Silvia

The morning sunlight streamed into my bedroom, gilding the room in a warmth that felt entirely at odds with my current predicament. It was as though the universe, with its maddening sense of irony, had chosen this golden glow to herald my grand debut at Winterwood High...as Silus. Suffice it to say, optimism wasn't on my morning agenda.

Standing before the mirror, I adjusted the ridiculous spectacles perched on my nose and wrestled with the wig that seemed intent on defying gravity. Every strand had its own ambitions, and none of them aligned with the modest hairstyle I was attempting to emulate. If wigs could mock, this one was winning.

Tightening the tie around my collar, I sighed as reality made its entrance. I was about to embody Silus—a boy who would sooner turn this tie into a slingshot than wear it properly. Loosening it slightly, my hands trembled, not just from nerves but from the sheer absurdity of the whole situation.

My existential musings on neckwear were cut short by the creak of the door. Dad stepped inside, looking as though he was gearing up for battle rather than sending his daughter-turned-son off to school.

"Are you sure you'll be alright, Silvia?" he asked, his voice as strained as the knot of my tie.

"I'll be fine, Dad. Just trust me," I said, offering him a smile that probably resembled more of a grimace.

"If anyone says anything unkind, don't let it get to you. They're upset with Silus, not you."

"Thank you for that riveting pep talk. I'll bear it in mind while I attempt to navigate the high school jungle. I'm sure the lions and tigers will be most understanding."

He gave me a look—part hope, part dread, and outright uncertainty. "You'll do great," he said, though his expression added, I think, as if he were praying I wouldn't bring the family name into disrepute before I even reached the gates of Winterwood.

I watched him leave, exhaling slowly. Convincing him had been step one. Convincing myself? That was an entirely different ordeal.

Stepping outside, the cerulean sky stretched endlessly above, completely unbothered by the trials of mere mortals. It was almost offensive how serene it looked, given the swirling chaos inside my head.

Despite the morning's mild air, beads of sweat formed on my forehead, as if in rebellion against my carefully crafted disguise. I wiped it away hastily with my sleeve, though whether the blame lay with the wig or my ever-growing anxiety, I couldn't quite decide. Perhaps the two had joined forces in some cruel bid to expose me.

Winterwood High was, under ordinary circumstances, a short and unassuming fifteen-minute walk. Today, however, it stretched before me like an arduous trek across uncharted lands, each step weighed down by the pounding tension in my chest. The fluttering butterflies I'd woken up with had evolved into a stampede, trampling every ounce of confidence I'd managed to muster.

What would people think when they saw me? Could I summon even a fraction of Silus' effortless nonchalance, or was I destined to trip over my own shoelaces and introduce myself face-first to the nearest bush?

Standing before the open gates, the bold lettering of "Winterwood High School" loomed overhead, daring me to blend in as Silus. This place was a far cry from Rosecrest College, where uniforms were impeccably tailored and lunch conversations revolved around the merits of obscure poetry or theoretical mathematics. Winterwood, though reputable in its own right, carried an edge that was decidedly less refined. I could only hope it resembled a school and not some modern-day gladiatorial arena.

My backpack clung to my shoulders, the straps threatening to sever all circulation to my arms. I stood frozen at the gates, my body apparently deciding this mission was absurd and refusing to participate further.

Nearby students cast curious glances in my direction, their whispers buzzing in a way that felt both distant and all too personal. I could only imagine the commentary: "Is that Silus or a slightly disorientated mime?" or worse, "Has Silus finally decided school is a thing?" I prayed they were too consumed by their own dramas to notice the cracks in my disguise—namely, the suspiciously stiff posture and the faint sheen of panic on my face.

A light tap on my shoulder jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to find Mila standing there, looking effortlessly radiant as always. Somehow, she managed to make the school's dark blue skirt look like high fashion, while I stood there suffocating beneath layers of bandages and polyester.

"I'm fine, Mila," I assured her, attempting a conspiratorial wink that likely came off more like a nervous twitch. "Remember, we're sworn enemies now—for the sake of the charade."

"I know, but I can't help being a little worried," she admitted, her eyes darting around as if someone might overhear us. "What if someone figures it out? What if Silus' charming reputation gets to you first?"

"Please," I said, puffing out my not-so-impressive chest in mock bravado. "If I can survive our family dinners without losing my mind, I can handle a room full of teenagers."

Her lips twitched into a smirk. "Lucky for you, Silus is in my homeroom—Room Twelve. Try not to blow your cover before first period ends. If you do, I'll have no choice but to pretend I've never met you."

