Chapter 1My family "accidentally" mix me up with my twin sister. AGAIN.
SEVENTEEN years of this shit.
Rewards? All Stella. Punishments? All me.
"Sorry honey, we just couldn't tell you apart."
Then SAT scores came out—Me: 1520. Stella: 920.
Mom swore up and down. "Cassidy, we're throwing you the biggest party ever. This time, NO MORE mix-ups."
I believed her.
WRONG.
Now, security blocks me at the entrance.
"Cassidy Monroe's already inside. Who are you?"
I ran straight to Damien—my childhood sweetheart—the ONLY one who'd never confused us.
"Damien, please—tell them I'M Cassidy!"
He yanked his hand back.
"Stella, I know you're jealous of Cassidy's scores."
"But she's your sister. Don't ruin her party."
Screw this face-blind game.
I'm DONE.
...
My lips trembled as I stared into his smiling eyes.
"Damien... it's me. Cassidy."
"You always said we're completely different—I'm quiet, Stella's loud."
"You'd never mix us up."
"Exactly." He ruffled my hair. "And you're the loud one, Stella."
Panic rising, I grabbed his hand.
"Damien, look at my hair. You went WITH me to cut it short."
"You said this way Mom and Dad would finally tell us apart."
Then I saw her.
Stella walked out arm-in-arm with Mom.
Same exact haircut.
She covered her mouth, laughing.
"Why'd you copy my hair, sis?"
"Did you think cutting it short would magically give you a 1520 too?"
My jaw clenched, nails digging into my palms.
"Stella, you were BEGGING me last week to tutor you for community college."
"Now you're stealing my identity?"
She tilted her head, all innocent. "Stealing? I AM Cassidy."
Desperate, I turned to Mom.
"Mom, I'M Cassidy."
I showed her my collar—where I'd embroidered my name on every single piece of clothing.
Because I never wanted to be mistaken for Stella again.
Mom's cold laugh cut through me.
"Stella, sewing your sister's name on your shirt won't make her achievements yours."
I hurriedly pulled out my ID.
Stella gasped.
"Mom! THAT'S where my ID went—she stole it!"
Blake stepped forward and snatched it from my hand.
"Stella, you've always pulled this crap because you're younger."
"Your sister scored 1520 and instead of being happy for her, you try to REPLACE her?"
They all turned away, protecting Stella to leave.
My heart sank.
I shoved past security and burst into the ballroom.
"Stella! You can steal my scores, steal this party—"
"But you CAN'T steal what's in my head!"
I pointed at her. "Recite the Quadratic Formula!"
"Spell 'conscientious'!"
"Name the first ten elements on the periodic table!"
Stella went pale.
"Um... hydrogen... oxygen...?"
"WRONG! It's hydrogen, helium, lithium—"
"You can't even answer BASIC questions and you expect people to believe you scored 1520?"
Guests looked from me to Stella, confusion spreading across their faces.
My fists clenched.
"You took my cake, my presents, my trips—FINE."
"But you DON'T get to take my achievements!"
I turned to Mom, Dad, brother.
Waiting for them to realize. Waiting for an apology.
Instead—
Mom charged down and slapped me across the face.
"Stella, STOP making a scene!"
My ears rang. Tasted blood.
I saw it in her warning eyes.
They'd known the girl standing on that stage was Stella all along.
I stumbled out of that hotel, tears streaming down my face.
Pulled out my phone with shaking hands.
"Professor Hayes? I've made up my mind—I'll go abroad with you."
Chapter 2
When Stella got home, she peeled off her coat and tossed it on the floor.
Mom shut the door and barked at me like always.
"Cas—Stella, your sister's exhausted. Go wash her clothes."
I took a sip of water and smiled.
"Mom, since when do I do laundry?"
"Cassidy's always been the one washing clothes in this house."
Mom's face darkened. "Fine. I KNOW you're Cassidy."
"But what about your sister? She scored 920—can't even get into community college."
I let out a cold laugh. "And?"
"So you give your Stanford spot to Stella."
"You retake the SAT next year. Easy."
"Stella at Stanford, you at MIT—imagine how impressive that sounds!"
Mom's eyes glazed over, picturing her two Ivy League daughters.
But why?
Why should I sacrifice years of sleepless nights so Stella could have MY spot?
Damien walked in carrying a gift box, heading straight for Stella.
"Ste—Cassidy, congrats."
Desperate, I grabbed his sleeve.
"Damien, you're pre-law."
"Tell them identity fraud is ILLEGAL!"
He glanced at my parents. Looked away.
"Cassidy, as long as you don't make noise, no one will find out."
"You two are identical. Even your fingerprints match."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"So you think I should just... hand over MY scores?"
