Chapter 1

The grease from the fryer clung to my hair, a familiar scent after an eight-hour shift at the taqueria.

Dad always said his investments went south, then Mom left.

That's how I ended up in this trailer park on the edge of nowhere, Texas, with him.

He mostly slept or stared at the TV, muttering about bad luck.

School was a blur of trying to stay awake, then it was back to wrapping burritos, the heat of the kitchen a constant.

Kendra, my twin, lived with Mom in Austin. Different world. Private school, ballet, the whole nine yards.

I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Kendra. Rare.

She used one of those disappearing message apps.

[Hey Kylie. Got something for you. Might be a shock.]

Then a link.

My fingers fumbled, greasy as they were. I tapped it.

The screen split into two live feeds.

One was me, right now, leaning against the taqueria's back wall, grime on my apron. The other...

Mom and Dad, laughing, arms around Kendra on a plush white sofa. A mansion.

A banner ran across the bottom: "Double Track Lives: The Texas Sisters' Growth Experiment. Subscribers Only."

My breath hitched.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

[See, sis? They were never really apart.]

[And the business didn't fail. This is the business.]

The comments scrolling on the stream were a blur.

"Look at the poor one, so authentic."

"Kendra's got class. Environment is everything."

"Is this legal? Exploiting kids?"

"Who cares, it's entertaining."

My stomach churned. Six years.

Six years of this charade. My life, a paid spectacle.

I thought Mom took Kendra and just... left us. Left me with him.

But they were together. A happy family. Minus one.

The desert sun beat down, but a chill crawled up my spine.

Kendra's next messages popped up.

[You're the control group, Kylie. The one they didn't invest in.]

[Honestly, watching you struggle from our place in Austin... it almost makes me feel bad. Almost.]

My hand, holding the phone, felt heavy.

"Kylie! Tables need wiping, now!" Mr. Rodriguez yelled from the doorway.

Back to work.

Dad never gave me money. If he won a little at poker, maybe a few bucks.

This taqueria job, I begged for it.

Nine PM. Shift over. I walked back to the trailer, a zombie.

Summer in south Texas, no AC in this tin can. A furnace.

They wouldn't know. They'd be cool in their mansion.

The single bulb in the main room flickered. Probably about to die again.

Dad wasn't home. He was rarely home.

Now I knew why. He was with them. With his real family.

Did they ever think about me? The daughter sweating it out, alone?

Six years.

I looked around the cramped trailer. Cameras. They had to be everywhere.

A scratching sound from the kitchen corner. Rats.

Used to scare me. Now, just part of the background noise.

They were my most consistent companions.

I clicked the link again. My stream, the trailer, was still featured. High viewership.

The contrast was stark. My dim, cramped space. Their bright, sprawling villa.

My face, tight with exhaustion. Her face, so similar, glowing with happiness.

I was a rat too. Watching their perfect life from the shadows.