"Consider it done." I struck a pose that might have made Silus proud—assuming he didn't keel over from second-hand embarrassment at my antics.

She chuckled, but her eyes flickered around again, her grin giving way to genuine concern. "But seriously, if things go south, channel your inner Silus. You know, the version of him who acts like he couldn't care less about anything?"

"Ah, yes, the quintessentially apathetic brother. Should I also perfect his signature scoff for maximum authenticity?"

"Don't forget the iconic Silus shrug—it's the cornerstone of his 'too cool for this' personality."

As I practised scoffing and shrugging, I noticed students glancing our way, their curious gazes flitting between Mila and me. I could almost hear their internal monologues: "Is that Silus with Camila? Are they secretly planning a promposal?" or perhaps, "Did Silus finally hire a tutor for basic social skills?"

Turning back to her, I lowered my voice. "Alright, enough practice. First, I need to see the principal."

She pointed towards the direction of the school office, her finger serving as a makeshift compass through the maze of educational bureaucracy. "Principal Cronin is his name," she said. "Word on the street is he can sniff out forgotten homework before you even step foot in his office. Good luck, Silus Jr."

I offered her a mock salute, mustering a shaky grin before stepping through the entrance of Winterwood High.

The hallway stretched out before me, a chaotic artery of student life. It was alive with energy—stories being exchanged, whispers of the latest drama, and the occasional shouted phrase that seemed to lack any coherent context. Brightly coloured posters announcing upcoming events were plastered haphazardly on the walls, though history suggested participation would likely be minimal at best. The mingling scents of deodorant and teenage sweat formed a concoction that was both energising and mildly nauseating. Lockers slammed shut like battle cries, punctuating the daily skirmishes of high school.

I waded through the sea of students, doing my best to blend in, though I couldn't shake the nagging worry that I resembled more of an awkward imposter than my indifferent brother. Glances flickered my way—some curious, some sceptical—and I felt their silent scrutiny tightening around me like a boa constrictor.

Each step felt like crossing a tightrope, the abyss of social disaster yawning beneath me. My pulse thudded in my ears, but I pressed on, reminding myself of my mission: to embody Silus, to step into his world seamlessly.

When I arrived at the office, the reception was as frosty as a winter morning. The staff member behind the desk regarded me with an expression that could only be described as disdain thinly veiled beneath a veneer of professionalism. She sized me up as though I were moments away from inciting a riot in the cafeteria.

"Well, well, if it isn't the notorious Silus Arias," she drawled, her politeness slipping faster than my confidence. "Here to see the principal, I presume? Should I call the fire department now, or will it be a slow burn this time?"

I swallowed my nerves and forced myself to stay calm. As Dad had warned, this disdain was directed at Silus—the brother whose concept of "indoor voice" simply meant yelling at a slightly lower volume.

I nodded meekly, all the while wondering if Silus had somehow broken a school record for most detentions before lunchtime. Perhaps they should create a trophy in his honour—something sophisticated like a golden rubber chicken.

The staff member rolled her eyes with such ferocity, I feared they might roll right out of her head and land on my shoe. "I'll let him know," she huffed, rising from her desk and marching towards an imposing oak door.

A calm, authoritative voice called from within, "Come in."

She held the door open with the solemnity of a gatekeeper to the underworld. Taking a steadying breath, I stepped across the threshold and into the principal's office.

Principal Cronin sat behind a desk so polished it practically glowed, his posture immaculate, his demeanour imposing. He didn't just occupy the space—he ruled it. His sharp gaze flicked towards me, dissecting me with the efficiency of someone who had seen it all—twice.

He appeared ageless, the sort of person who could be anywhere from his late thirties to early fifties, depending on the lighting and his mood. Faint crow's feet marked the corners of his eyes, hinting at either hard-earned wisdom or an excess of sleepless nights spent wrangling school budgets and disciplinary reports. His facial hair, meticulously groomed and devoid of grey, framed a jawline capable of cleaving through the excuses of the most seasoned troublemaker. His perfectly styled hair suggested a commitment to his job—seriously, not a strand was out of place, as though he had a stylist on standby at all times.

Yet beneath all that polished perfection, there was something inscrutable in his eyes. It was the look of a man who seemed to have survived one too many cafeteria food fights and endured more illogical teenage alibis than any principal should endure.

