We peer around the edge of the doorway. My parents are sitting at the table in their usual spots.

Guess who are in our usual spots?

HANSEL AND GRETEL!

They’re wearing our clothes.

They’re eating our dinner.

They’re talking to our parents.

And is it my imagination, or does Gretel’s hair look exactly like mine now? She must have used my brush! And I can’t see her mole. She must have covered it up with powder or something. And Hansel’s eyebrows look less bushy! Did Hansel pluck his eyebrows? What is wrong with these people?!

“Jonah!” my dad says. While looking at HANSEL.

Uh-oh. What did Hansel do? He’s going to get Jonah — the real Jonah — in even more trouble.

“You ate an entire helping of spinach!” my dad says. “Awesome! And you didn’t even need ketchup.”

Hansel, who is definitely not Jonah, holds up his palm for a high five. Seriously? He totally stole that from the real Jonah!

My dad slaps him five.

The real Jonah grumbles.

“This is the best spinach ever,” fake Jonah says. He looks totally serious, too. I watch Hansel — happily — eat another forkful of the green stuff.

“Wow,” my mom exclaims. “You two sure know how to make up for bad behavior. I’ve practically forgotten all about the broken lamp from last night. You came home from school, did your chores, and did your homework without being prompted. And now you’re eating your veggies. I’m impressed.”

“Does that mean I can have my golden ball back?” fake Jonah asks.

The real Jonah’s eyes go huge, and his face scrunches up. Is Hansel trying to get his hands on my brother’s prized ball? The one he told him all about?

“Yes, Jonah,” my mom says. “But no more playing ball in the house. Right?”

“Right!” Hansel and Gretel say together. “We promise.”

Real Jonah’s cheeks and ears turn all red the way they do when he’s really, really mad about something. He’s about to go charging into the kitchen.

I grab my brother’s arm. “We can’t let Mom and Dad see us yet,” I whisper. “They’ll totally freak out.”

Jonah’s face is still scrunched up. “But Hansel is stealing my stuff!”

“We’ll stop them,” I whisper-promise.

“Does anyone want more salad?” Mom asks, lifting up the polka-dot bowl. “Oh, no, the salad bowl has a chip in it! How did that happen?”

I watch Gretel take some more lettuce. Then she eats her final bite of steak. She dabs her mouth politely with her napkin.

Wait a minute. WAIT A MINUTE. Is Gretel wearing my FRA necklace? The one I made with my BFFs? She is! HEY!

“May I have more steak?” Gretel asks my mom. “It’s sooo good.”

“Of course, Abby,” my mom says, beaming at her children.

Who are not her children.

OMG. Hansel and Gretel have been pretending to be us all day!

And they’re really, really good at it.

How are we supposed to get our lives back?