"'When you come of age, in harmony you will be united with your one true partner'. All young adults, ages eighteen through twenty-one, who have not taken part in the Harmony Tests, will do so this Saturday at the Central Plaza Library at 8:00 AM. Do not be late."


~Josie~

The announcement rang through the town… and I swear I just died a little.
Oh crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap. I knew I would have to do this eventually… My eighteenth birthday just had to be today, huh? If it was tomorrow, I'm sure I would have been able to get out of it this year. I mean come, on! The Council usually let's us skip a few years if we want, but this time they are dang adamant about getting us to find our true match. I can't do it. I will inevitably disappoint whomever I end up with. I look horrible. My personality is horrible. The last test I would ever pass is the one for Miss Congeniality. I am freaking out here!!! Can't take it. Can't take it. Can't take–  
"JOSIE! Quit drumming that damn pencil and come back to Earth!" shouted ever-so-effervescent Elena, a close friend of mine. "You've been sweating up a storm and all but hyperventilating for the last three minutes. What's messed you up?" Her genuine concern for my well-being is one of my favorite of her qualities.
We were chilling at a table outside of Confectionate Café, a sweets galore café at the center of town right around the plaza, by the library. Studying… that's what we were really supposed to be doing. Our final exams are this Friday. After that, we're free. Until college a few months later. Something absolutely invigorating to look forward to.
I pushed a strand of curly brown and blonde hair behind my ear, "I'm sorry, Elena. But I seriously can't pull off that stupid Harmony Test. Nope. Uh-uhh. I would be a pretty piece of torture for whatever poor soul I was paired with." This is true, as I have mulled over a thousand times prior.
I'm whining, aren't I? Yeah, I suppose. I am no dream girl to anyone. I'm ugly. Horribly ugly.
"Dangit, Jo. Get out of that mindset." Whoa, is she reading my mind? "And there is no passing or failing. You end up with your perfect man according to the way you answer, no duh. So of course, you'll 'pull it off'. The right guy for you is going to love you for the beautiful girl you are! He'll think you're wonderful just the way you are now. After all, it's already a given that no guy could ever resist your big blue eyes." She touched my shoulder caringly and grinned.
"Aww, thank you. I…" I looked down, "I guess you're right." She has a point. I can't deny that.


~Jude~

As the Harmony Test announcement echoed through the building of the Confectionate Café, I turned to my brother Shane at the exact moment he began speaking, well, mumbling, through a mouth full of chocolate cake, "So, I managed to at least wait until I've turned twenty-one to take that stupid test. But I seriously will not agree with the outcome unless my match girl is hot as hell. Haa, Jude. You gotta take it now being eighteen." He laughed, "Watch your lady end up older than you." He really needs to shut his trap.
He's right, though. Most dudes wait at least two years to take this test for a greater chance of being matched to girl a year or two younger than himself for obvious reasons. There has never been an incentive for a guy to take the Harmony Test the year he turns eighteen. But well, I'm flat outta luck.
As I was about to respond to my dear brother, about five or so fan girls ran up to our table, "PRINCE JUDE AND PRINCE SHANE," intro-squealed the one with the bright red hair and the too-small Pepto-Bismol pink tank top garnished with iron-on pictures of our faces, "PLEEEEAAASE PLEASE GIVE US YOUR AUTOGRAPHS!" She was jumping up and down like a hundred times in a row. Jeeze! Can the chick not—gee, I dunno—use her inside voice? She was just about shrieking.
Okay, so yeah, my brother and I are part of the royal McKormick family that rules this small country, Avalon. We're like celebrities. Well, not like celebrities; we are celebrities. And contrary to popular belief, we can generally go out on the streets without being mauled by teenybopper fan girls. But every once in a while though, we are practically ambushed by AT LEAST five of these girls. They know not to touch or come too close to us; so, concerning being trampled to death, it is thankfully not a fear we will ever have to cherish as our own.
I handled it this time, "Sure, why not?" I took the marker and notebook she was ferociously waving around and opened it up to an empty page, "What're y'all's names?"
The pink-shirted fan girl smiled, "I'm Tiffany." She gestured to her four other friends who all pretty much look alike, "This is Clara, Annie, Chantel, and Melissa." I will never remember that.
I began to write my signature and add a cutesy little message I would once again never remember. After which, I handed it to Shane to do the same.
He snatched it with a smirk, signed it, and handed the stuff back to Tiffany, "Here you go! Nice meeting you girls!" he waved them off and they pranced away screaming and giggling simultaneously.
I stretched my arms and yawned, "This gets annoying real fast. Plus, concerning that dumb test, what if we end up with bubbly hyperventilating fan girls like that?"
He sighed, "Jude. Do not remind me." He shoveled another huge piece of cake into his face and began mumbling through that mouthful again, "If you do end up with a crazy ass fan girl, she'll be forever devoted to you! We can rig the test that way too! Make it happen, man. It would be frickin' hilario- I mean awesome. It would be awesome." That supposedly reassuring nod irked me dearly.
I took a sip of my mint chocolate chip milkshake, then wadded up my straw paper and flicked it at Shane, "Chew with your mouth shut. No, second that, try talking with your mouth shut."
He laughed, "It's just food for thought." Oh how punny.
"But no, seriously." He began after a swallow, "There's like three months between the test and the announcements, you know for accurate pairing off of the appropriately aged youth of the country. And since we're royalty, we are paired off first. I can manage to hack the Council's database and pull up our results immediately. We'll know our dream girls right off the bat." He snarled, "My girl just better be sexy."
I raised an eyebrow, "Oh, because her appearance is what truly matters most." The facetious tone drowned my words.
He pointed at me with his fork, "Hell yeah it does." He finished off with a huge smirk.
Nope nope… I don't want to know who my girl is so early on. What if I know her? Well, that's probably not going to happen. There's like a million girls out there. Still, why would he want to know who his girl is that early? Takes the fun out of anticipation and suspense, doesn't it?

