chapter 1
I flipped my hair over in the shower, trying to rinse the dye out from the underneath part of my head. I opened my eyes to see if the water was still tinted from the coloring, but a sharp pain in my left eye made me shut them immediately. Can you go blind from hair dye? I reached to the right, feeling around for my towel. My hand hit the rack finally, and I jerked the towel off the back of the door. I heard a swoosh of air, as the towel underneath it also came off the rack and started to fall towards the floor. Then the clink of metal hitting tile, and rolling in the direction of the sink. With my empty hand I shut off the water, then held the towel to my eyes for a few minutes, until I could open them without wincing again. I glanced to the right and scanned the tile floor. Nothing. Crap
"Pheobe?" I called, as I wrapped the towel around my hair and stepped out of the shower. I grapped my long blue silk robe from the towel rack and replaced it with the towel that had fallen on the floor. "Pheobe?" I called again, knotting the robe's sash around my waist.
"What?" came a voice from the other side of the wooden door, as she started to push it open.
"My ring fell under the sink." I explained sheepishly
"So?" she said, looking at me confused. It was like looking in a mirror, only the girl opposite me had dark chestnut colored hair. The exact color mine used to be, before I stared to bleach it. "Just reach under there and get it," she added, still staring at me.
I pictured myself easing my hand under the white wooden cabinet that fit below our sink and being bit by a rat. There were no rats of course, but maybe there was a spider. That's practically worse. "It's dusty under there and I just showered" I said, searching for an excuse that didn't make me sound like a total loser. My twin sister rolled her eyes then lowered to her stomach so she could see underneath the cabinet.
"How did this happen anyway?" she asked, her voice straining as she struggled to reach for the ring, which must have rolled farther than I thought. I was secretly glad it wasnt me feeling around blindly under there.
"I put it on the side of the bathtub while I was showering," I explained,"And when I reached for the towel, the other one fell and knocked the ring off the tub." She wasn't listening anymore though. I heard a clink, and knew she must have hit the ring. A moment later she pulled her arm out and sat back on her heels.
"Here," she said, reaching up and handing me the ring, "You're lucky I'm back home". Pheobe was a graduate student at the University of Maryland. She was only home today because we had to go to see the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra that night.
"Thanks," I said, and turned to the sink to rinse off the dust. I stared fixated at the ring as I held it under the lukewarm water. Everytime I turned it, one of the diamonds in the band caught the light and twinkled. The large diamond in the center was bigger than anything I had ever seen, except for the ones that I saw at the Smithsonian when I was younger. But this one was better. It was an exact replica of Britney Spears' engagement ring. I have a big addiction to celebrity gossip and everyone knows that, so as soon as I spotted this ring on the internet, I knew I had to have it. I slipped the ring onto my finger, then stuck my hand out in front of me to admire it. Pheobe just shook her head at me, then turned back out the door
After Pheobe left to go down the hall and get ready, I turned back to face the mirror and slowly began to unwind the towel from my head. My hair came tumbling town in a huge knotty mess resting on my shoulders. I sighed, picked up a comb, and started on the impossible task of combing it. Finally, everything was smooth again and I set the comb down to study my appearance in the mirror. There was no longer any evidence of the deep chesnut color I shared with my sister. Instead, it was now a light golden blonde, resting gently on my shoulders
It's practically guaranteed that when I tell people I have an identical twin, they will shriek and squeal something like, "That's so cool!" Well no, it's not really. In another family it might be, but not when you are a Rowland twin. Then it is purely exhausting.
