Page 2 of The Hollywood Switch-up

Erika shrugged, aware of the grease in her hair and the way her T-shirt sagged. “Pancakes are good.” She kept her eyes on the counter. “Extra syrup?”

“Of course.”

“Olivia, gotta go. Erika’s here.” Anneliese slid a cappuccino across the island. “Big day, right? The interview?”

Erika nodded, her hands wrapping around the warm cup. “It’s the one,” she said, and forced herself to hold her sister’s gaze. She couldn’t keep living like this—borrowing her sister’s guest room, her sister’s Wi-Fi, her sister’s leftovers.

“Your portfolio is incredible, Bean,” Anneliese said. “They’d be crazy not to hire you.”

Erika tugged at a loose thread on her faded concert T-shirt. “You haven’t actually seen it in a while,” she said, aiming for light. Landing somewhere flatter.

It wasn’t that Erika didn’t appreciate her sister’s sunny optimism—it was like standing in the shadow of a human spotlight. Erika traced a finger along the rim of her mug. When Anneliese’s first viral post hit a million views, Erika had been hunched over her sketchbook, rendering the play of light on a wheat field at dusk. Now her sister’s face beamed from billboards while Erika’s collected polite rejections.

Anneliese waved a dismissive hand, her eyes flicking back to her tablet. “If they don’t hire you, I’ll have Olivia make a call. One mention on my feed and they’ll be begging you to take the job.”

“I want to get hired on my own merit, Annie. You know that.” The words came out harder than she meant.

Anneliese’s expression softened, proud and distracted. “That’s my stubborn twin,” she said, squeezing Erika’s hand—then her phone buzzed, and she was gone. “Now, enough stress. Get dressed for your interview. Chef Antoine can make those blueberry pancakes you love.”

Twenty minutes later, dressed in her one decent blazer, she took the bus: forty minutes of stale air and strangers’ earbuds bleeding bass.

Erika stood before the marketing agency’s glass tower, scuffed white sneakers on polished pavement. She adjusted the leather case, worn at the corners from being dragged to interview after interview. Inside lay the evidence of her compromise: sleek logos and corporate color schemes.

The revolving door spun her into the lobby’s artificial chill, then up an elevator to the forty-third floor.

“So tell me about your experience with client-centered design thinking,” the interviewer asked.

Erika recited the buzzwords she’d memorized, watching the woman’s expression shift from interest to polite detachment. When asked about her “design philosophy,” she heard herself mumble about “user engagement metrics” and “conversion optimization.”

The interviewer’s manicured hand closed the leather case. “We’ll be in touch.”

Erika gathered it and pulled her lips into what she hoped resembled a smile.

ERIKA

Erika’s phone buzzed. Another The Network notification from an application she’d submitted two months ago. She shoved it back into her pocket without looking and pressed her forehead against the bus window, letting the vibration rattle her skull. Outside, the sky bled from orange to purple. Three stops until she’d have to walk up the long driveway to Annie’s mansion. Two stops until she’d have to rehearse how to say “It went fine” without her voice cracking.

She gathered the case, fingers tracing the worn leather corners, each scuff a reminder of another office where someone had smiled politely while thinking “not quite what we’re looking for.” For seventeen minutes, she’d allowed herself to believe. She didn’t want the job. She was just tired of being the twin who was always falling behind.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, the familiar weight of it was already there before she reached the corner.

She pushed open the heavy front door, her footsteps loud on the marble. “Annie?” The word hung in the air, unanswered. She dropped it on the counter and kicked her sneakers into the corner where they wouldn’t offend the décor.

The kitchen glowed with artificial daylight. Anneliese stood in its center, bathed in the perfect circle of a ring light, her phone mounted on a tripod. Her manicured fingers flipped through glossy pages while she spoke to thousands of invisible admirers.

“This collection is literally everything,” Anneliese cooed, holding fabric to the light so it shimmered. “And Brenda? That juice cleanse? Tastes like lawn clippings mixed with regret, but my pores are living their best life.” She laughed—that practiced laugh that had launched a dozen sponsorships. “Drop your recipes in the comments! Love you, mean it!”

Then Anneliese’s eyes found Erika’s, and her face softened into the look she saved for Erika alone.

“Hey, Bean.” She dropped an octave. “What happened?”

Erika shrugged. “Same old, same old. Another ‘we’ll be in touch.’” She got a water bottle from the fridge. The cap cracked.

Anneliese turned back to the phone, her influencer voice clicking back into place. “Oh, you guys, that’s my twin sister, Erika. She just got back from a major job interview, and it sounds like it was rough. Let’s all send her some good vibes in the comments, okay? She needs a little boost.”

Water bottle halfway to her lips. She hadn’t said yes to this. She hadn’t agreed to become content.

The cascade of heart emojis intensified on the screen. Anneliese’s voice turned brisk. “Okay, gotta run for real, my loves! Family first. Talk soon!” She blew a kiss at the camera and ended the stream.