He stepped down, trying not to look at her, as if she were the sun,
yet he saw her,
like the sun, even without looking.
—Leo Tolstoy
Jax
Thirteen years old
Manhattan, New York
“Twins.” The man crosses his long, slender fingers and places them on his desk with a thud. I stare and count in my head how many black hairs I can see on his knuckles.
“Especially identical twins. They’re… unique, rather fascinating really.” Now he drums them on the desk.
I fight the eye roll and focus on what’s important.
Twenty-three.
I can see twenty-three dark hairs on his right hand. He’s placed the left hand under his desk, so I’ll round up to thirty-three considering we aren’t symmetrical.
“I’m sorry, that means nothing to me. What exactly are you saying?” My father’s condescending tone vibrates around the large office, along with my brother’s snort. I glance over at my twin then at my father who, not gonna lie, is intimidating. His expensive charcoal suit makes the sad excuse of a psychiatrist look like a pauper, a peasant, which, of course, he is.
The man’s eyes dart to our faces. With a cough, he straightens in his chair.
“I’m saying, Mr. Saddington, that your sons are gifted.” He smiles, but it’s tight. Strained. Deep inside, he knows we’re better than him. Not only because we’re wealthy, but because we outsmart him.
This time Reed, my twin, doesn’t even hide his contempt and laughs loudly. “Dad, really? You can’t be thinking of paying this—”
My dad holds up a finger, stopping my brother’s outburst, his eyes not leaving the man with slicked-back hair. The psychiatrist’s face pales, if that’s possible—he already reminds me of a cartoon character. You know, the skinny villain with white skin and a pointy nose? Yeah, this guy is a fraud. He hides behind a large wooden desk, specializing in being able to spot if a person is gifted or a genius. Which is why we’re all sitting here.
“So, they’re both geniuses?” His tone is dry, almost bored, but I can tell he wants the validation. Another moron trying to figure out why both me and Reed could read before we could talk.
The man’s beady eyes shift to mine as he brings that other hand back, folding his fingers together as he dramatically rests them on his cherrywood desk. Again, I look away so as not to either join Reed in laughing, because I hear him snickering, or roll my eyes.
Reed was right about this one. The moment we stepped foot in the pretentious waiting room, my dad and brother got into it. I did what I always do and blocked them out, basically turned everything off. Instead, I observed the sterile waiting room. Black leather chairs that you know are expensive, but feel stiff and uncomfortable, lined the walls on either side. Strike one against this psychiatrist. I hate being forced to do anything, especially looking at someone I don’t want to. Large glass vases holding white orchids sit on the two metal art deco tables. The walls are white, with charcoal sketches of various Manhattan landmarks.
Perfect.
Fortunately, we were the only ones in there—well, us and the receptionist answering calls.
Not the place for us. Reed is sick of being tested, and unless Tess is with us to keep him occupied and calm, he can get a little demanding, like now. Smirking, I focus back on this cartoon of a psychiatrist and finally digest the crap he’s saying.
“Come now. You must be aware that one is more aggressive than the other. More competitive, easily fixated on certain things.” The man looks at my dad, his inferiority coming out in his tone.
“What?” my dad snaps.
“Your boys are twins, and this one is aggressive.” He motions to Reed. “He’s already—”
“Excuse me? I brought my sons here to find out if they are geniuses. They already know they’re twins.” There’s an edge of sarcasm in his voice.
I almost start laughing at how stupid this is, but it’s not funny. This doctor doesn’t get to judge Reed.
My father stands and the man behind the desk shrinks back. I can’t help but smirk, and hope that Reed isn’t actually listening to the crap coming out of this cartoon doctor’s mouth.
I almost groan. Here we go. Reed is pissed, and anything goes when Reed gets angry. My eyes go straight back to the doctor, but instead of shutting up, he continues. Like, can’t he see my brother wants to lunge at him?
Reed gets mad, and the only person in this planet who can calm him down is Tess. No Tess? Anything can happen.
“Are you familiar with Steinbeck’s theory on twins? The good and the bad twin—”
“Excuse me? Steinbeck?” Shaking his head, my dad looks at the man then slowly turns to us and nods as he stands.
“Let’s go, boys. This is absurd.”
“Thank you! Finally.” Reed throws his hands up and stands.