I’ve been trying to piece together the terrible poem that was on the box we found because surely that’s the key to understanding this, but who knew there was going to be a test! I wasn’t paying enough attention. Something about walking in each other’s shoes? There was a thing about four days and five nights, so that’s gotta be an expiration time on the dusting. It can’t be permanent. I think there was also something in there about being doomed?

I roll Siri’s carry-on to one of the pillars surrounding the baggage claim carousels in Newark Airport and take a seat.

Has Terry been glittered before? Did she have a riddle? Why didn’t I pocket that thing?!

I glance down at Siri’s iPhone. My mother is late and I’m trying not to take it personally. She was supposed to pick Siri up at baggage claim.

I settle in to send my sister a text. I have t9 on Gladys: an ancient typing technology from the olden days of 2004. I have a blackbelt in t9. Give me a flip phone, watch me type a thousand words a second.

But I’m slower than a dog texting on this damn iPhone. My fingers feel like giant clumsy marker tips.

Me: WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO CALL ME BACK

Me: CALL ME THE HELL BACK AS SOON AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE

Me: SERIOUSLY U CANT TEXT ME BACK?

That took me seven minutes. Three texts. Seven minutes.

I know Siri’s in the car with Grams, but she can use the keypad. She could send me something.

I call her two more times for good measure. The first time she sends it to voicemail. The second time she picks it up for thirty seconds, but all I can hear is her talking to Grams in the car. I hear Dawn in the conversation too.

A nasty wave of jealousy careens through me at the thought of Siri hanging with Dawn without me. Dawn will figure out she’s not me soon. I’m surprised she hasn’t already—

Mother of crap. Siri probably looks like me. She’s probably wearing a me mirage!

Why haven’t I thought about this yet? What if they never realize it’s not me! What if … they think I’m just different? Why is this horrifying?

A vertigo-like sensation hits me. I drop my head into my hands, cutting myself off from the lonely bustle of strangers roaming the airport.

This is not permanent, everyone will find out eventually. And this is comedy! Just like everything else! I can use this. In the end, this is funny. This is Netflix special–level drama.

This carousel area is starting to empty out. The mom and son who sat next to me are exiting through the sliding doors to the parking lot.

Siri’s phone buzzes with a text.

Mom: Running late. Sry, be there in 15.