The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.
"YOU pushed me to apply to Stanford so we could go to school together."
"YOU tutored me all summer."
"YOU said Stella and I were nothing alike—"
Damien sighed, cutting me off.
"Stella's just not cut out for school."
"So I encouraged you, then you would make it for her."
He gave me a pitying smile.
"You can retake it next year. We'll all still end up together. Win-win, right?"
My brother Blake patted my shoulder.
"Look, we'll replace Stella's strawberries and chocolate cake."
"And her new phone and laptop—we'll take you shopping tomorrow."
"Oh, and trips! Where do you want to go?"
"We did Yosemite and Yellowstone—both amazing."
I held up my hand.
"Wait."
"So you ALL knew. This whole time. You could tell us apart."
Silence.
Someone coughed. They looked away.
I laughed bitterly.
Everything—the cakes, the gifts, the trips—all meant for Stella.
When I told Mom my AC broke, she bought a new one... for Stella's room.
When I said my phone died, she promised to take me shopping... then handed Stella the latest iPhone.
I'd spent YEARS trying to prove I was Cassidy.
Their response? "Quit acting like a psycho."
When I demanded what was rightfully mine?
"Why fight with your sister?"
I laughed through my tears.
"You could've just TOLD me."
"Why send that group chat saying you got me a gift too?"
"You know I rushed home and sprained my ankle because of that message?"
Stella popped a cherry in her mouth.
"That's your own fault. Why blame us?"
I lost it.
"I've been treated like garbage for EIGHTEEN YEARS and I can't even be upset?"
Blake snapped.
"CASSIDY!"
"How DARE you talk to your sister that way!"
"We were going to take you for new family photos."
"But with that attitude? Stay home and think about what you've done."
Chapter 3
The next day, they went for family photos.
Posted them in the family group chat.
Two Stellas. Zero Cassidys.
Stella even texted me afterward:
[Don't be sad, sis. We look identical anyway.]
Right. Identical faces.
But I'd always been the responsible one. The one with straight A's.
So why did everyone always favored her?
My hidden camera gave me the answer.
"Mom, what if Cassidy refuses? What if she tells someone?"
Mom's cold laugh. "Simple. We'll just say YOU'RE Cassidy."
"But Mom... 'Cassidy' is such an ugly name. Why'd you give her that?"
Mom tapped Stella's forehead affectionately.
"The psychic said your sister was born cursed. Needed a plain name to suppress the bad luck."
"What about me?"
"You? You're our little lucky charm."
Mom pulled Stella into a hug.
My throat tightened.
I'd spent days wondering what I did wrong. Why they were so cold to me.
Maybe my personality wasn't likable enough.
Maybe living with Grandma Evelyn for a few years made us distant.
But the truth?
A psychic's prediction.
A lottery ticket test.
The day they brought me with them, they didn't win a thing.
Brought Stella? Won fifty bucks.
That's all it took.
I was the curse. Stella was the blessing.
Whatever.
I'd already ordered a new ID.
Professor Hayes handled my visa.
Just then, Mom opened my door. "Reporters are coming. Stay in here."
I nodded obediently. SAT prep books still on my desk.
She thought I'd given up.
Relief washed over her face.
Yhen she brought in some cherries—leftovers from Stella's snack.
"You always wanted to be Stella, right? Always complained we favored her?"
"Well, now you ARE Stella."
She handed me Stella's ID, smiling.
"Your sacrifice means everything to this family."
She walked out and gently closed my door.
Then—CLICK.
Locked me in.
Without a word, I tossed the cherries in the trash and started packing.
Opened my closet. Just a few pieces of clothing.
Each collar embroidered with crooked stitches: "Cassidy."
Tears streamed down my face.
Back then, I actually believed they couldn't tell us apart.
Outside, laughter and chatter.
Reporters interviewing someone who scored 920 on the SAT.
"Any study tips you can share?"
Stella, without missing a beat: "Read more, sleep more, snack less."
The reporters paused and forced laughter.
"Wow, so... practical."
After they left, Mom posted the interview in our 500-person family group chat.
Instant flood of praise.
[Cassidy, we should all go with you to Stanford! None of us have ever been!]
More relatives chimed in, wanting to tag along.
Stella cleared her throat.
"Sure! Mom and Dad rented me an apartment near campus."
"You'll have to help me move in though."
Then someone asked:
[How did Stella do on her SAT?]
Mom sighed. "Stella's retaking it next year. But we believe in her."
The chat exploded with encouragement.
Only Grandma Evelyn called me, voice tight with worry.
"Cassidy... I saw the interview photos."
"That's Stella, NOT YOU. What's going on?"
