Archive of Our Own

Jordan Hennessy had always known that her mother, sooner or later, would ruin her life. The only question left unanswered had been the how, exactly?

Once, a younger version of Jordan Hennessy had spent a week freezing in her mother’s art studio, sitting model in nothing but a thin, white dress, not asking for bathroom breaks, not asking for lunches or dinners, not asking for naps, not asking for a sweater, especially not asking to see her mother’s progress with the portrait. 

Said young Jordan in White had been left, abandoned, locked into the studio as soon as Bill Dower had come home and snatched J.H.Hennessy’s attention away. 

This is it, Jordan Hennessy had thought, This is how, but she hadn’t meant playing second fiddle in her own mother’s life, and she hadn’t meant the cold, or the hunger, or the lack of apology afterwards. 

This is it. This is how, Jordan Hennessy had thought with her mother’s unfinished painting in her hands. A messy, uninspired, unoriginal attempt, nothing more. 

This is it. This is how, she’d thought, grabbing brushes and starting to mix colors, working all night long to create Jordan in White, her very first forgery.

In retrospect, Jordan in White had not been it. Had not been how. 

Only a short while ago, the second this-is-it moment had rolled around. The chances of her mother doing something truly disappointing to her, at that point, had been very slim. But maybe Jordan Hennessy had simply underestimated the woman’s willingness to make everything, everything , infinitely worse. 

There had been a gun, a white wall, blood sprinkled everywhere, some brains. There had been a lifeless J.H.Hennessy as well, but it had been hard to think a thought other than this isn’t the worst of her work, actually.  

In retrospect, Brains on a Wall had not been it, either. Had not been how. 

Probably, in some years, or two weeks maybe, who knew, Hennessy would realize that this was just another not it, not how. Not every new low-point in life could be the lowest point. If her mother had, if indirectly, taught her anything, it was that. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit like her mother’s ghost was paying her a visit, breathing cold air against her neck while Hennessy tried to sleep, whispering in her ear how this is just the beginning, girl. Just you wait. This is just the beginning. 

In reality, this isn’t a dead mother’s ghost’s cold breath. The breath is warm against her skin, and steady in a way that calms her. In reality, there’s nobody else inside Hennessy’s bedroom in Bill Dower’s house except Hennessy, desperately trying to rest without sleeping, and the other girl, although “other” was not the ideal word to describe her. 

Jordan. 

She was more Jordan Hennessy than Hennessy, so it was only fair that she’d get the other half of the name. 

“I’m going by Hennessy anyway,” Hennessy had told her on the first day, “I don’t like being called Jordan much.” 

Jordan had tilted her head and looked at Hennessy like something was to be found in her face. “How strange,” she’d finally said. “I don’t remember what you have against it.”

Not strange at all, for a normal, sane and fully awake person. Personal memories shouldn’t be accessible from anywhere but the very own mind. But Jordan’s mind was Hennessy’s mind, as far as they knew. 

What had happened was this: Brains on a Wall. Nightmares. One nightmare, really. Over and over again. A thing. More than a thing. The worst thing her brain could have possibly made up. Every sleeping moment an attempt to escape the thing. And then, the escape. Hennessy wasn’t sure how, only that after the escape, there had been warm breaths against her neck. And a whole living person asleep in her bed.

This person looked so much like her that Hennessy, for a second, had thought that her soul had left her body. From the way her body curled around itself in her sleep to the coarse, unruly coils of her hair to the exact tone of her skin, everything was exactly right. Safe for the fact that this other Hennessy had been fast asleep, seemingly unbothered by dreams of blood and death. 

This time, the ‘This is it. This is how. ’ wasn’t something J.H. Hennessy had done or failed to do. This was her heritage. 

As a child, Hennessy had gotten a ferret named Cassett to play with, but even at an age young enough to still believe in Santa Clause and the tooth fairy, she hadn’t taken it seriously when her mother had claimed to have dreamt him. 

Now that Hennessy had fallen asleep alone and woken up next to an exact copy of herself, she knew that Cassett had been made of the same stuff as Jordan: a dream. 

