Winnie was relieved to discover that the evening doorman at Dora’s posh Park Place high-rise recognized her—or thought he did. He smiled and let her in.
“Good evening, Miss Winnie.”
“Good evening, Ernie,” Winnie replied, in what she hoped was a normal tone. Her fixed smile felt as stiff as a mask. She felt like a fraud.
Winnie stumbled a bit over the edge of the doormat. Ernie put his hand on her elbow to steady her and she jerked away, remembering the uncanny prints she’d left on her double’s arm.
Ernie frowned. “Sorry, Miss Winnie.”
She must seem like such a snob! But it was better to seem snobbish than to risk hurting anyone else.
Her ability had always been odd, and sometimes unwelcome. But she’d never been afraid of herself. Not until now.
The lobby elevator opened with a cheerful ding completely at odds with Winnie’s dark thoughts.
“Penthouse, please,” she told the operator.
He smiled a bit like he was laughing at her.
“Of course, Miss Winnie.”
Winnie blushed. She hadn’t been thinking. He wasn’t the same lift man employed by Dora’s building back home, but even though she didn’t recognize him, of course he knew her. What would she do if the same thing happened to her out on the street—if some acquaintance of her double approached her, and Winnie had no idea who they were?
This world was a minefield of ways for Winnie to mess up.
Winnie reached the Vandorfs’ penthouse duplex and knocked lightly on the door. After a few moments, it was opened by Louisa.
Winnie let out a breath; it was a relief to see a face that was familiar, but not in an emotionally charged way like her doppelgänger’s or Scott’s.
Winnie smiled tentatively, but this friendliness wasn’t returned. It was odd; Louisa was a formidable woman, but she had always been fond of Winnie.
“Did Dora tell you I was coming?”
“Of course. Come in. I had Martha prepare you some food. Dora said you’d want something. She’s waiting in the kitchen.”
“She shouldn’t have troubled you!” Winnie said, setting down her bag and quickly shrugging off her coat before Louisa could try to help her with it.
“No trouble at all,” Louisa said. She gave Winnie an odd look, then picked Winnie’s bag up off the floor and carried it upstairs to Dora’s room.
It seemed like Louisa noticed a difference in her, which was disconcerting, although Winnie was confident Louisa would never in a million years guess what caused it. It struck her that she and her double had spent all this time making Winnie look like her doppelgänger, but there had been no mention of how she should act. Then again, how do you explain how you are to someone who doesn’t know you?
Winnie could think of many words to describe herself—reserved, intelligent, hardworking—but had no idea how those lifeless adjectives actually played out for those around her. Many people were “smart” and “shy” without being anything like Winnie.
She didn’t know her double, which in some way was to be expected, since they just met. But it made her wonder—did she really know herself?
It took Winnie a moment to recognize Dora. She was sitting alone at the kitchen table, wearing baggy jeans cuffed up higher than her bobby socks and a sweater made of some heavy knit that did her figure no favors. Winnie didn’t care much about clothes, but Dora certainly did, and this was an outfit her Dora wouldn’t be caught dead in.
This girl wore her best friend’s face, but she was a stranger.
How was Winnie supposed to pretend to know her?
“Um, hello,” Winnie said. She hoped her surprise at Dora’s appearance didn’t show, and that she sounded like her double.
Dora jumped up and hurried over to give her a hug. Winnie threw up her arms and cried “Wait!” but she wasn’t quick enough—Dora already had her arms around her. Winnie waited for the headache, or nosebleed, but nothing happened. Even so, Dora pulled back and gave her a curious look.
“I’m sorry if I startled you!” Dora exclaimed. “When you—when she—called, I thought she must be joking. But obviously, you’re really not Winnie, are you?”
For a moment, Winnie was too stunned to say anything. Her double had told! What was the point of the haircut, the fine clothes, all that silly makeup, if her double was going to give her away immediately anyway?
Winnie was an excellent secret keeper. She hadn’t told her Dora about seeing splinters, even after being best friends for years. She was disappointed that her double couldn’t keep this secret from Dora for even a day.