My mother is Claire Beaumont, daughter of Henri Beaumont, former French Ambassador. They moved here from Versailles when my mother was only seven, so she spent practically her entire life attending fancy White House dinners and benefits. After a brief period in her teens in which she dated the president's son, my mother swears this was always just a publicity stunt, she suddenly became America's latest addiction. Her picture was always on the cover of People magazine and she even had a shoot for Cosmo. She was approached by several modeling companies, but my grandfather said he refused to have his daughter misrepresenting her country like that. So intead, she became an actress, filming a sictom in the city where she had to make the huge stretch of playing a french girl. She swore she was going to retire when she had my sister and I, but I think she missed it too much. Now she plays a lawyer on capital hill on a show cleverly titled "The District"
She met my father, Chris Rowland, when she was 19 and he came to the set of her show to film her for one of his classes. He was a broadcast journalism major at the University of Maryland, and was doing a documentary project on high profile children in the city. He's now an anchor for the top rated news team in DC, and seems to be interviewing people like the president all the time. They started dating soon afterward and were married a year later. My mom had my sister, February, and I when she was 21. Yes, you read that right. February. My name, naturally, is January. My father swears they had nice normal names picked out for us, Emma and Erin I think it was, but my mother changed her mind at the last minute. We were born a week early, me being first at 11:57 pm on January 31th. My sister was born 6 minutes later at 12:03 am on February 1st. So then, obviously not thinking clearly due to the pain and all the drugs, my mother thought it would be a fabulous idea to name us each after the month we were born in. I guess I should just be glad we werent born a week late. Then we would probably be named something rediculous like Love and Cupid.
You would think that being named February would be a huge curse for my sister, but no. Instead, she has gone by the name Pheobe since we were five and people started teasing us. Pheobe. How cute is that? Do you have and idea what name people take from January? It has to be the most boring name in the English language. They all call me Jan. Jan! Can you believe it? My sister gets a cute, unique nickname, and I get stuck with Jan. Jan was Marsha Brady's dorky little sister that no one liked because she was plain and whiny and just simply boring. Perhaps thats why I am the problem child of the family. I always feel like I need to do something completely stellar to avoid all association with my Jan Brady counterpart. My plans ususally end up backfiring though and I just end up in trouble. The last time I came home with a story like this my mom just laughed and told me I should write a book. Its true I guess, people couldn't make this stuff up if they tried. My dad just got a stern look on his face and told me I should try to be more like Pheobe. She never gets in trouble. She never even got a detention in High School. I had the record, getting three in one day.
Now if Pheobe and I were just twins, then there wouldn't be much of a problem. But given our parents' high profile careers combined with the fact that we are completely identical, the media has developed a facsination with us and we've turned into minor local celebrities. I swear its like we are the Paris and Nikki Hilton of the DC- metropolitan area. Minus the sex tapes of course. Any time we have to go to a benefit, or to the theatre, theres a full color layout in the Post the next day detailing everything that happened. That's why my dad is so strict about things. He's totally worried about us getting involved in some scandal and having the media pick it up, making him look bad. Actually thats not true. He's only worried about me making him look bad. Pheobe, of course, is perfect.
That night at the Symphony, she was completely impressed, making intelligent sounding comments at all the right moments about the blending of the strings section with the wind instruments and things like that. I just sat there bored, fidgeting with my ring, and of course dropped it during a flute solo. I swear, I just need to keep that thing on my finger. My father glared at me from the other end of the aisle, as he noticed a reporter opposite us scribbling in her notebook, trying to stiffle a giggle. See what I mean? I inched my foot forward to place it over the ring, and pull it back closer to my chair. It made a horrible screeching noise, and the white-haired woman in front of me whirled around in her seat to glare at me. Pheobe flashed her a dazzling smile from the seat to my left, and mouthed the word "Sorry" before reaching down and taking the ring off the floor. The lady smiled back, if you could even call it that, and turned back around. Pheobe's fake smile drained from her face and she put the ring in her black gucci clutch. I glared at her, annoyed, and she just rolled her eyes at me before turning her attention back to the musicians.
I pulled the sleeve of my jacket back on my wrist to look at my watch. 8:15. I sighed, a little too loudly apparently because the woman in front of us coughed and Pheobe nudged me with her elbow in the ribs.
"Ouch" I mouthed to her, massaging my ribs.