It was the two of them now, Jordan and Hennessy, a dream and a dreamer. And a list of things they desperately needed to figure out: 

1. How to hide a second Hennessy from Bill Dower

2. How to hide a second Hennessy from the school

3. How to hide a second Hennessy from anyone who knew the first Hennessy 

4. How to hide the flower on Hennessy’s neck until she’d turn eighteen

5. How to do things other than sitting in Hennessy’s room all day

6. How to keep a dream alive

7. How to sleep without dreaming another copy

They wrote this list on a piece of paper and kept it in the top drawer of the nightstand. But in Hennessy’s mind, the list went on: 

8. How to keep my clone out of my own head

And finally: 

9. Is she my new best friend or my worst enemy?

*

Acne. First crushes. Period cramps too bad to stand upright. Hair growing everywhere. Hair growing back even thicker after removing it. A father not even trying to be a dad. Pop quizzes. Boys half her size with egos as big as their parents’ houses. Just a few examples of problems Hennessy should have been dealing with at this point in life. 

Jordan. The one thing occupying Hennessy’s mind all day, every day. 

It wasn’t entirely bad to have a clone. It presented new challenges every day, but it also meant that Hennessy had someone to talk to who already understood. Who knew what she meant and how she meant it and why she thought that way. Who got all her references and could finish her sentences when she was missing words to put her thoughts into. 

She’d had friends before. She had schoolmates she was friendly with. She had people she liked to share a room with while they were all silently painting. She had one friend who’d met her mother. She had one friend whom she’d told about J.H. Hennessy’s suicide. With one friend she’d shared her fear of never being good enough to become an original artist. 

In the name of friendship, Hennessy had shared many of her secrets, but not with one and the same person. Nobody had ever gotten more than one or two, because she knew they were too much. Because she was the daughter of J.H. Hennessy, and that in itself was a whole sticky mess. 

Hennessy was glad that nobody had to deal with all of her. Nobody could possibly want that. Sooner or later, they’d leave her behind and be better off. 

With Jordan in her life, it was different. With Jordan, it was the other way around: There were few secrets Jordan didn’t already know simply because she was the same as Hennessy. 

It was scary and comfortable. She hoped they would spend their whole lives together. She wished one day Jordan would go back where she’d come from and disappear in one of Hennessy’s dreams. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to be alone with Jordan. She wanted to be not alone with Jordan. She wanted to go out with Jordan to introduce her to the world and the people in it. 

Most of all, she wanted to sleep. 

The alarm went off every twenty minutes. It was a compromise. Twenty minutes, sometimes, was enough time to dream, but so far, had never been enough to dream up something that could make it into the waking world. When the alarm sounded at three in the morning and every part of Hennessy’s body ached, she wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to set Bill Dower’s stupid house on fire. 

Instead, she sat up and watched Jordan sleep, because that was the only way to bear it all. Jordan and the way the moonlight made her skin glow. Jordan and the almost-smile she wore on her lips when they were relaxed during sleep. Jordan and the big, kinky ponytail. Jordan in a sea of purple sheets. 

How could the dream version of Hennessy look more alive than the real one? 

The alarm went off again, but Hennessy hadn’t slept. She was lost in thought, and then still in thought, but less lost. Arrived in creativity. She gathered a drawing pad, some pencils, erasers, some paint, brushes and sat in the chair that she usually reserved for worn laundry that wasn’t yet worn enough to be declared dirty. She clicked on a small light above her head and began drawing, suddenly not thinking about sleep at all. 

*

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Seeing Jordan all dressed up in Hennessy’s school attire shouldn’t have been strange, but it was. Although she had Hennessy’s face, Hennessy’s body and Hennessy’s hair, as the days turned into weeks, Hennessy started to see differences between them. Looking at Jordan didn’t always feel like looking into a mirror. 

“I told you,” Jordan shrugged, “I’m going to school.” 

Just because she’d told Hennessy so, did absolutely not mean it was going to happen. 

“No, you’re not. You’re either staying here in the room or you’re taking a walk while I’m in class. Either way, you’re making sure that nobody sees or hears you.” 

She can tell from the look on Jordan’s face that she might as well have not said anything at all. Jordan certainly wasn’t impressed. 

“Dude. You can’t dream a person into being and then not let them live. That’s not cool. I’m you. You get to go to school every day, and you complain about how boring it is all the time! Let’s take turns. Give me one good reason why not.” 

“You’re not me.” 

It was the only reason Hennessy needed, really. 

Jordan, that much was clear, disagreed. As if she knew Hennessy wasn’t going to stop her, she took the backpack, swung it over her shoulder just like Hennessy always did and blew Hennessy a cruel kiss.

“I am you. And that’s not my fault, dear. So save us both that look.” 

