Silvia

Mila paced the living room, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her lips. She pivoted and seized my shoulders with the urgency of a couch about to deliver a halftime pep talk.

"Snap out of it, Silvy," she said, her tone caught somewhere between concern and incredulity. "Do you seriously think your dad's gonna fall for this plan? He's not that gullible, right?"

I sighed. "You'd be surprised. This is the same man who believed he won a yacht from a spam email. He spent three days planning a 'Bon Voyage' party."

Her eyes rolled so dramatically, I worried they might never return to their proper place. "I'm serious! He's gonna think you've completely lost your mind. Have you forgotten the time you convinced him you were allergic to doing the dishes?"

"Ah, yes. That glorious, dish-free weeks before he realised the truth." I couldn't help but smile. "A stroke of genius, really."

"Yeah, genius until he made you scrub the whole house with a toothbrush as punishment."

"Minor details," I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. "But fine, I'll admit—this plan might require a touch more finesse."

Before she could launch into another argument, the jingle of keys cut through the tension. Dad shuffled in, his coat draped over his arm and his tie slightly askew. His gaze swept across the room, carrying that flicker of impossible hope he always had, as though Silus might be hiding behind the curtains or crouched under the dining table. He even went so far as to check under the couch cushions, with the same fervour as a man who'd misplaced the TV remote five minutes before kick-off.

When his search produced nothing but dust bunnies and misplaced optimism, he straightened with a heavy sigh. "Silus still hasn't returned..." he murmured, his voice cracking at the edges.

It wasn't my fault Silus had vanished, yet seeing Dad like this—dimmed, diminished—brought a pang of guilt that settled in my stomach. This wasn't the father I knew, the man who could face life's chaos with endless enthusiasm. He was the type to find silver linings in thunderstorms, not crumble beneath their weight.

I swallowed the knot in my throat, forcing myself to stand straighter. This was it—the moment I had to do something. Even if it didn't work, I couldn't let him keep looking under couch cushions for answers.

"Dad," I began, my voice stronger than I felt, "I might have an idea to fix this."

His head snapped up, and for a fleeting second, his eyes sparked with something I hadn't seen in days—hope. "What is it?"

I hesitated for a fraction of a breath. "I know things have been...difficult lately. You've been juggling so much to keep this whole circus from collapsing, but Silus never appreciated your acrobatic skills." I bit my lip. "I just want things to feel normal again. Like when Mum was the ringmaster, and everything didn't feel like it was balancing on a tightrope."

Dad blinked, clearly caught off guard—either by the mention of Mum or the fact I was equating our lives to a circus. His gaze softened for a moment, though his brow furrowed as if trying to make sense of it all.

"I want to help," I continued, ignoring the nervous flutter in my chest. "Even if it means...living as Silus."

The silence that followed was so profound, I half-expected the dust bunnies to weigh in on my proposal. Mila, sensing the brewing storm, slinked towards the wall, trying to blend into the wallpaper. It wasn't her moment to intervene, and she knew it.

Dad's lips parted, his mouth working soundlessly as though he'd forgotten how to form words. "W-what on earth are you talking about?"

I held his gaze, refusing to waver. "I'll tell my school I'm studying abroad. All they need is your permission. Then, I'll disguise myself as Silus and attend his school until he returns."

He let out heavy sigh, rubbing his temples as though he could physically knead the absurdity out of existence. "Silvia, this is ridiculous. Life isn't some sitcom where you can swap places and expect everything to just...fall into place."

I forced a shrug, trying to appear calm even as my heart pounded. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. If nothing else, we'll get a good laugh. Who knows? The universe might be so impressed by our commitment to chaos, it'll send Silus back with a bow on top."

That was the breaking point. His composure shattered, and his voice thundered through the room. "You are not throwing your life away to clean up after your brother's recklessness!"

The force of his words rattled the windows, but I didn't flinch. I stood my ground, steeling myself for the storm I knew was coming. "I'm not throwing anything away! I'm just...shifting my priorities. Silus is spiralling, Dad. If we don't step in now, he might not have a future to fight for. Please, let me do this. Let me try to help him."

