Shipping Up to Boston

I climbed up the granite steps and reached for the doorknob.

"Don't touch that." said Morgan, who according to my social worker was my new mother. She could've passed for my younger sister (who in fact was sitting the car, pouting because she didn't want to be here. And honestly, neither did I), with her long, wavy, perfect platnium blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and stick-like figure. The tube tops and skinny jeans didn't help her cause, either.

Morgan opened the door, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a handkerchief to polish the doorknob as she was about to close it behind us. "Wait, isn't there another one?"

I sighed and called out for Lucie. Lucinda was 51 weeks younger than me, and because we were so close in age we were very close. We usually pass for twins, and I can't blame people who think that we are.

Lucie and I looked practically the same. We were both tall and lanky and thin, with brown hair that was usually cut to fall to our shoulders, ocean-colored eyes and freckles across our noses. But while we looked identical, our personalities were insanely different.

Lucie was girly, and our friends liked to joke that she was so thin because all she did was chase after boys. She would much rather sit on the bathroom floor and paint her nails than go to Fenway Park and see a baseball game (which I, however, was looking forward to).

I, on the other hand, was more boyish. Football, baseball, basketball, hockey, you name it, I played it. My sister decided that when I fell in love, I would have to let her take charge, and tell me what to wear and what to do. Like I would ever fall in love, and/or someone would love me.

Lucie jumped out off the van, slinging her backpack over one arm and dragging her suitcases with the other. She scowled as she climbed the steps. "I hate this." she whispered.

Morgan closed the door and we followed her into the kitchen. I saw a bowl of peppermints, and as I went to grab one, she said "Don't touch that, either."

I gave her a look. "My breath smells like wet dog. I'm taking a mint." I popped one in my mouth and made sure to show her the wrapper before I threw it in the trash.

"You're going to be a piece of work, Theresa."

"Tessie." I scowled before raiding the oak cabinets, finding a package of Chips Ahoy, and sitting at the bar to eat. I hadn't noticed Lucie had gone upstairs until I saw her come back down.

"Tessie! Come upstairs, you HAVE to see the bedrooms!" she looked estastic. I swear, if my bedroom was pink, I would punch Morgan in the face. I took two more cookies from the package and left it on the table before following Lucie upstairs.

"Look, the doors have signs on them! Your's is next to mine! And we've even got phones in our rooms! And TVs, and laptops, and Morgan got us cell phones! I can't wait to call and text and-"

I sighed. "Who are you going to call and text, and be friends with on Facebook, and chat with on AIM? Exactly, no one. Listen, Lucie, school tomorrow is going to be brutal. We won't have any friends, and classes will be hell."

"I'll make friends. I always do." Lucie turned, her back to me, and walked across the hardwood floor, her steps sounding like a drum as she went towards the bed, which I realized just then was pink.

Everything was pink in Lucie's room. I walked next door, afraid to open it, because I didn't want to ruin the doorknob, and I was afraid everything would be pink.

Which it was.