Hennessy hated her. She did. Taking Jordan out of her dreams had been an accident. One she hadn’t even known would be possible. At no point had she stopped to consider the consequences, to think about what it would be like, living together as two people, sharing one life. She didn’t agree to give anything up so that Jordan could have some slice of a human life, too. Just because school bored her, didn’t mean she was okay with Jordan sitting at her desk in her stead, writing in her notebooks, speaking up in class with Hennessy’s voice, having lunch with her gang. 

“We’re not playing this game,” Hennessy said. She was tired. She was so, so tired. But she wasn’t going to stay home and rest. 

“It’s not a game to me,” Jordan replied, looking serious. “I’m not your goldfish. You know best how smart I am. Don’t expect me to swim circles in my little bowl all day. I know everything you knew when you dreamt me, but now I’ve been in here for weeks while you get to go outside every day to learn new things. If it’s going to be like that forever, then why did you dream me at all, Hennessy?” 

Hennessy knew she shouldn’t be honest. She knew. And yet. 

“I keep asking myself the same question, Jordan.” 

Jordan rolled her eyes, and Hennessy knew in that moment that her copy was capable of the same resentment Hennessy herself was. What a great pair they were. 

“Well, I better get going. Don’t want to be late on my first day of school.” 

“You’re going to ruin this for me,” Hennessy warned. A growl, it almost was. She was too exhausted for politeness. Too exhausted to pretend. 

“If I ruin it,” Jordan answered with a smile, “it’ll be ruined for both of us. It’ll bring us closer together. Trust me, sis.” 

“If you call me that one more time, I will strangle you.” 

“You wish you could, sis.” 

Jordan winked and disappeared on the other side of the door to Hennessy’s bedroom, telling Bill Dower good morning while Hennessy, once again, fantasized about running amok. What had she done? What the hell had she done? 

*

A whole day home alone with nothing to do was long, very long. As someone who couldn’t allow herself to sleep for longer than twenty minutes at a time, Hennessy felt tortured by the hours creeping by. She thought about Jordan and all the small details they didn’t share, about everything that could potentially give them away. 

Realistically, Hennessy knew it was unlikely. Even if Jordan seemed obviously different, people would simply assume that Hennessy didn’t feel well, which was a given fact, pretty much, since her mother had killed herself not that long ago. 

Everything was going to be just fine, and yet, Hennessy couldn’t convince her mind to stop coming up with worst-case-scenarios. You would think that there could only ever be one worst case. But with a vivid imagination, there was always room for a worse-case, and a worse-case, and an even-worse-case. 

Because art, at least before Jordan, had always been the only thing powerful enough to distract Hennessy, she picked up her painting of Jordan surrounded by purple sheets. She took a brush, but the first stroke felt wrong already. As easy as it was to picture Jordan in her head, as difficult it seemed to bring her to paper. 

Hennessy took the mirror from the wall and positioned it near the bed so she could sit on the mattress, the sheets wrapped around her shoulders as she worked. It was the same face. It was supposed to be the same face. But it wasn’t. Not on her canvas. They were the same hands. They were supposed to be the same hands. But hers couldn’t relax the way Jordan’s could, and so they weren’t.  She stopped and tried approaching the painting from a different angle, and everything she did looked good, but not right.  

Hennessy looked up and at her reflection in the mirror. 

“How the fuck can I not do this?” She asked, but this face of hers that she was looking into wasn’t Jordan, and so she didn’t receive an answer. There was nobody to tell her to stop being a drama queen and start looking at herself properly. To point her to one or two details she could focus on to make the painting work, like Jordan could have. Alternatively, she would have done with a joke, even, or with being called silly, but she got nothing, because she was alone.

Hennessy had dreamt herself a clone, and she was still alone in the worst way possible; the way that makes you feel ugly and bitter, and like if you died today, life would go on tomorrow, and nothing would have changed. She threw a paintbrush at the mirror, but the mirror refused to crack. All she did was get purple sprinkles on the carpet. 

*

“I can’t sleep when you’re like that,” Jordan complained. Of course she would complain about not being able to sleep to Hennessy, who didn’t even get to be mad about the exact same thing. 

“Like what?” Hennessy asked. An unnecessary question, really. They both knew what Jordan meant. 

“Like a Hennessy,” Jordan said. Weirdly, this was the best way to put it. 

“Thankfully, I know a million ways to not be a Hennessy, so it shouldn’t be a problem to stop disrupting your precious beauty sleep.” 

Sarcasm always sounded better in her head before she said something. Out loud, it was nothing but sad. 

