I lean to place my right hand on the far edge of his headrest, avoiding his hair, and spin back toward the seats in front of us, freeing my left foot and bringing it in close to my body as I bend my right leg to dismount into the aisle.

Holy poop! I did it! My heart beats unevenly in my chest. I almost want to raise my arms in triumph like a gymnast.

I giggle to myself as I reach the bathroom without getting in trouble. The plane rattles as I push in the vacant door and close it behind me. That was kind of fun.

I re-clasp the overalls, close the toilet, and flush before turning to the little sink to wash my hands. These airplane sinks always make things overly complicated. If the water would stay on for more than one second, I could do this efficiently.

I’m drying my hands when I catch sight of neon orange at my shoulder in the mirror. I glance up to take stock of my full reflection and do a double take before stumbling back into the flimsy bathroom wall. What the—?

“Jamie?!” I hiss.

Jamie is staring back at me in the mirror. Not me.

I clasp a hand over my mouth. So does Jamie. I scream behind my hand, it comes out muffled.

Oh my god. I’m seeing things. I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe that’s how I got away with hopping over a sleeping man.

I count to eight and recall five things that are on planes to resettle my brain. Floppy seat belts. Poorly placed outlets. Disgusting bathrooms. Silver carts of hot food. Shades for the windows.

I open my eyes again.

Jamie is still in the intercoursing mirror! But … it’s not the Jamie with dark locks I said goodbye to. It’s Jamie without a scar. Jamie with half-brown, half–neon orange, wild unkempt hair. Blue nose ring. Chipped nails. Jamie, the first time I saw her.

My breathing hitches. No, do not have a panic attack here.

I actually slap myself. “Wake up!” I yell at Jamie’s reflection. The air shimmers with glitter. I growl at it, swatting the area near my face.

I showered twice earlier!

I fall close to the mirror and put my hands against it. Jamie’s reflection follows. I step away and look down at myself. I pull my hair in front of my face. It’s dark. My hair is black. Mirror me/Jamie is doing the same with her hair.

I hastily scrub my hands again and burst out of the bathroom. I need a flight attendant! I lock onto one on the left side of the plane, past the middle partition of seats.

“Excuse me!” I yelp, grabbing eye contact as the young man turns my way.