"Pay attention," she mouthed back, her eyes narrowing, as she jerked her head to the stage. I stuck my tongue out at her.
The next day, a picture of that fabulous scene was plasteredd on the front page of the Arts & Entertainment section of the Post with the caption "Creative stylings of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra are underappreciated by Jan and Pheobe Rowland". Great. Just stellar.
"Pheobe?" I called, as I wrapped the towel around my hair and stepped out of the shower. I grapped my long blue silk robe from the towel rack and replaced it with the towel that had fallen on the floor. "Pheobe?" I called again, knotting the robe's sash around my waist.
"What?" came a voice from the other side of the wooden door, as she started to push it open.
"My ring fell under the sink." I explained sheepishly
"So?" she said, looking at me confused. It was like looking in a mirror, only the girl opposite me had dark chestnut colored hair. The exact color mine used to be, before I stared to bleach it. "Just reach under there and get it," she added, still staring at me.
I pictured myself easing my hand under the white wooden cabinet that fit below our sink and being bit by a rat. There were no rats of course, but maybe there was a spider. That's practically worse. "It's dusty under there and I just showered" I said, searching for an excuse that didn't make me sound like a total loser. My twin sister rolled her eyes then lowered to her stomach so she could see underneath the cabinet.
"How did this happen anyway?" she asked, her voice straining as she struggled to reach for the ring, which must have rolled farther than I thought. I was secretly glad it wasnt me feeling around blindly under there.
"I put it on the side of the bathtub while I was showering," I explained,"And when I reached for the towel, the other one fell and knocked the ring off the tub." She wasn't listening anymore though. I heard a clink, and knew she must have hit the ring. A moment later she pulled her arm out and sat back on her heels.
"Here," she said, reaching up and handing me the ring, "You're lucky I'm back home". Pheobe was a graduate student at the University of Maryland. She was only home today because we had to go to see the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra that night.
"Thanks," I said, and turned to the sink to rinse off the dust. I stared fixated at the ring as I held it under the lukewarm water. Everytime I turned it, one of the diamonds in the band caught the light and twinkled. The large diamond in the center was bigger than anything I had ever seen, except for the ones that I saw at the Smithsonian when I was younger. But this one was better. It was an exact replica of Britney Spears' engagement ring. I have a big addiction to celebrity gossip and everyone knows that, so as soon as I spotted this ring on the internet, I knew I had to have it. I slipped the ring onto my finger, then stuck my hand out in front of me to admire it. Pheobe just shook her head at me, then turned back out the door
After Pheobe left to go down the hall and get ready, I turned back to face the mirror and slowly began to unwind the towel from my head. My hair came tumbling town in a huge knotty mess resting on my shoulders. I sighed, picked up a comb, and started on the impossible task of combing it. Finally, everything was smooth again and I set the comb down to study my appearance in the mirror. There was no longer any evidence of the deep chesnut color I shared with my sister. Instead, it was now a light golden blonde, resting gently on my shoulders
It's practically guaranteed that when I tell people I have an identical twin, they will shriek and squeal something like, "That's so cool!" Well no, it's not really. In another family it might be, but not when you are a Rowland twin. Then it is purely exhausting.