Jordan thought the same thing, but didn’t say anything. “Dude,” she said instead, “let’s go out. Let’s do something.” 

It was the middle of the night between Tuesday and Wednesday. Hennessy didn’t feel like doing anything. Then again, with close to no sleep for several weeks, Hennessy never felt like doing anything. 

“I have an idea,” Jordan said, and the idea warranted a grin, apparently. “Come with me.” 

So they put on pants and shoes, and Hennessy decided to stay quiet for some reason when Jordan took Bill Dower’s car key from its hook by the front door. They snuck out and Hennessy shook her head when Jordan unlocked the car and walked up to the driver’s side. 

“Don’t bother,” Jordan laughed, “I know you’ve done this before.” 

Hennessy frowned. “That was different. I didn’t steal his car for fun or because I couldn’t sleep. I was looking for- … something.” Looking for someone, but she didn’t add that part. Jordan probably knew about the night she’d gone looking for her mother, worried sick and scared shitless. Shitless enough to steal a car at eleven years old. But she’d found J.H. Hennessy. Not dead in a ditch, quite the opposite. She and Bill Dower had been having a fun night out, and nobody had cared much about the potential danger Hennessy had been in behind the steering wheel. 

“You know what? Fine,” Hennessy agreed. “But I’m driving.” 

“But I know how!” Jordan protested. 

“Scoot over!” Hennessy said. Her voice didn’t sound angry this time, and it didn’t seem tired. It sounded like she already knew Jordan would comply as she said it, and maybe because of that, Jordan did. Hennessy turned the key in the ignition and the engine came to life. It would be several more years until she would be legally allowed to drive, and she already knew she would love it. 

“Where are we going?” Jordan wanted to know. For someone in the passenger seat next to a teenage girl with no license and no functional sleep pattern, the lack of concern seemed almost insane. But Hennessy was the one in control of the vehicle, and not only was she not worried, she was euphoric, all of a sudden, adrenaline rushing through her veins and giving her something better than sleep. 

“The highway,” Hennessy said spontaneously, and off they drove, both smiling. 

*

Hennessy was lying on her back on the bed, legs propped up against the wall when Jordan came home from school, throwing a sandwich at her. Hennessy put her book away, sat up and actively reminded herself not to eat too fast. Hiding a copy of yourself  was incredibly difficult. Hiding herself so her clone could go out and experience the epic highs and lows of student life was something much worse. 

“You’re disgusting,” Jordan told her, but pulled some french fries out of her jacket and handed them over as well. Hennessy loved the greasy smell. 

“You’re the best.” 

The words barely made it out with Hennessy stuffing her face. 

“You have a crush,” Jordan said matter-of-factly. 

Hennessy didn’t stop eating. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Jordan knew her well enough at this point to understand her still. 

“I know I’m repeating myself, but you’re disgusting. I obviously didn’t mean on me. I’m talking about that girl from school. Jules.”

Hennessy froze. “What?”

“It was kind of funny, actually.” Jordan did genuinely look like she found it amusing. Hennessy did not. But as much as she wished Jordan would stop talking, Jordan kept on elaborating. “So Jules and I got paired as lab partners today, right?”

Oh no. Oh no no no. 

“So I looked at her,” Jordan explained, “and I remembered liking her. Like, liking her.”

“Please don’t tell me I gave you a crush on Jules,” Hennessy begged. 

“No,” Jordan shook her head, “I don’t feel it when I’m with her. I mean, she’s cool, but you know… Not like that. ” 

“Yeah,” Hennessy nodded. Had she had lighter skin, she would have turned red like a tomato. “Cool. Cool. Yeah, not like that. Obviously.” 

Jordan’s facial expression had gone from amused to highly entertained. She cleared her throat. “So, in conclusion, I don’t have a crush on Jules. But you do. Or did, at least.” 

“Did,” Hennessy said, nodding vehemently. Too vehemently to convince someone who knew her as well as Jordan did, probably. 

“Liar,” Jordan laughed. 

“I’m not!”

“Hennessy!” Jordan laughed out loud, now holding her belly and barely keeping it together. “Are you hearing yourself? Who do you think you’re kidding?”

“I’m not kidding!” Hennessy defended herself. 

Jordan started laughing even harder. 

“Jordan, stop it!”

But Jordan didn’t even think of stopping it. “Hennessy and Jules,” she sang, “sitting in the tree.” 

Hennessy threw fries at her. “Jordan! Stop. Stop it! Jordan!” 

