Page 5 of Mirror Image

When a tall brunette girl headed my way, I grabbed my phone from my pocket and pretended to be engrossed in something there so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

“Oh, hi, Sam!” she said just as we crossed. “Hey, love your hair with the extensions!”

“Umm . . . thanks?” I muttered and kept walking.

I’d been hoping that I’d meet Sam and see, immediately, that we had only a vague resemblance to each other—one that, for some odd reason, was magnified on camera. We’d laugh about the confusion and wave whenever we spotted each other on campus. But if someone who lived down the hall from her could mistake me for her, then . . .

Then what? There was only one way to find out. Outside of Kappa 219, I raised my hand to knock at the exact same moment that she yanked the door open and came barreling out. Before I knew what was happening, I was flat on my butt.

“Oh! Oh, God, jeez, I’m so sorry! Are you—” Samantha Kinski stopped mid-sentence, staring down at me staring up at her.

This was no passing resemblance. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror. Or it would have been if my hair had been about six inches shorter. Aside from that, we could have been the same person: the blue eyes, the slightly upturned nose, the heart-shaped face. She even had the same slightly bent left ear.

“Yeah, hi . . .” I said, getting to my feet. “Samantha, right? I’m—”

“You’re me,” she murmured, brows drawing together in concentration, like her brain was trying to interpret the data her eyes were sending to it.

“Yeah. I think I might be.”

Her head jerked up, and she glanced down the hall, presumably to see if anyone else was watching this bizarre scene play out. But, while there were a few other residents gathered at the other end of the hall, they didn’t seem to take any notice of us.

“C-come inside,” she said, stepping back into the room and holding the door for me to follow.

As soon as I was over the threshold, she closed and locked the door behind me, then spun around so that we were face-to-face. The same face meeting its mirror image.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

“Mary,” I told her simply. “Mary Langston.”

“I don’t understand. Why do you look like me? Are you . . . are you some creepy stalker or something?” she hissed.

A flash of irritation shot through me. “What? No! And, for the record, you look like me!” I spat back.

We surveyed each other for several long moments. She touched her left ear, noticing the resemblance to her own.

“Birthday?” she asked.

“June nineteenth,” I replied.

“Same,” she agreed. “Blood type?”

“AB negative.”

She nodded. “That’s super rare.”

“One percent of people have it,” I agreed. “Allergies?”

“Peanuts. You?”

I produced an EpiPen from my bag. “Same.”

“Are you . . . ? Were you . . . ?”

“Adopted?” I finished for her. “Yes. You?”

She took a few steps back before dropping onto the corner of her perfectly made bed and looking up at me. “No.”

I blinked hard, not expecting that answer. “No?”