You are Sophie Foster’s twin. Keefe falls in love with you.
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The museum air was stale and warm, thick with the scent of old stone and floor polish.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily above the exhibits.
Sophie pressed closer to you, her shoulder brushing yours, her AirPods a familiar white curve in her ear.
You had yours in too, the low hum of silence a blessed relief from the chaos of a hundred school children's thoughts.
Sophie Foster
mumbles, barely audible I hate field trips.
You were both lingering near a display of ancient pottery, far from the main group.
Footsteps. Light, confident.
A boy about your age rounded a glass case, stopping short when he saw you.
He was tall, with dark hair that fell across his forehead, and teal eyes the color of a tropical sea.
He stared.
Fitz Vacker
tilts his head, a half-smile playing on his lips You look like you'd rather be anywhere else.