“K. I. S. S.”

“I hate you.” 

“I. N. G.”

“I hate you.” 

“Honestly, I approve of her. She’s cute. You’d make a cute couple.” 

“Shut up! It’s not a crush.” 

“It totally is a crush.” 

“I’m going to murder you.” 

“And I’m going to be lab-partners with Jules. Oh, should I put in a good word for you?”

“Don’t you dare! You better not ruin anything for me with her!” 

Jordan took a deep breath and wiped a tear from her eye. More quietly, she said, “Ruin anything for you with her? I thought it wasn’t a crush.” 

This time, Hennessy really did feel like strangling her. 

*

Although she was aware that she was just having a particularly bad night, Hennessy couldn’t help but think that she understood.

She sat in the bed, looking down at Jordan, watching as Jordan slept, breathed, maybe even dreamed - peacefully, without interruption, without fear of waking up with something taken from one of those dreams. She picked up her painting, set it down again. Tried, stopped, started over, adjusted, reconsidered. Failed. Failed. Failed. 

When J.H. Hennessy had killed herself, Hennessy had already known that life could be awful. But death had seemed like a drastic measure to her. There had to have been something good among the bad, she’d thought. Something worth holding on for. 

There were good things in Hennessy’s life, of course. Jordan, as much as she was the opposite, was something good as well. But waking up over and over again, failing to paint over and over again, the good became hard to focus on. 

Hennessy wasn’t sitting in her mother’s art studio, but she might as well have been. She wasn’t working on Jordan in White, but she might as well have been. She was just as hopeless. Except, there was no Bill Dower in Hennessy’s life to make her feel better, if only temporarily. There was nobody for her to love to the point of stupidity. 

She understood, Hennessy thought. Not wanting to go on. Not wanting to wake up another twenty minutes later, and twenty minutes after that, and twenty minutes after that, and twenty minutes after that. Not wanting to try and try and try again with her art only to fail in a different way. She’d been a dreamer for a few weeks, as far as she knew, and Hennessy felt heavy and full and like she was about to go under. If her mother had lived like this her entire life, Hennessy couldn’t blame her for ending it. 

She wanted to, because it had meant abandoning Hennessy. But Hennessy had been abandoned already. She wanted to blame her mother, but she couldn’t. She understood. 

*

“It’s my turn going to school,” Jordan complained, but Hennessy had taken a page out of Jordan’s book and simply gotten up and dressed and ready so early that by the time Jordan was fully awake, it all looked like it was already settled. 

“I’m going to school today,” Hennessy said simply, like there was no other option. There wasn’t another option, really, because the previous night, alone with her own thoughts, Hennessy had gone to some truly dark places, and she needed to go outside and be distracted. 

“Fine,” Jordan sighed, “but I’m not just giving this school day to you, just so we’re clear. We’re switching. I get to go tomorrow.” 

“Whatever,” Hennessy replied. 

“I’m not your prisoner,” Jordan reminded her, and then immediately switched to, “Have fun at school, sis.” 

Hennessy did not have fun at school. Missing classes wasn’t a big deal to someone of her intellect, but missing conversations was. She didn’t appreciate Jordan telling her about everything she’d talked about with Hennessy’s classmates, because nothing made her feel as excluded as that, but in consequence, she was missing out. For lunch she ate the same thing Jordan had had the day before, earning judgmental looks for her choice. But all this would have been okay. She could have thought of all this as a side effect of two girls sharing one life, could have told herself nobody else would understand, and that was okay. But the day wasn’t done with her yet. 

“Jordan!” 

Henessy turned around. She’d been on the way to class, and she didn’t want to be late, but her body was quicker to respond to the voice that had called her than her brain. Which made sense as soon as she realized that it was Jules. 

“Oh. Hey.” Hennessy forced a smile. If Jordan was a copy of her, why could Jordan do this and look like sunshine reincarnate while Hennessy felt like an idiot?

“I listened to the songs you gave me,” Jules said. Her smile was slightly crooked and bright and, damn, beautiful. 

“Oh.” The songs you gave me. Hennessy tried her best not to get angry. It wasn’t Jules’ fault, after all. “Of course,” she said, “Did you like them?” Because what else would she say? 

“They’re all great! Wow, I never knew you had such good taste in music.” 

I sure do contain multitudes, Hennessy thought, if only you knew. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” she said. Because what else would she say? It wasn’t exactly like she could come up with her own things to talk to Jules about. Apparently, Jordan had done that for her already. 

