Chapter 2 CHAPTER TWO
AVERY
Breakfast at the Voss house had always followed the same script.
My parents hovered around Emery…asking about school, schedules, grades while occasionally throwing half-hearted comments in my direction about going back to school, being realistic, or having a backup plan. Sometimes they announced another business trip. Sometimes all three happened in the same ten minutes.
This morning, it was all three.
Emery and I sat beside each other at the long dining table, shoulders almost touching. Same face. Same hair. Same everything. I pushed scrambled eggs around my plate, appetite half-present, fork clinking softly against porcelain.
My mother’s eyes flicked between us mid-sentence. Once. Twice. Then she paused.
“Emery…” my mother said, her gaze flickering between the two of us. She paused, visibly confused for a second, her lips pursing as she tried to decide which twin she was addressing. After a beat too long, her eyes finally settled on Emery.
She sighed. “You both really need to do something about this. A visible change. It’s difficult to tell the difference between you.”
I froze, fork hovering halfway to my mouth
“Maybe start styling your hair differently,” she continued. “Or dressing differently. It would make things easier.”
I stabbed my eggs a little too hard. The fork scraped against the plate, sharp and loud in the quiet kitchen.
My father groaned in irritation. “Avery,” he muttered, without even looking at me.
I swallowed and forced myself to keep eating.
Normal. Calm. Whatever.
“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat, finally glancing up from his phone, “your mother and I will be traveling for business.”
That got my attention. I looked up. “Traveling?”
“A month,” he replied. “Possibly longer.”
“A month?” I repeated.
He nodded, already distracted again. “The Singapore deal needs hands-on supervision.”
My mother turned immediately to Emery. “You’ll need to take care of things while we’re gone. Focus on school. Make sure your brother sticks to his routine.”
Of course.
Five-year-old Jace was curled into his chair, cereal long forgotten. He was pushing his toy car through a puddle of spilled milk like it was an ocean, making soft explosion noises under his breath. Completely unbothered.
“Vroom,” he whispered dramatically, then looked up at me. “Avery, look. It crashed.”
As hard as it was for everyone else to tell us apart, Jace never struggled. Not even for a second. He’d always known which twin was which. Maybe it was because he was closer to me. We played together more. I walked him to school when I could, let him ramble about dinosaurs and superheroes, let him win games I absolutely could’ve dominated.
I smiled despite myself. “That’s tragic, buddy.”
He nodded solemnly, completely serious, then went back to rescuing imaginary passengers from the milk ocean.
Across the table, my parents were still fussing over Emery…school schedules, meals, expectations. Reminding her to be careful, to be responsible, to be everything they’d always wanted her to be. I tuned it all out. Their voices faded into background noise because my mind was already somewhere else.
A grin tugged at my lips
Tonight.
The showcase. The lights. The music. Elliot Vale.
Blackwell Heights looked almost the same as I remembered it.
Two years hadn’t done much to the place…same grand iron gates, same stone buildings standing tall like they had something to prove. The only real difference was the banner stretched across the front lawn, elegant and understated, announcing the Annual Conservatory Showcase in gold lettering. Soft lights lined the walkway, glowing against the night like the school had dressed up just for this moment.
My heart thudded as I stepped out of the car.
It was night now, the air crisp, the kind that made everything feel sharper, more real. Students were scattered across the entrance, dressed nicer than usual. Laughter drifted through the air, mixed with the distant sound of instruments warming up inside the auditorium.
All I had to do tonight was play it cool.
Blend in.
Be invisible.
That shouldn’t be hard. Emery wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. She kept to herself, stayed polite, stayed quiet. I doubted many people here even knew her well enough to question anything. And honestly, not everyone cared about music enough to show up. That worked in my favor.
I adjusted the strap of the bag on my shoulder and walked toward the entrance, forcing my posture to soften, my steps to slow.
Less Avery. More Emery. This wasn’t my first time pretending to be her and I’ve almost perfected the gentle act of being my twin.
Still, my pulse spiked when I reached the security checkpoint.
A long table was set up near the entrance, two staff members seated behind sleek laptops. A security guard stood off to the side, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Students stepped forward one by one, names pulled up on the screen, faces briefly scanned before they were waved through.
“Next,” one of the women said.
I stepped forward, forcing my breathing to stay even.
“Name?”
“Emery Voss.”
Her fingers paused over the keyboard. The screen reflected faintly in her glasses as she typed. Seconds passed. Too many seconds. Then she glanced up at me,really looked at my face and then back down at the screen.
My stomach twisted.
She leaned closer to the monitor, comparing whatever photo they had on file to me standing there in real time. I resisted the urge to shift under her gaze.
Finally, she nodded. “Grade twelve.”
“Yes,” I replied quickly, then caught myself. Softer. Quieter. “Yes, ma’am.”
She reached for a wristband, scanned my student ID number on the screen, and slid it toward me. “Enjoy the showcase.”
I stopped just inside the entrance, breath caught somewhere between my ribs.
God.
This was it.
Blackwell’s conservatory auditorium was nothing like the cramped recital halls I was used to. The ceiling arched high, elegant and intentional, with chandeliers hanging low enough to glow without blinding. The stage stretched wide and proud, curtains drawn back just enough to tease the grand piano sitting center stage. black and glossy.
The air buzzed. Not loud, not chaotic. Just… alive.
Students filled the seats in quiet clusters,
murmuring, laughing softly, flipping through programs. I moved carefully down the aisle and chose a seat near the middle.
I sat, hands clasped tightly in my lap, pulse thrumming beneath my skin. The stage lights brightened, and a hush rolled through the room, settling over the crowd like a blanket.
The host stepped onto the stage…a poised woman in a sleek black dress, her voice smooth as she welcomed everyone to the Annual Conservatory Showcase. She spoke of talent and opportunity, of passion and discipline, of futures beginning tonight.
My chest tightened.
Then she said his name.
“Please welcome our special guest….internationally acclaimed composer and pianist, Elliot Vale.”
The applause was immediate..
I stood without realizing it, clapping so hard my palms stung.
Elliot Vale was… unreal.
He looked exactly like he did in videos…but better. He wore black, simple and effortless, his guitar slung easily over his shoulder like it was an extension of him.
When he sat at the piano, the room held its breath.
The first note shattered me.
It was soft. A whisper of sound that curled through the air and wrapped around my heart like it knew exactly where to land. Then another. And another. The melody unfolded slowly, deliberately, building into something achingly beautiful.
I forgot where I was.
Forgot the lie. Forgot Emery. Forgot everything except the music pouring into me, filling spaces I hadn’t realized were hollow.
Tears burned behind my eyes.
This…this was why I’d burned bridges. Why I’d disappointed my parents. Why I’d chosen the uncertain path over the safe one. Music wasn’t just sound.
It was truth.
When the final note faded, the room exploded.
I clapped until my hands shook, chest heaving, a smile breaking across my face that I couldn’t stop even if I tried.
“Wow,” a voice drawled beside me. “I had no idea Madeline’s plaything was so invested in music.”
I stiffened.
Just when I thought I could make it through the night without being noticed.
