“I can be good at anything I want,” I explained proudly. “I just need to apply myself.”
I smiled impressively and took another swig from the bottle of fermented seaweed. It was my fourteenth birthday and I was drunk. Or rather, it was our fourteenth birthday.
My brother and I were sitting on railings at one of the entrances to the passenger cannon, suspended hundreds of feet above the Atopian beaches. The steady thwump, thwump of the cannon discharging its nightly cargo shipments reverberated powerfully in the air around us. We weren’t supposed to be here.
“How did you override the security controls again?” asked my brother.
“Easy as pie!” I boasted. “Get your proxxi in here, I’ll download the details and show him.”
My brother looked away towards the breaking surf below.
“You always want to explain it to my proxxi,” he complained.
“Come on, seriously?” I chuckled. “You know you’re not good at security stuff.”
“I’m not good at anything,” he replied quietly. “How is it possible that you have such an easy time with everything, but I struggle so much? Aren’t twins supposed to be the same?”
“We’re not identical twins,” I laughed.
He looked hurt.
“Hey now, come on. Don’t exaggerate. You’re like the funniest guy I know. That’s a gift!”
He sighed. “It’s the same with everyone. Everyone wants to talk to my proxxi.”
“That’s not true, come on.”
He sighed again, but then he brightened up. “But you are amazing, Bob. You can do anything.”
I smiled. “See? Now that’s the spirit!”