I looked to my left at the wall made of mirrors, the light from the diamond chandelier cascading down upon myself and the others around me. The light hit the stained glass windows, sending rays of color down onto the white tablecloths and beige tiled floor.
My teal eyes have never looked brighter. My cream skin has never looked paler. My wispy dark chocolate brown hair even seems just a little bit lighter. I feel like a pansy looking so prim and preppy in this monkey suit. We're at the stupid Harmony Ball, the Friday night before that huge test Saturday. It's supposed to double as a "finished with exams" celebration ball for the Avalon Academy's high schoolers as well.
All these people dancing around me and I'm ironically alone. Wow. Just… Wow. No girl in particular sticks out to me, I mean, they all appear to already have a dancing partner. You know what? I'll just stay out of this altogether. I went and sat at an empty table and pulled out a chair and turned it against the wall so I could view the crowd as some kind of entertainment. After boredom engulfed my soul, I decided to take advantage of the free plate of spinach and artichoke dip on the table. I love that stuff.
I was about to consume a rather large bite when a slightly less than graceful girl in a dark blue strapless dress tripped on some invisible force and fell over my lap, temporarily freaking me out, causing me to accidentally throw my chip. Damn… That was going to be a really nice bite. But yeah, no clue in hell how this managed to happen.
She quickly got up and drowned me in apologies. I didn't really hear much of what she was saying because I was getting lost in her beautiful blue eyes. Her curly brown and blonde hair was in serious need of a brush, though. And the braces kind of caught me off guard. And the dress… Not quite the best one she could have chosen to wear. I'm sorry, I'm not usually the kind of guy to give two shits about fashion, but she is a serious mess.
I shook my head, "Nah. It's completely okay!"
She looked so nervous and panicked and frankly, out of breath big time, "I'm sorry, I tend to trip over my own feet like that all the time and when I'm really nervous I start to ramble and lose my breath and I start sweating and freaking out and this is just too much for me holy crap I can't take it this is just—Oh dear God, you're one of the princes!"
Oh goody, another fan-
She waved her hands, halting my thoughts, "No, no, I see that look on your face; I'm not one of those crazy fan girls. I'm just," she sighed, "no one. I'm just no one."

