Page 2 of Two Is Better Than One

"Because Al left?"

"Yes."

"No, it's not the reason. I wanted to like Russ," I said. "I tried, I just couldn't get used to him."

"You could have talked to Al about it before you sent an email. He could have possibly worked it out with someone else."

"I could've but I didn't," I said. "Those two are partners, and I'm not going to get nit-picky and try to explain why I don't like the guy. I'd rather just find someone else. I'm sorry it's right before a trip, but I wasn't going to travel with him. It's just awkward."

Brooks nodded. He wouldn't say any more about it. He tried to keep me from making emotional decisions, but ultimately, I made my own choices, and I didn't have to answer to Brooks for them. He would find us someone new, and it would all be okay. I took a deep breath feeling thankful for that. Brooks went to work, staring at his phone, no doubt already working to obtain a new security guard.

I walked over to my sister—my identical twin, Allie. She was my closest friend and constantly my saving grace. Allie and I were grown women in our twenties, and she still lived with me and went just about everywhere I went. I wasn't forcing her to stay with me, but I knew my world would not be the same without her.

I had already made enough money in my lifetime to retire. I was smart about finances and had already put my money to work for me, so ultimately, I could make it without my sister. But my life would have to change drastically if I didn't have her. I couldn't handle the pressures of such constant touring if she wasn't there with me. I had no idea how people did it when they were in my position and didn’t have a built-in support system and stand-in.

Allie and I secretly switched places every now and then, and pretending to be my sister was like coming up for a breath of air from the pressures of my life. The public eye was smothering, and I found a much-needed escape in pretending to be Allie for a few hours here and there.

She and I were the only ones who knew about this ruse. Even Brooks, my assistant and one of our closest companions, had no idea we sometimes switched places. It was a transformation we had been pulling off for years.

Allie dressed as me, I dressed as her, and she faked a migraine. I was prone to headaches, so it wasn't a stretch for me to maintain the story of unexpected headaches. Allie stayed in my bed with her makeup done to look like me and a blonde wig. She would take her laptop and get work done while I went out for a few hours. It was completely our secret. If anyone else in our life were to find out, we would no longer be able to pull it off.

I was only nineteen years old when I won American Idol. Our mom went on tour with us for the first year. We basically learned to trust no one but each other. Brooks could probably be trusted with the information by now, but we didn't tell him. We could have used the help with the wigs and makeup at first, but we had now transformed into each other so many times that we were pros at it.

Being identical twins, our natural hair was almost the same—straight and medium brown. I always wore mine a little shorter with plenty of blonde highlights, and my sister left hers dark and longer. Our hair was so different that some people didn't even think we were identical.

We never had our hair cut the same, and my sister often wore glasses. With wigs, glasses, and some makeup and mannerisms swapped, no one, not even Brooks, knew what was going on. It was something we did up to twice a week, especially when I was traveling, so that I could get a break.

I was thankful for Allie and I knew my story would not be the same without her. I had made my way over to my sister, and I sat on the other end of the oversized couch with her. She took out her earbuds when she noticed me.

"What did Brooks say about Russ?" she asked.

"What are you working on?"

"I'm proofreading a book. What did Brooks say?"

"He's just going to find somebody new. What book?"

"It's a romance," Allie said. "A spy, thriller, romance. Not in that order. Romance is first. What's going to happen about Miami? Are you getting someone else?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, Brooks will get someone else. I know it'll be okay. Even if he has to hire someone in Miami—the cops or whatever. We can find someone to hold us over while we're there, and then get someone permanent when we come back."

"Did Russ or Al email you back?" she asked.

I lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I sent the email from the account Brooks always checks. I won't see it if and when they email back. But I know they got the message because the code was changed on the gate this morning, and no one called. I told Brooks."

My sister lived there with me and Brooks was here all the time, so I was safe being here without a guard, but I had errands to run today before my trip, and Russ would have usually come over by now to go with me. Brooks was a decent-sized man, and he was in shape, so I figured he could come with me for an outing in Charleston. I would love to have a professional for our trip to Miami the following day, though.

The airlines were nice about letting me board flights early, and I always took a small group with me when I flew commercial. I pondered the thought of traveling alone with my sister and Brooks, and I wondered if I had made a mistake by dismissing Russ. But I knew I hadn't. I didn't like him. I didn't trust him.

"Would you come to the salon with me today?" I asked my sister. "I remember saying I wouldn't need you to come, but that was before I knew I was firing Russ. Brooks will be there, but I would feel better if you came with us, too."

She nodded. "I will. I can work while you're getting your hair done."

"Thank you," I said.

I was going to a salon when I could have my stylist color my hair at my home. It wasn't about trying to save money, I just didn't feel like stopping my life after I got famous. I was stubborn like that. I wanted to go to the salon and lie back in the shampoo bowl like a normal person.

"Summer, I got somebody," Brooks announced proudly from the other side of the room.

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