“She told you who I am?” Winnie asked finally. “What did she say?”
“Not much,” Dora said, sounding a bit apologetic. “Just that you’re here from another world by mistake, and that we have to try to get you back there.”
It must have been some sort of misunderstanding. When she made Winnie promise not to say anything to her father, she thought it went without saying to not tell anyone else either, but now she realized she hadn’t actually said that.
“She did tell you not to say anything about me to anyone else though, right?”
“Who would I tell?” Dora asked with a shrug, smiling. “But yes—she was quite explicit.”
That, at least, was a relief.
Now that her surprise had passed, Winnie realized she was glad that Dora was another ally, rather than someone else she had to hide from. And this was her double’s world, after all—Winnie had to assume she knew best. Although she doubted her own Dora would accept such a strange scenario with such little explanation.
Winnie pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. She wouldn’t say she was relaxed, but this was probably the closest she’d come since arriving in their world. Winnie had always felt at home in that kitchen. Unlike the rest of the posh penthouse, it was utilitarian—since it was meant to be used by staff, not family—and all the spick-and-span surfaces and modern equipment reminded Winnie a bit of a lab. She reached up to cover her mouth as she yawned. Now that she’d stopped moving, she realized how tired she was.
“What should I call you?” Dora asked suddenly.
And just like that, Winnie was on edge again.
“Call me Winnie. It’s my name.”
“Won’t that get confusing?”
Winnie shrugged. It probably would. But she had already given up enough of her identity.
There was a sandwich on the table for her, and Winnie took a tentative bite. It was a small thing, but she was deeply relieved to discover that Martha’s roast beef and Swiss on rye tasted just like it did in her own world.
“You really do look like her,” Dora said.
“I didn’t when I got here. Do you really think I can pass for her now?”
“Absolutely! And I’ll help however I can, of course—you just have to tell me what to do.”
It was a generous offer—more readily given than the assistance from her own double, Winnie thought with a twinge of some feeling she could not yet name—but it left her unsettled. Back home, she never told Dora what to do, and Dora certainly never asked her to. In fact, Winnie had often questioned herself for letting Dora walk all over her, but she just told herself she went along with what Dora wanted because the stakes were never high enough to bother kicking up a fuss. What difference did it make to her what picture they went to see, where they went to drink their malts, who they sat with in the school cafeteria? This world’s Winnie and Dora seemed to have a different dynamic.
Instead of being irritated that her double had told Dora the truth, Winnie began to question why her first impulse was always to lie.
Here she was with a whole new world to acclimate to, but she couldn’t just learn about this new place and these new people without feeling like everything she encountered said something about her. It was already exhausting, constantly having what she thought she knew called into question. She thought back to that morning, getting out of bed, going to school—how blithely unaware she had been of what the day had in store! Had that really been the same day—the same life? Winnie set down the remaining half of her sandwich, her appetite suddenly and completely gone.
“I’m glad that you’re so willing to help,” she said. “But I don’t even know what I’m going to do yet.”
“Well, to start with, maybe get some sleep?”
Winnie glanced at the kitchen clock and was surprised to see that it was already after ten. She wasn’t normally quite so tired by that time, but she didn’t normally have evenings so jam-packed with revelation and disaster either. She nodded. “Sleep sounds good.”
“Don’t worry—I bet things will seem more manageable in the morning.”
How many times had Winnie gone to sleep using that same sentiment as her own private lullaby?
You’ll make friends tomorrow. They laughed at you today, but tomorrow is a fresh start.
Father will be sober by morning. You can both pretend none of this happened, and everything can go back to normal.
Tomorrow you’ll be brave. You’ll tell Scott how you feel about him.
It was never true.
How different this new world was—it disturbed her, but it also proved that change was possible. Winnie thought she might be able to make different stuff out of her own life, given the chance.
But she was beginning to realize that chances weren’t given; they were made. And now the stakes were higher than ever.
For Scott, you can do it. You can. For him—and for yourself.
She didn’t fully believe it, but she believed it a little. And that was a start.