Evil Twin

                My name is Amy and I have an identical twin sister named Emma. We used to be a unit, a set, until a couple years ago around the time we turned 15 and she started to hang out with the snotty people at school. She stopped talking to me around that time.
         This morning, I was about to leave to go visit our grandma when Emma waylaid me and asked me to drop her off and pick her up at the mall on my way to grandma’s and I agreed. But just as we were walking out the door, she had the idea to go into a picture booth at the mall and get a couple shots of us together. I was so happy that she was taking to me and suggesting something similar to what we used to do, that when she proposed we should both change into one of the many outfits our mom had bought us to match and I thought, why not?
         On the way to the mall, she started to talk to me. She told me that she was going to be hanging out with some new people and when she said who, I freaked out because they were known as being trouble makers around the school. She waved me off, dismissing my concern about them being bad influences and as I pulled around in front, hopped out of the car, leaving me alone.
         I had a nice time talking to grandma, and when it came time, said I needed to leave to pick up Emma.
         When I got back to the mall, I called Emma who told me where she was and invited me to come join them. When I got to the store she had named, I couldn’t find her or her new friends. I called her cell phone but she didn’t answer. There was a bench outside the store so I started toward it when two chunky security guards pointed at me and started lumbering towards me. I stopped and waited for them, out of breath, to get to me. When they stopped panting, they panted that I was under arrest for shoplifting, and when I couldn’t turn up the items, actually handcuffed me and lead me to the mall jail.
         Incredulous, I tried telling them that they had the wrong person, but they wouldn’t listen. Not even when I said that I needed to call my sister to explain that she needed to catch a ride with her friends back home. They were unsympathetic to my plight, way too excited to actually be reprimanding a “subject.”
         Finally, I got to the mall police area, and they let me call my parents. I tried to explain to my ever-skeptical mother what had happened, but as is her nature, she didn’t believe me, especially when the evidence was mounting against me, as they had footage of someone looking just like me stuffing some jewelry into her pocket and walking out the door. She yelled at me for a while before I risked asking if she could come get me; she refused, huffing out that I deserved to be there for as long as it took. Insisting that this was something I would have to get used to if I was going to lead the life of a shoplifter.
         Finally, I asked her if she could at least call Emma to explain where I was and why I wouldn’t be able to drive her home. Sounding, if possible, even more like a snarling mountain lion, she spit that Emma was already home. Her friends had brought her and she didn’t know why I was so worried about her any way when it was obvious that I didn’t take anyone else’s feelings into consideration with my actions. Blocking out my mom’s ranting, I was shocked. How had Emma gotten home already when I hadn’t been at the mall for 15 minutes? I asked to talk to Emma and my mom let out a very frustrated and extremely angry sound and handed the phone to Emma.
         I asked Emma how she had gotten home so quickly and in response, she asked how my outfit was working for me. I froze, poised with the question on my lips, but I heard a click before I could say anything.
         I hung up the phone and sat down in the sad plastic chair to wait until I could leave. It really should have been plain to me from the time I saw the security guards lumbering toward me. She had set me up. This wasn’t some stupid, innocent little prank any more. This was permanent-record worthy and she knew it. She had set me up. Why, I didn’t have the faintest idea, but she had. And there I was, sitting with a nice view of the chubby officers’ backsides piecing together the puzzle. I decided I was going to kill her, my sister; as soon as I got home, and then they might have a good reason to put me in a hard plastic chair at mall-prison. And if they understood, maybe not, because this murder might constitute a social justice.