“You said you had more that I might like, right?” 

Jules was looking at her, eyes expectant and wow, she stood really close to Hennessy. It would have been a dream come true, really. But Hennessy’s actual dream come true was Jordan, and Jordan had been messing with this one. 

“I could… come around sometime and we could listen to it together,” Jules said. “Only if you want, of course.” 

Hennessy couldn’t believe it. She was going to commit murder. And nobody would know, because nobody knew about Jordan in the first place. Except maybe Jules, who was standing there with rosy cheeks, shyly batting her eyelashes and hoping for a date with… well, Jordan. 

“Sure,” Hennessy replied. This should have been great. This should have felt like winning it all. “I’m not sure when I’ll be free and I kind of have to get to class right now, but I can text you.” 

“Cool,” Jules smiled, “cool, I’ll go, then. Um, bye.” 

“Bye,” Hennessy said. Instead of class, she went straight home. Fuck attendance records. Fuck everything. But mostly, fuck Jordan. 

*

“What have you done?!” 

Hennessy barely opened the door before she barged into her bedroom. She was almost certain that Bill Dower wasn’t home, but she was all out of fucks to give in case she was wrong. She’d been tired of secrets for a long time, but at that moment, she was especially tired of this one particular secret of hers: Jordan. 

Jordan wasn’t there. There might have been the sound of the shower coming from the bathroom, but Hennessy wasn’t really listening. Something had stopped her in her tracks, and if she’d been angry before, she was furious now. She didn’t feel like murdering Jordan anymore. She just felt like walking away. 

In the middle of the purple sheets on her bed was the painting Hennessy had started, and failed to finish. It was completed. It was perfect. Jordan looked less like a fake Hennessy and more like Jordan. Exactly like Jordan. Everything about her was just right, and although the painting showed her in her sleep, she seemed alive. The colors couldn’t have been better. The purple - Hennessy would have been delirious with pride if she’d created something like it. 

It looked better like anything Hennessy could have done. But worst of all, it didn’t look like a forgery of Hennessy’s work. This, Hennessy realized, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine, was a true original. 

She picked it up. On the backside, it said, in Hennessy’s handwriting, Jordan in Color. She tore it in half. 

“What are you doing? I just finished it!” 

Jordan stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her body, her hair still moist from the shower she must have been taking. 

“It was mine,” Hennessy said, willing herself to be calm. “I can do what I want with it. And I don’t want to look at it anymore.” 

“I spent the whole day on it!” Jordan pointed out. Hennessy could tell that she was feeling angry and trying not to sound like it, and she hated that Jordan was better at this attempt than Hennessy herself. There was a lot of hatred inside her at the moment. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Hennessy spit out. “Ever thought of that? Has it ever occurred to you that you don’t have to have everything that’s mine?”

“Why are you mad? You weren’t even working on it anymore. I thought you’d given up on it. I got bored. So I painted. What’s the big deal?” 

Hennessy huffed out a heavy breath. “So you got bored, huh? Bored? Were you bored at school when you showed Jules your stupid music and asked her to hang out with you?” 

“I did that for you,” Jordan said in the least friendly tone a sentence like that could be said in. “I can’t exactly not be nice to her in school if you want to have a chance with her, can I?”

Except Hennessy already didn’t have that chance anymore. Because Jules didn’t like Hennessy. Jules liked Jordan. 

“You know, I used to have a life without you!” Hennessy yelled. 

“I know!” Jordan yelled back. “You remind me daily!” 

“You can’t take it, okay? I don’t care about Jules, but you can’t paint my paintings and live my life. It’s my life, and you can’t have it!” 

“What can I have?” Jordan had her arms crossed in front of her. “Half of your bed? I know you didn’t want me, but I’m here. Deal with it.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” Hennessy asked. 

They were both quiet. She’d never said this out loud before. For one, because there was hardly any point. She couldn’t make the dreaming of Jordan undone. She couldn’t pretend like it had never happened. She’d been dealing with it because there had been no other option. But did she want to? Now that she knew Jordan. Now that she knew what it was like to be together like this. Was it something she’d choose? Was Jordan something she’d choose over her old life all on her own? In the moment, with all that anger over Jules and Jordan’s painting, Hennessy couldn’t think, couldn’t decide. 

