calling him by his diminutive, you're really too good a sucker! Me in your place, I would have already abandoned it a long time ago! He does not deserve you !

The woman shrugs her shoulders.

- And you Muza, what do you think?

I turn my head towards her. We arrived in front of a metro entrance, passed the turnstiles and arrived on the platform. Our subway arrives in five minutes.

- I don't know what to tell you: I don't have any experience in this area so I won't be able to advise you properly.

- But anything ! she exclaims. Stop saying that ! It is precisely because you are not used to it that it will be you who will give me the best advice! You have witnessed all my states: so you know what is best for me!

Our metro arrives with force, speed and crash at the edge of the platform. The metal doors open and we enter. Once the buzzer has stopped sounding, the doors close and we head into the tunnel.

- Margo too you know. I advanced.

Cynthia dismisses what I just said with a wave of her hand.

- Margo has no heart. You are empathetic: you understand people better than anyone. So tell me: what do you think I should have done?

I think for a few moments, then finally shrug my shoulders.

- Letting go of Chad would have been a good choice for you: it would have saved you from suffering and then, it might have opened his eyes to your importance because, I think that staying with him despite everything he was able to do this to you sent a signal to him that you were the most dependent on the two of you, so it was you who loved the most and he played with that.

- So ! THANKS ! Margo exclaims.

- But on the other hand, the fact that you are still together today proves in a way the "strength of your love" if I can say it like that and then, if he makes you vibrate and if it It's with him you're happy, so don't let him go.

- Ah! Cynthia says to Margo.

The latter sighs and groans on the pretext that this type of point of view comes from old love movies for teenagers in rose water. And I totally agree with her: it's all... Way too romantic for my taste, but as long as Cynthia is happy, then that's fine with me.

The discussion then drifts to other subjects but I don't pay too much attention to it: physically I'm there, next to her, but mentally, I'm completely elsewhere.

Why do we necessarily have to go through this?...