Tears shimmered in his eyes, his tough exterior faltering. "But you've worked so hard to get into Rosecrest College..."

I softened my tone, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "Rosecrest isn't going anywhere. I can pause my plans, just for a little while. This might be Silus' only chance, and I can't stand by and do nothing."

He sighed, his shoulder sagging in reluctant defeat. "If there were an easier way, I wouldn't be standing here nodding along to this madness. But if you're determined to play superhero for your wayward brother, Silvia, go ahead. Dive into the chaos."

From her spot by the wall, Mila—who'd been uncharacteristically quiet—looked as though she'd witnessed a unicorn gallop through the living room. "I can't believe this is actually happening."

I shot her a wry smile. "Congratulations, Mila. You're now my official partner-in-crime."

She groaned, throwing her head back in dramatic despair. "Oh no...what am I getting roped into this time?"

"Every superhero needs a sidekick, right? And who better to help me plot mayhem than you?"

Dad let out a weak chuckle, rubbing his temples again as though still grappling with the absurdity of the agreement. "At least you two seem fully committed to this insanity. Just promise me this won't end up on the evening news."

I raised an eyebrow teasingly. "No guarantees, but it'll make for excellent family lore if it does."

Mila groaned again, this time burying her face in her hands. "I can't believe I'm signing up for this."

"Think of it as a 'spontaneous educational hiatus'."

***

After a hurried and mildly frantic trip to the local mall, Mila and I stumbled back into my bedroom, our arms laden with supplies for our overly ambitious plan. We moved with all the stealth of burglars sneaking into a hideout, fully aware this idea would either be a stroke of brilliance or an inevitable catastrophe.

Nervous giggles bubbled between us as we dumped our haul onto the bed, creating a mountain of potential mishaps. Among the wreckage, I pulled out the piece de resistance—a wig so eerily similar to Silus' hair, it could've been a long-lost cousin from the wilder side of the 90s boy band era. Its medium-length, brunette waves were a proclamation of mistaken identities and bold escapades.

Mila crossed her arms, one eyebrow arching so high it nearly reached her hairline. "Are we really doing this, Silvy?"

I held up the wig as if it were a crown jewel. "Absolutely. If we're going down, we're going down with style.

With a shared sigh of trepidation, we tiptoed into Silus' room to retrieve his school uniform. The moment we crossed the threshold, we were met with an assault on our senses so vile it nearly sent us running. The room wasn't just messy—it was apocalyptic.

The floor was buried beneath mountains of discarded clothes, and piles of used tissues lay scattered like tragic monuments to his complete disregard for basic hygiene—each one a potential chapter in a very grim, very dirty story.

Pinching our noses in synchronised disgust, we braved the battlefield of teenage negligence, heading towards the wardrobe in search of something remotely wearable. Every sock was a forgotten relic, and each crumpled shirt seemed to whisper, "Wash me...please."

"This feels like a survival game," Mila wheezed, her eyes darting around the chaos. "Is that a sock or a feral creature? Either way, I'm not touching it without a hazmat suit."

Suppressing a gag, I wrenched open the wardrobe and rummaged through its contents with grim resolve. Mila crouched by the bottom drawer and somehow managed to extract Silus' uniform. She held it up like an archaeologist unearthing a cursed artifact, careful not to disturb the ecosystem thriving within his bedroom.

We bolted from the room, gasping for fresh air as we fled the toxic wasteland. Mila thrust the uniform into my hands, her expression teetering between relief at finding it and dread for the next phase of our ridiculous mission.

"Good luck transforming into your brother," she said, her tone dry enough to match the desert we'd just escaped.

I accepted the uniform with an exaggerated bow, holding it aloft as though it were a knight's sword. "If I don't make it out alive, tell my dad I love him."

She rolled her eyes. "You're being dramatic."

"Says the person who survived the Bermuda Triangle of dirty laundry."

She wrinkled her nose. "I've always hated your brother, but after that? He's not just my enemy—he's a walking biohazard."