“Fuck you,” Jordan whispered. She had that look on her face that Hennessy knew all too well. That you-won’t-catch-me-crying face. She grabbed a bunch of clothes, and then she stormed out in just a towel, everything else bunched up under her arm. With no concern about Bill Dower, or any of the neighbors, she stomped out of the house. Hennessy stood at the window, relieved and broken as Jordan and her big ponytail and her raised middle finger disappeared. 

*

At first, Hennessy had thought there couldn’t be that many places for Jordan to go. After all, Jordan’s mind was a copy of her own, so she wrote down every hiding and/or crying place she could think of, and started with the closest to home. 

It was stupid. It was all so stupid. It wasn’t like Hennessy wasn’t mad anymore. She very much was. She was so mad that it had made her cry into her pillow, and then slaughter said pillow with a pair of scissors. She’d sat on the floor in her room - in their room - and cut the sleeves and legs off every piece of clothing she’d given Jordan to wear. And all the ugly feelings inside of her grew, and grew, and grew even more, and eventually threatened to eat her up from the inside. 

It felt unfair that she was doomed to be a dreamer. She would always, for the rest of her whole life, have something to hide from the world. Even from people like Jules, people she liked and wanted to spend time with. 

The first few cuts of the scissors through fabric felt freeing - healing, even. But what she was letting out were the frustrations of a child that was helpless in the face of real emotions. Emotions other than anger. No, she wasn’t better off without Jordan. Not even for a day. And no, Jordan wasn’t better off without her, either. At least Hennessy didn’t think so. 

Stupid. It was stupid to fight with someone who was basically Hennessy 2.0. She hated Jordan for existing, but Hennessy had created her. She hated Jordan for every bit of space she took up in Hennessy’s life, but she hated her life more as it was empty. Jordan wasn’t going to be Hennessy’s best friend. She was simply Jordan, and Jordan was as much a part of Jordan Hennessy as Hennessy was. It was as simple as that. 

Almost as simple was the answer to the question of Jordan’s whereabouts. Not the first place Hennessy had thought to look, but in hindsight, the most obvious one. The art classroom at school. Not the one Hennessy and Jordan’s actual art classes took place in. A smaller one at the end of the hall, only known by true art nerds, currently wallpapered in John White Alexander’s works. Both Jordan and Hennessy loved them, and it wasn’t a thing where Jordan had to because Hennessy did. They loved them just like that. 

“I’m going to need you to come back,” Hennessy said. Why would  she beat around the bush? 

Jordan didn’t turn. She was busy looking at An Idle Moment. Or she was busy pretending like she was looking at it. The painting was of a woman sitting by a goldfish bowl. 

I’m not your goldfish. Don’t expect me to swim circles in my little bowl all day.

Life had been unfair to Hennessy. Hennessy had been unfair to Jordan. 

“Listen,” Hennessy continued. “You can be mad. I guess it’s not going to be our last fight. But good old Bill saw my flower today and as you can imagine, he wasn’t happy about his teenage daughter getting tattooed without his permission. I told him it wasn’t a real tattoo. That I’d wash it off. So I guess you’re going to have to have dinner with him at least once sometime soon.” 

“I don’t like him,” Jordan said. 

Hennessy didn’t like him, either. 

“Fine. Not dinner with Dad, then. What about Jules? I’m shit as a lab partner, and apart from that, I have no idea what songs you gave her to listen to. So I’m going to make a fool out of myself when I invite her over. You’re not going to let me make a fool out of myself in front of her, are you?” 

“You’re inviting her?” Jordan asked, one eyebrow raised. “Look who grew balls!” 

“Actually, I don’t know yet,” Hennessy admitted. “Would it make a difference? Would you come back if I did?” 

“Dude, I don’t care if you end up dating Jules.” 

“You put a lot of effort into that potential relationship for someone who doesn’t care.” 

“Wasn’t about her, though.”

“Yeah,” Hennessy nodded. “I get that now.” 

“Good.” 

“Good.” 

“I will come back with you,” Jordan said finally. It had been quiet for a while. Maybe she’d needed a moment to emotionally let go of the painted lady and her goldfish. 

Hennessy exhaled a lot of air at once. She hadn’t exactly expected Jordan to say anything different than exactly this, and still, there’d been a lot of tension in her body. 

Jordan raised a finger in Hennessy’s face. “I have one condition, though.” She pulled one corner of her mouth into a half-smile, which turned into a full smile, which turned into a full-on grin. 

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this condition?” Hennessy wondered, but she already knew she was up for whatever madness Jordan had planned for them. 