Walk. Smile. Pretend to stare into his horrible uncaring eyes. Allow him to suffer by putting his arm around me and lead me to the elevator while all the paparazzi of this state simultaneously take like umpteen thousand pictures for the famous magazines of the star world like Up-2-D8 and Star 42. "C'mon, Reyna, you can do this. Even though you hate his guts and he hates yours, just take another for the team and kiss him. He knows you're faking it." I thought as we got to the fancy little Goldstar Hotel mat right before the elevator.
Before I could fake-kiss him, he fake-kissed me first, pulling both of his arms against my lower back. Dang, his hands were freaking cold.
CLICK. SNAP. FLASH. And all the onomatopoeic words that describe the friggin annoying sounds a ding dang camera makes. Seriously, this is a mad (the insane kind of mad) mob of people out for blood and they get what they want with ginormous cameras and microphones instead of pitchforks and torches.
After another three minutes of fake kissing, we figured there were enough fancy little kissy pictures to go around and broke away. We waved and stepped into the elevator acting all smiley and crap like we usually do. Once those metal doors closed, I pushed Shawn away so fast he stumbled- then swore.
I walked up and grabbed the collar of his shirt, "FALSE." I let go and ran a hand through my long brown hair. "This is just… FALSE. Holy crap, Shawn! They were like SUFFOCATING DEMONS this time." I turned around and started angrily pacing when the bell dinged and the doors opened.
He quietly swore at me and asked in an annoyed tone, "If we're going to have a REAL conversation this time, do we have to take it to the nearest broom closet, or do you think we can make it out the door and into the limo BEFORE you tear apart the whole dang building?"
Crap, when we stepped out of the Elevator, two reporters came up to us. We smiled and I grabbed Shawn's arm and he leaned down and quickly kissed me. The reporters grinned, took a picture and left. Ughhhh I HATE THIS.
I turned and answered Shawn's question, "WELL," I lowered my voice, "if you shut up, I won't dislocate your arm, and we can get out of the building and to the car." I whispered in a hiss and dug my nails into his skin for emphasis.
He clenched his teeth but kept his voice down, "JEEZ YOU LITTLE-" just pick a word, it doesn't matter which one. He has probably called me that before.
Oh, screw it. I don't care. Been dealing with it since he and his sexy little piece of crap face ended up on our show, West Valley High. Oh, we're the hottest couple in Hollywood and if we 'break up', the show's ratings will apparently plummet. Making out in every episode as WVH's most popular couple Mary Sue and Gary Stu Charlotte Grace and James Harper is an absolute must. And telling the magazine that the hottest on-screen couple is the 'spiciest' totally-in-L0<3 off-screen couple as well is a must-be-done because it's 'TRUE' and 'LEGIT' and 'REAL' and for whatever freaking reason 'SEXY'. What makes this whole ordeal even better is that we can't have friends of the opposite gender, for our manager's fear that we might get caught 'CHEATING' on each other. So yeah, it's not as if we're allowed to have any real drama off camera.
I pinched him, "Shut it and smile." A few more reporters walked by. I let go and walked forward with Shawn not far behind. He walked around me and pushed the door open. We exchanged glares and I walked through.
He caught up behind me and quickly whispered, "We can't keep too much distance between each other or someone's going to take a picture, sell it to a gawd dang magazine, and claim we had a fight." He coughed, "Then our spot as front page news will have the numbers of a page with an article MORE than two pages long."
We're ALWAYS front-page news. Even when we're sitting outside of Veronica's having a nice little salad and fake talking and laughing, somehow there ends up a picture with a story behind it about how we're so completely in love that we order the same salad and then discussed spoilers about the next season of West Valley High. We don't discuss spoilers about West Valley High. We don't even talk to each other about the show. Why? Because we know what's going to happen, how long the kiss scenes have to be, what we're going to pretend to argue about for half the show, and how we're going to make up and make out in the end. Because Charlotte and James suck are the ones completely 'in love'. Not us. Instead, we are completely 'in hate'.
I sighed and slowed down, "Don't talk to me. I know. I want to keep my job too. I just can't wait until the writers end this show." And that's not going to happen until-
"Another two years, Reyna. They own us and we're underage." I see he cut me off AND ignored my command to not-talk to me. "Seriously, people really eat this fifteen-year-old couple-in-love crap up and the monkey- I mean dude who writes this tenth grade-centered prep school romance drama already has the next few seasons written down and hasn't stopped yet."
Good Lord, Shawn.  tl;dl (Too long; didn't listen). Yeah, we're fifteen and have only five more years to go until, hopefully, Teenyboppers' Obsessed industry kicks us out. It's not a real industry, but it sure feels like it.
Carlton (our chauffeur) opened the door for us. Thankfully, he knows Shawn and I actually hate each other and doesn't give us crap about not sitting directly beside each other. We climbed in and sat at either window seat of the vehicle. Open spot in the middle just for our lovely friend, Hostility.
Carlton started the engine and the down the street for our ten minute ride to our manager's office. Shawn and I cussed each other out for a few minutes when Carlton sighed and rolled up the divider that separates the front seat from the back.
I stopped talking , crossed my legs, and gave Shawn the evil eye. Why do people think we're so right for each other?! He's not even good-looking! Okay, yeah. He is. However, the amount of good looks he has doesn't even begin to compare to his ginormous ego. The best one-word description I can come up with for Shawn is "Egregious", or "Extraordinarily bad". Want synonyms for that? Here: Atrocious; intolerable; outrageous.
The show has us looking like complete Barbies. We have to wear blue contacts and Shawn has to have blond hair. I have to have brown because the director thinks that if I have blonde, the audience will to think the show is overrated and I'm supposed to be perfect in a cliché way. Yeah, as if brown hair isn't a friggin cliché and this show isn't overrated. Shawn and I don't have any zit problems, more like 'can't'. Our manager would have a stroke if we did. Shawn has very tan skin and mine is pale.
Our forced clothing style is classic prep. All our clothes are from Hollister and I have to smell as if Bath & Body Works threw up on me. Seriously, it's not as if the fans can smell the Secret Wonderland (Charlotte's new signature scent) right from her… or his TV screen.
Oh and our manager, Sherry, lives with us and is our guardian. No, Shawn and I aren't related, but each of our parents are rolling-in-money in another state and carelessly signed over custody to Sherry. Sherry is sort of like a mother to us. So much so, that she deals with the feud between Shawn and me by forcing us to share a room. That woman knows nothing about parenting two unrelated teens of opposing genders. However, she also understands we hate each other so maybe she did think it through.
Our room is huge though, and I gave up my weekend and went out shopping for six hours until I found a divider big enough. But it's still really thin. We can hear each other on the other side doing whatever.
Oh crap, my life sucks.