The room settled into an uneasy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the computer, which sounded as though it might start typing its own resignation letter. I eased into the chair across from the principal, feeling the intensity of his eagle-eyed gaze. It was as though he could see right through me, peeling back each layer of my carefully crafted disguise. I swallowed hard, hoping it didn't echo in the oppressive quiet.

Cronin shattered the silence with a voice that could calm a storm. "Silus, I'm aware of the challenges your family is facing, particularly at this stage of your life. This time, I won't throw the book at you. But remember, should lightning strike twice, the thunder won't be so forgiving. I don't condone your antics, but I'm always here to help. If life throws you another curveball, my door is always open."

His unexpected show of empathy left me momentarily stunned. I'd braced myself for a verbal lashing, not...this. I was also impressed by his ability to weave multiple idioms into a single breath.

I lowered my voice, doing my best to mimic Silus' tone of reluctant compliance. "Sorry, Sir. I won't let this happen again."

A brief smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and his sharp gaze lingered, as if he were trying to pierce through the thin veneer of my act. Or perhaps he was simply wondering why Silus, notorious for his devil-may-care attitude, was suddenly exuding this much politeness.

He cleared his throat and issued a final directive. "Well, off you go, Silus. I wouldn't want you to be late for homeroom."

As I exited the school office, it felt like I'd barely survived an intense round of Are you Smarter Than a Principal?, where the stakes weren't just my grades but my entire cover. Cronin's stare alone could probably make even the most rebellious student rethink their entire life plan.

Then the bell rang—sharp, jarring, and unmistakably ominous. What had started as a brisk walk quickly escalated into an ungraceful dash, my bag bouncing awkwardly against my back. By the time I reached Room Twelve, I was gasping for breath, clutching the doorframe for support.

And yet, I was still late.

Standing in the doorway, I felt the entire classroom's attention shift towards me. Their stares pressed down like an uninvited spotlight, illuminating every flaw in my attempt to be Silus. The air buzzed with curiosity, scepticism, and a hint of amusement, as if they were collectively waiting to see how Silus Arias, master of apathy, would explain this grand entrance.

The desks were spaced out in neat rows, each one a fortress of individuality. The students sat like sentries, guarding their personal worlds from prying eyes—or from Silus, who they likely viewed as an invader rather than a peer.

At the front of the room, Miss Cowan sat behind her desk, her expression radiating the wearied frustration reserved exclusively for repeat offenders. Her bun, pulled so tightly it looked ready to snap at any second, seemed a perfect metaphor for her dwindling patience. "Late again, Silus?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "What's your excuse this time?"

Panic prickled at the back of my neck, but I bit it down. Silus wouldn't panic—he'd deflect, shrug it off like it was nothing. "You wouldn't believe it," I said, feigning casual disbelief. "The restroom door had a mind of its own and wouldn't open."

A ripple of laughter spread through the class, but it wasn't the light-hearted kind. My cheeks burned as a few students exchanged glances, their smirks unmistakably mocking my excuse's sheer absurdity.

Miss Cowan's sigh was the kind that could deflate an entire classroom. "Just take your seat, Silus," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "And next time, try not to let the door outsmart you."

As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on an empty desk that could only belong to my brother. It sat towards the back—strategically positioned far enough from Miss Cowan's line of fire, yet close enough to ensure he wouldn't be the last one out if a fire broke out. Likely one caused by Silus himself.

Summoning every ounce of confidence I didn't feel, I strode towards the desk, doing my best to ignore the curious stares that followed me like an unwelcome entourage.

A few seats away, Mila sat, her face a picture of poorly concealed amusement. Her hands were clasped together, her shoulders shaking with the effort to keep her laughter in check. The guilt in her eyes was almost endearing, though it did little to soften the fact that she'd sent me on a wild goose chase through the halls. I shook my head at her in mock exasperation, silently accepting that trusting her for navigation was like handing a compass to someone who only ever walked in circles.

Sliding into the seat, I exhaled quietly, finally letting my guard down. For a moment, I thought I might actually get a reprieve. But that fragile peace didn't last. A prickling sensation crawled up my spine, the undeniable feeling of being watched.

Unable to ignore it, I glanced over my shoulder, and there he was—a boy seated directly behind me, caught in the act of sneaking a glance my way. Our eyes met, and he snapped his gaze away so quickly it was almost suspicious. But it was too late—I'd already seen him.

His sleek, black two-block haircut, along with his deep brown eyes—so dark they nearly blended with his pupils—stirred something in me, an almost electric jolt of familiarity.

My breath hitched as realisation washed over me. That face...I knew it. A figure from my past, one I had forgotten—until now.