My mother is Claire Beaumont, daughter of Henri Beaumont, former French Ambassador. They moved here from Versailles when my mother was only seven, so she spent practically her entire life attending fancy White House dinners and benefits. After a brief period in her teens in which she dated the president's son, my mother swears this was always just a publicity stunt, she suddenly became America's latest addiction. Her picture was always on the cover of People magazine and she even had a shoot for Cosmo. She was approached by several modeling companies, but my grandfather said he refused to have his daughter misrepresenting her country like that. So intead, she became an actress, filming a sictom in the city where she had to make the huge stretch of playing a french girl. She swore she was going to retire when she had my sister and I, but I think she missed it too much. Now she plays a lawyer on capital hill on a show cleverly titled "The District"
She met my father, Chris Rowland, when she was 19 and he came to the set of her show to film her for one of his classes. He was a broadcast journalism major at the University of Maryland, and was doing a documentary project on high profile children in the city. He's now an anchor for the top rated news team in DC, and seems to be interviewing people like the president all the time. They started dating soon afterward and were married a year later. My mom had my sister, February, and I when she was 21. Yes, you read that right. February. My name, naturally, is January. My father swears they had nice normal names picked out for us, Emma and Erin I think it was, but my mother changed her mind at the last minute. We were born a week early, me being first at 11:57 pm on January 31th. My sister was born 6 minutes later at 12:03 am on February 1st. So then, obviously not thinking clearly due to the pain and all the drugs, my mother thought it would be a fabulous idea to name us each after the month we were born in. I guess I should just be glad we werent born a week late. Then we would probably be named something rediculous like Love and Cupid.
You would think that being named February would be a huge curse for my sister, but no. Instead, she has gone by the name Pheobe since we were five and people started teasing us. Pheobe. How cute is that? Do you have and idea what name people take from January? It has to be the most boring name in the English language. They all call me Jan. Jan! Can you believe it? My sister gets a cute, unique nickname, and I get stuck with Jan. Jan was Marsha Brady's dorky little sister that no one liked because she was plain and whiny and just simply boring. Perhaps thats why I am the problem child of the family. I always feel like I need to do something completely stellar to avoid all association with my Jan Brady counterpart. My plans ususally end up backfiring though and I just end up in trouble. The last time I came home with a story like this my mom just laughed and told me I should write a book. Its true I guess, people couldn't make this stuff up if they tried. My dad just got a stern look on his face and told me I should try to be more like Pheobe. She never gets in trouble. She never even got a detention in High School. I had the record, getting three in one day.
Now if Pheobe and I were just twins, then there wouldn't be much of a problem. But given our parents' high profile careers combined with the fact that we are completely identical, the media has developed a facsination with us and we've turned into minor local celebrities. I swear its like we are the Paris and Nikki Hilton of the DC- metropolitan area. Minus the sex tapes of course. Any time we have to go to a benefit, or to the theatre, theres a full color layout in the Post the next day detailing everything that happened. That's why my dad is so strict about things. He's totally worried about us getting involved in some scandal and having the media pick it up, making him look bad. Actually thats not true. He's only worried about me making him look bad. Pheobe, of course, is perfect.
That night at the Symphony, she was completely impressed, making intelligent sounding comments at all the right moments about the blending of the strings section with the wind instruments and things like that. I just sat there bored, fidgeting with my ring, and of course dropped it during a flute solo. I swear, I just need to keep that thing on my finger. My father glared at me from the other end of the aisle, as he noticed a reporter opposite us scribbling in her notebook, trying to stiffle a giggle. See what I mean? I inched my foot forward to place it over the ring, and pull it back closer to my chair. It made a horrible screeching noise, and the white-haired woman in front of me whirled around in her seat to glare at me. Pheobe flashed her a dazzling smile from the seat to my left, and mouthed the word "Sorry" before reaching down and taking the ring off the floor. The lady smiled back, if you could even call it that, and turned back around. Pheobe's fake smile drained from her face and she put the ring in her black gucci clutch. I glared at her, annoyed, and she just rolled her eyes at me before turning her attention back to the musicians.
I pulled the sleeve of my jacket back on my wrist to look at my watch. 8:15. I sighed, a little too loudly apparently because the woman in front of us coughed and Pheobe nudged me with her elbow in the ribs.
"Ouch" I mouthed to her, massaging my ribs.
"Pay attention," she mouthed back, her eyes narrowing, as she jerked her head to the stage. I stuck my tongue out at her.
The next day, a picture of that fabulous scene was plasteredd on the front page of the Arts & Entertainment section of the Post with the caption "Creative stylings of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra are underappreciated by Jan and Pheobe Rowland". Great. Just stellar.
posted by soccerella at 7:02 PM
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