*

“You go get the keys,” Jordan whispered. They were crouching behind the car they were about to steal, again. Well, borrow. They were only going to borrow it for a little while. 

“Why me?” Hennessy whispered back. “It was your idea! And you’re the one who wants to drive!” 

“Because we had a deal, remember?” 

Hennessy rolled her eyes. They’d made that deal fifteen minutes ago, right before they walked back from school to get the keys. “Fine,” she murmured, but didn’t waste her chance to roll her eyes dramatically. 

Jordan pushed her out of the car’s shadow and Hennessy walked up to the front door. The good thing about a bad dad like Bill Dower was that he was not particularly interested in being a dad. It was ridiculously easy to do whatever Hennessy - or Jordan - wanted to do; most of the time unnoticed. 

Although she did have to suffer through a few minutes of small talk, Hennessy returned to Jordan triumphantly, car key in hand, offering it to Jordan, who smiled widely at her and said, with a wink, “Off to the highway.” 

Between An Idle Moment by John White Alexander and a moment that wasn’t at all shared between Jordan and Hennessy, the sun had started to set and was now painting the world orange. Jordan opened the windows and took Bill Dower’s sunglasses. 

She looked cool with them, and she looked like Hennessy, and at the same time, she looked so unlike Hennessy that it seemed silly of other people not to notice they weren’t the same. 

Hennessy turned up the volume on the radio. The music wasn’t interesting enough for her to really like it, but to have music in the background at all seemed to fit the moment they were creating. Jordan hit the gas. Hennessy’s hair was everywhere, the wind tugging at it. They looked at each other and grinned. Jordan hit the gas again and they flew towards the orange horizon. 

Fear was not for dreamers. Fear was not for dreams.

Jordan laughed. “We could make a game out of this.”

*

“Hand it over!” Jordan said, wagging her hand, demanding Hennessy’s phone. 

“Dude, boundaries!” Hennessy replied. “We’ve talked about this.” 

“Not my fault you can’t ask out a girl on your own.” 

“Who says I can’t?” 

Jordan laughed out loud. “Well, do it, then. How long have the two of you been going to school together? How long ago was your conversation in the school hallway? She’s not waiting forever, you know.” 

Hennessy rolled her eyes. “I hate you.” 

“Love you, too, bro. Now start typing and stop deleting. Jesus, you’re so lost without me.” 

“I swear to you Jordan,” Hennessy said, leaning away from Jordan as she tried to take the phone out of Hennessy’s hands. “If you ever fall for someone, I will make your life hell.” 

Jordan shrugged her shoulders and followed Hennessy from the bed to the carpet on the floor, still trying to steal the phone. “I won’t fall in love,” she said. 

“Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that.” 

“I swear. I won’t. I’m watching you do it. It’s disgusting. I’m not planning to repeat all your mistakes.” 

“One day, you’ll fall for someone so hard, simply because you’re such a menace about this here right now,” Hennessy said. “Believe me, it’s karma. That’s how it works. And because you won’t leave me alone to do this, it’ll be like, the most boring person imaginable, too. It’ll be a white boy. Like, a rich white boy in a suit or something. And he’ll bore you to death. Mark my words, Jordan.” 

“You’re so stupid.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “If karma was a thing, there wouldn’t even be any rich white boys.” 

“Not a bad point,” Hennessy admitted, “but I’m still correct.”

“You’re right,” Jordan said, which threw Hennessy off guard for a long enough moment to lose the phone to Jordan, who immediately hit the send button. “No more deleting.” 

“Jordan!” Hennessy whined, “you sent half a text!” 

Jordan nodded. “And I fully intend to write the other half myself. We’re getting you that girl, sis.” 

“One of these days,” Hennessy promised, snatching the phone from Jordan’s hands and making a run for the bathroom. The lock turned and Hennessy yelled to be heard through the wooden door. “One of these days I will actually murder you.” 

“Keep telling yourself that,” Jordan replied. “Keep telling yourself that, little liar.” 

*

Jordan was asleep, because she could. Hennessy was awake, sitting next to Jordan’s curled up, steadily breathing body, watching her. It still seemed strange. Every time she let her gaze linger, every night she could do so without Jordan noticing, she found something new in Jordan that wasn’t Hennessy. But when she looked up from Jordan to the painting on the wall above the bed, the painting that had been carefully taped back together, that was still clearly torn but still complete, she couldn’t always tell whether it was Jordan’s face or her own that she was seeing. 

Jordan Hennessy in Color, she thought.