Damien didn't wait for the fall. He was already outside, soaring up from the ground with that impossible, effortless speed of his. He snagged Wayne by the back of his collar just as he cleared the ledge, holding him suspended mid-air like a deeply annoyed kitten.
Damien looked him right in the eye. "Never."
Wayne let out a long, theatrical sigh—the kind only a teenager who feels like the world is a stage can manage. "Fine. You win. Like always."
Damien hopped back through the window and set his twin's feet down on the worn carpet.
"Breakfast time," Damien said, giving Wayne's shoulder a light, encouraging smack. "Move it, or we're going to be too late to catch Tina."
Wayne rubbed his face, groaning. "Man, give it a rest. How many times does she have to tell you it's over?"
"She doesn't mean it," Damien said. He was already halfway out the door, fueled by that exhausting, stubborn optimism. "First love, Wayne. You don't just forget that."
"That was grade school," Wayne muttered, trudging after him into the hallway.
"Don't be so grim," Damien called back. "Just keep up."
Downstairs, the kitchen was still humming with leftover tension. The twins sat side-by-side at the table. Wayne gave a respectful nod to Mandy and a quiet, sincere "Morning, Dexter," but he acted like Wess didn't exist. Wess didn't take it well, staring Wayne down with a hard, ugly glare until the boys finished their food and cleared out.
They started the trek toward the local high school, which always required a detour past Tina's place. In Tina's mind, they were strictly friends—a boundary Damien treated more like a suggestion.
Standing outside her two-story house, Damien called out her name. His voice had this weird, unnatural clarity to it, powered by all that positive energy. Wayne just stood there beside him, shoulders hunched, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else on earth.
A curtain twitched upstairs. "I'm not ready!" Tina yelled down. "Five minutes!"
Damien grinned. "Take your time!"
The quiet of the street was suddenly shredded by the roar of an engine. A midnight-blue muscle car pulled up to the curb, vibrating with power. The guy behind the wheel was Tyrone—bigger, broader, and meaner-looking than Damien. He slammed his hand onto the horn, a long, obnoxious blast that felt like a personal insult to the neighborhood.
Damien spun around. "Hey, jerk! She said she's busy!"
Tyrone leaned out the window, a sneer plastered on his face. "Whatever. Hey, Tina! Get your ass down here now!"
Damien took a step toward the car. "Is that how you talk to her? She deserves a little more respect than that."
Tyrone's smile turned cold. "Butt out, pip-squeak. I'm getting tired of seeing you hanging around my girl. She's waiting for me, not your charity."
Tina practically fell out of the front door, still fumbling with an earring as she hopped down the steps. She wouldn't look at Damien. She just scrambled into Tyrone's passenger seat.
"See ya, Damien!" she called out, already clicking her belt.
Tyrone didn't even wait for the door to shut properly. He floored it. The rear wheels spun, kicking up a thick, choking cloud of dust and gravel that coated the twins.
Wayne stood there, coughing into his elbow and blinking grit out of his eyes. "You see?" he asked, brushing dirt off his shirt.
But Damien wasn't insulted. He was already calculating.
"Yeah, it's obvious," Damien said, his voice going hard. "He treats her like garbage. We need a car. Something fast. Then she won't have to ride with a prick like that anymore."
Wayne stared at him, floored by the irony. "You're unbelievable. You're supposed to be the guy made of pure light and positive vibes, but you're the most judgmental person I know. You spend all day 'saving' people and you're completely blind to your own ego."
They made it to the high school just as the morning buzz was hitting its peak. Tina and Tyrone vanished into the crowd.
As Damien walked through the main hall, it was like a path cleared for him. People were everywhere, shouting greetings: "Yo, Damien!" "Hey, how's the training going?" "Looking sharp, D!" He was like a magnet for every kid in the building.
Wayne followed two steps behind, hunched over and invisible in his brother's shadow—exactly where he liked to be.
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