Back in my room, I stood before the mirror, contemplating the transformation into Silus. The reflection staring back at me wasn't quite ready for this masquerade, but I squared my shoulders, channelling the determination of a secret agent gearing up for a high-stakes mission.

I started with the bandages, flattening my chest as best as I could. Not that there was much to flatten—an inconvenient truth I didn't dwell on—but enough to warrant some precautions in my quest for temporary masculinity. Practicality first, pride later.

Next came the uniform—a stiff white dress shirt, dark blue trousers, and a tie. It hung loosely in some places, definitely in need of a minor tailoring intervention later, but for now, it would do. His blazer still lurked in his closet, but with the current weather mimicking a furnace, I had no intention of risking heatstroke unless absolutely necessary.

Then came the crown jewel of this ensemble—the wig. Wrestling it onto my head was a feat of endurance, and as I adjusted it, I felt a strange mix of rebellion and regret. I reached for the fake glasses and perched them on my nose, squinting at my reflection. How did people convincingly fake terrible eyesight? I made a mental note to ask Mila later, assuming she wasn't already planning my funeral.

I adjusted the wig's fringe, tilting my head to examine the results. For a fleeting moment, I half-expected Silus himself to burst out of the mirror, ready to deliver a scathing lecture about how I was single-handedly destroying what little remained of his reputation.

My height, at least, worked in my favour. At five-foot-seven, I was close enough to Silus' five-foot-nine to pass—so long as no one stared too hard or paid too much attention to the finer details. I struck a pose and turned to Camila, who stood frozen, her mouth hanging open as though she'd witnessed a groundbreaking scientific discovery.

"Well?" I prompted, lowering my voice for effect. "Do I look like I'm about to ruin a sibling's life or what?"

"It's...uncanny. You actually look like Silus. I'm half-expecting you to demand pizza money and lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day."

I chuckled. "I'll take that as a thumbs up."

"No wonder you two are twins. It's like seeing double—except one of you is definitely more unhinged."

"Silus is the unhinged one, clearly."

"I wasn't talking about Silus."

I opened my mouth to fire back a retort, but the sharp knock at the door cut me off. Dad walked in, his eyes widening as soon as he saw me. "Silus? You're back!"

I cleared my throat, doing my best not to laugh. "Sorry to disappoint, Dad. It's just me, Silvia—your slightly more sensible child with superior decision-making skills."

He blinked, scratching his head as he struggled to reconcile what he was seeing. Instead of the disappointment I expected, a slow grin spread across his face. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd pull it off, but...I'm impressed."

Mila couldn't resist chiming in. "Like father, like daughter. Looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

He chuckled nervously, glancing between the two of us. "Let's hope your mother doesn't come back from the afterlife to see this. She'd have plenty to say—and none of it would be good."

With one last lingering look at me—almost as if he was still half-expecting Silus to emerge from behind me—he let out a resigned sigh and shuffled out of the room, muttering something about needing tea.

The door clicked shut, and Mila let out a low whistle. ""I guess this is real now. You. That wig. This insanity."

I gave her a mock salute. "All thanks to you, partner."

She rolled her eyes, though the grin tugging at her lips gave her away. "Right. Well, I'm heading home before this madness sucks me in any deeper. I still have my dignity—unlike some people." She pulled me into a quick hug before slipping out the door, no doubt relieved to escape with her sanity intact.

And then, it was just me—and the mirror.

The wig perched on my head like a bird's nest post-hurricane, and no amount of fiddling was going to make it look remotely natural. I sighed, debating whether to practise Silus' signature eye-roll or perfect his trademark nonchalant shrug.

This wasn't some costume or a passing whim. This was my reality now. I was shelving my own identity—at least temporarily—to step into the shoes of my brother, the one who couldn't even be bothered to show up. Typical Silus. Always leaving someone else to clean up his mess.

Still, I was doing this for Dad. For his peace of mind. Even if it meant risking my own. The knots in my stomach tightened, but I forced myself to focus. If Silus could make being a disaster look effortless, surely I could pull off impersonating one. How hard could it be to act like a walking catastrophe, anyway?