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“Anyway, this app’s awesome,” Sean says, looking at the screen, then Natasha, then glancing at me. “It’s called Twinner. You know, like Twitter but with twins?”
“Got it,” I say.
“Cool,” Natasha says, a little too flirtatiously.
Sean goes on with the explanation. “You upload a photo of yourself and it uses facial recognition software to find your twin from all the photos on the Internet,” he says as he holds the phone out so we can see it a little better. “See? We just found Natasha’s.”
On the screen, there’s a picture of a girl with similar facial features but completely different hair and body type.
“She does look like you,” I say to Natasha.
“She wishes,” Natasha says, arching her back a little. Trying to control the look on my face, I think of my mirror images, Betsey and Ella. I can’t help but wonder why anyone would want to feel less individual. Then I think that this app is Mom’s worst nightmare.
Mom.
I think about how Mom’s the reason I don’t have my own, full identity in the first place. She’s the reason I can’t go out with Sean, the reason he’s hurt and mad at me right now. She’s hiding something from us—and I’m starting to feel like it’s bigger than just a personal office space. It seems like my mom’s more concerned with keeping herself out of trouble than she is with us.
Something has to change. It just has to.
“Do me,” I say to Sean, driven by a fast and furious wave of rebellion.
“You wish,” Natasha mutters under her breath before turning toward her friend in the other row, bored with the conversation since I joined. I blush a little, but Sean just ignores her; instead he starts typing on the keyboard.
“Don’t you need a picture?” I ask.
“I have one,” he says quietly, eyes on his phone. Relief floods through me.
“Here,” he says after a few seconds. “That’s actually the best match I’ve seen yet.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. When I take the phone from his outstretched hand, I gasp at the picture on the screen. The girl really looks like me. Like us. For a second I think it’s actually Betsey or Ella, but then I realize that she looks a little older, and her face is rounder. But we all have the same eye and hair color, and the same curls.
“That’s unbelievable,” I say, handing Sean back the phone just before Mr. Ames tells him to put it away. There’s a heavy feeling creeping through my stomach; a crazy thought trying to overtake my brain.
Is she the Original? Is she Beth?
“I can message her if you want,” Sean says, glancing back at me.
“Huh?” I ask, distracted.
“Twinner doesn’t give out names, but you can message people, and if they want to meet you, they can write back.”
“Oh,” I say, taking out my notebook and feeling like my head’s on two planets. He probably thinks I’m mental. Pulling it together, I say, “That’s okay. It’s a little creepy.”
“If you say so.”
Mr. Ames finishes writing on the board and moves to the podium.
“Sean?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I still want to explain,” I say. “About yesterday. It’s not what you think.”
There’s a long pause; I think he might not answer. But then he does.
“I’ll listen.”
The day turns out all right. Sean assures me when the bell rings that his after-school plans are legitimate—he’s going to take pictures with his mom—and not some excuse to get out of talking to me. After we say goodbye to each other at the end of the English hall, I walk to my locker feeling lighter than I did earlier. No one gets kicked in the head at cheer practice. And, when I get home, Mom’s on her way out for work, so I don’t have to deal with talking to her.
