Soul Siblings

Trina

Rise and shine, sunshine. Welcome to freedom.

The warmth of my university sweatshirt reminds me it’s a good day. Paradise.

With my brother still in hell, though, I can’t settle for heaven. I need my right hand in his home.

My college dorm is everything I could have wanted. We’re talking postmodern, solid stone, with lots of student life. If I ignore the fumes and the water stains on the bricks, it’s like stepping onto a slice of higher education heaven.

Yet it still feels like a prison sometimes. The freedom it represents is false. The only way to win my freedom is to get my brother back in his body.

My parents are world-renowned geniuses. As the off-white picket fence will attest, they only kissed me on special occasions, but I always wanted to fly at twenty-two.

Then I grew boobs.

Our nuclear family is allergic to eye contact, but James and I have always been super close. Twins. Black sheep. Just add green guilt, and we’re the Von Trapp family with less yodeling.

By the time I was wearing a training bra, my brother was oversleeping, his “special drifter brain” getting him all the way to the man of the year asshole award ceremony.

I’m the baby, number two to the world. We’ve been spoiled by the beakers we suckled and given all the resources—a world with bionic parents at the helm.

I’m twenty-one with an IQ over 130, which makes me eligible to walk through university gates without being pelted with rocks.

But of course, fate shits on the genius. Only children made to feel special can ignore fate. My parents, worn-out geniuses, are black sheep too.

There is a bright future ahead—if I don’t get sidetracked by a hedonist drifter up my ass. Blocks away, there is a campus of knowledge, answers, and brainiacs waiting to be plucked.

Dr. Trina Hunter is here to kick ass.

Shit.

The sunlight on my eyelids again. The light I’ve come to dread.

I open my eyes and squint. Sunshine splashes into the dorm room I share with Eva.

Adjusting to my environment, I spot my roommate in front of the double window with the curtain yanked back. My brain is deep-fried and running behind, but it strikes me as odd, since my junior roommate prefers the room mausoleum dark.

She’s upper class. I’m a freshman. I learned to respect her nocturnal tendencies on night one.

I almost ask her if there’s a problem, but first things first. I have to assess the ride.

Empty. Good.

A sweep confirms no one is doing backstage karaoke in my gray matter. Under the covers, I twist my fingers, a game of limbo with my toes, then sit up. Nobody home in terms of psychic hitchhikers, but I ask the question as I face Eva’s back.

“James?” I murmur—knowing these days he hangs out in my left hemisphere but giving a shout-out nonetheless.

Lingering in the spotlight, Eva’s wavy golden blond hair and flawless skin glow Grecian. She’s told me before she’s prone to burning, a contributing factor to her addiction to blackout curtains.

“What’s up, sis? I wake you?” asks a male voice, dispersing my confusion.

It’s deep and crude, the voice of masculinity. Not Eva’s voice. A familiar voice. My brother’s. My twin, James Hunter.

She spends a few more moments pondering the view, cheekb