“Dad,” Jamie continues, “manipulated me, a six-year-old, into leaving with him and convinced me it was in my best interest not to look back. He never spoke to his other daughter again.” Jamie’s overexcited expression makes her look almost … unhinged. She slow claps dramatically. “It sounds extra bad all laid out on the table.”

I swallow nervously. Jamie is not okay.

“Now, we know everyone makes mistakes, everybody has those days. Pobody’s nerfect!” Jamie paces the front of the room. “And we were hoping to find some closure by switching places for a bit.”

Mom’s mouth bobs open and closed.

“That’s right, Mara.” Jamie smiles wickedly. “You told me over and over again last night that I don’t exist. Thanks for that. You’ve been with me for five days. Thanks for noticing. I was trying to find some way to absolve you of all this. If you told me last night that you had lied, when I genuinely was losing it, I would have told you who I was. I wanted nothing more than to be acknowledged by my mother.”

Mom shakes her head. “No. Siri was acting strangely, but it was still Siri. I can tell the difference between my own daughters.”

Pity rises in my throat. Mom holds my eyes, asking me to confirm her statement. I give the tiniest shake of my head.

“LOLOL except,” Jamie explains gleefully, “we had been spelled with weird glitter magic this past week that made us look like each other. So, knowing what we look like wouldn’t help you here, Mara.”

“There’s glitter everywhere.” Dad is actually in shock, I think.

“Spelled?” Mom repeats.

“Yep, exactly how you’re thinking, like that guy in your books with the face switching that somehow changes your entire appearance.” Jamie gesticulates with spirit fingers. “The two of us met at that retreat and ran into some weird-ass magic that glamoured us as each other.”

“The faceless men,” Mom mumbles.

Dad’s eyes dart to me. “You’ve been living in my house for a week?”

I nod. Wow. They’re literally not even questioning the magic.

Jamie says what I’m thinking. “I love how you’re not even questioning the Freaky Friday aspect of this, you giant nerds.”

My parents look at each other for a moment. It’s not an angry look; it’s a look of wonder.

It’s so not the time.

Dad points to me. “That’s why cooking … and you performed with the group instead of a set at Tim’s, and Dawn, oh my god…” His face falls into his hands for a moment, and then he looks back up. “Siri, I’m so sorry.” There are tears in Dad’s eyes.

Quiet tears make their way down my own cheeks. Jamie clasps her hands behind her back like a general.