1

My name is Maya Lane, and I do not have a twin sister.

At least, that's what everyone at Westview High thinks.

I was standing in the cafeteria line today, holding my cracked plastic tray, wearing the same grey hoodie I've worn for two years, when I heard her laugh behind me. That perfect, popular-girl laugh that makes everyone turn around.

Mia.

My identical twin sister.

She was standing with her friends, all in their expensive cheerleading jackets, her hair perfectly curled, her makeup perfect. She looked like a princess. I looked like her shadow that someone forgot to erase.

"Oh my God, she's doing it again," Mia said loudly, so the whole cafeteria could hear. "Everyone, look. My stalker is here."

The cafeteria went quiet. Fifty heads turned to look at me.

I wanted to disappear. I stared down at my tray. The lunch lady had given me mashed potatoes that looked like glue.

Mia walked over to me, her smile sweet for everyone else, but her eyes cold when she looked at me. We have the same face. Same brown eyes, same dark long hair, same nose. But when she looks at me, I see pure hate.

"Guys, this is Maya," she announced. "She's not my sister. She just... looks like me. Isn't it creepy? She even shops at the thrift store to buy clothes like mine."

Her best friend, Chloe, giggled. "Mia, it's so weird. Like, why does she want to be you so badly?"

"I don't know," Mia sighed dramatically. "I've told her to stop. I've been nice. But she follows me everywhere. She even enrolled in the same school."

That was a lie. We live in the same house. We share the same parents. We were born four minutes apart.

But no one knows that. Because three years ago, when we started high school, Mia made a deal with me. She said if I ever told anyone we were twins, she would tell everyone my biggest secret that I wet the bed until I was twelve. I was thirteen and terrified. So I agreed.

Since then, I became "the lookalike stalker."

"Are you going to stare at me all day or are you going to eat?" Mia said to me, then before I could answer, she pretended to trip. Her strawberry milkshake flew out of her hand.

Right onto my hoodie. And my tray. And my face.

Cold, pink, sticky milk covered me.

The whole cafeteria exploded with laughter.

I stood there, dripping, mashed potatoes mixing with milkshake on my shirt. My glasses were fogged.

And then I saw him.

Jaxon Cole.

Mia's boyfriend. The captain of the basketball team. The boy I've loved since 9th grade, before he even knew Mia existed.

He was standing behind Mia, laughing too. He wasn't laughing mean like the others. He was just... laughing because everyone was laughing. But it still hurt more than the milkshake.

Our eyes met for half a second. His laughter stopped. He looked a little guilty.

"Oops," Mia said, not sorry at all. "You should really watch where you're standing, Maya. You're always in the way."

I didn't say anything. If I cried, they would laugh more. I learned that in 9th grade.

I just turned and walked out of the cafeteria, leaving my tray on the floor, pink milk dripping from my hair.

In the bathroom, I tried to clean myself. The paper towels scratched my skin. My hands were shaking.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

MOM: Maya Lane, Mia just called me,she said you embarrassed her again in the cafeteria. What did you do this time?

MOM: When you get home, we need to talk. Stop seeking attention. Mia is trying to get a Stanford scholarship. Don't ruin it for her.

I looked at myself in the cracked bathroom mirror. Mascara from the cheap mascara I tried today was running down my face with the milkshake.

Two identical faces. Two completely different lives.

Mia gets the scholarship. Mia gets the boyfriend. Mia gets the parents who love her.

I get the stained hoodie.

I wiped my face and whispered to my reflection, "I do have a sister. Her name is Mia Lane. And she hates me."

I didn't go back to the cafeteria after the milkshake incident. I hid in the library until the last bell rang.

By the time I walked home, my hoodie had dried stiff and pink. My hair was crunchy. Everyone on the street stared.

Our house is big. Too big for a family that only loves one daughter.

Mom's car was already in the driveway. Dad's too. That's weird Dad never comes home before 8 p.m.

I opened the front door and heard crying. For one second my heart stopped, because I thought maybe, just maybe, they were crying for me. Maybe the principal told them what Mia did.

"Mia! My baby!"

It was Mom. She was on the sofa, holding her phone, mascara running. Dad was pacing, on the phone with someone.

"What happened?" I asked. My voice was small.

Mom looked up at me. Her eyes went from my stained hoodie to my face, and her expression changed from sadness to annoyance.

"Maya! Look at you! You look homeless! I told you to stop buying clothes from that thrift store!"

She didn't even ask why I was covered in pink.

Dad hung up. "That was Coach Miller. He said Mia didn't show up for cheerleading practice. Her friend Chloe said there was an accident."

Accident.

The word sucked all the air out of the room.

"Is Mia okay?" I asked, even though my throat was dry.

Mom finally stood up. "No, she's not okay! Her friend was driving her to a party and a truck hit them! She's at St. Mary's Hospital! Chloe said her leg is broken and her face... her face is cut!"

She started crying again. Dad rubbed his back.

I should have felt something. She's my twin sister. But all I could think was for the first time in three years, someone was talking about Mia without talking about how perfect she is.

We drove to the hospital. I still had milkshake in my hair.

The hospital smelled like bleach. Mia was in room 304, her leg in a big white cast hanging in the air, her face covered in bandages except for her eyes and mouth. There was a deep cut on her cheek that the doctor said would need stitches.

When she saw me, her eyes narrowed.

"You," she hissed, her voice weak. "What are you doing here?"

Mom rushed to her bedside. "Mia, baby, don't talk. Save your energy."

The doctor came in. He said Mia was lucky. No internal bleeding. But broken tibia, three months minimum no walking, no school, and the cut on her face would need time to heal. She would have a scar.

Mia started to cry then. Real tears. "My finals! My Stanford interview! My cheerleading finals! I can't miss three months! I'll lose everything!"

Mom held her hand. "Shh, baby, we'll figure it out."

And then Mom looked at me.

I know that look. It's the look she gets when she wants me to do something I don't want to do. The same look she had when she made me give Mia my bedroom because Mia said mine had better sunlight.

"Maya," Mom said slowly. "You can help your sister."

I frowned. "How?"

Dad stepped forward. He never talks to me directly. "Maya, you and Mia have the same face. Same height. Same voice if you try. You can go to school for her. You can take her finals. You can be her for three months."

I laughed. I actually laughed. "What? No!"

"Maya!" Mom snapped. "Don't be selfish! Your sister is going to lose her Stanford scholarship! That scholarship is $80,000! Do you know how much we sacrificed for that?"

"Sacrifice? You never sacrificed anything for me!" The words burst out before I could stop them. Years of being invisible. "You never came to my art show! You never..."

"Art show?" Dad laughed, cold. "Maya, your little drawings won't pay bills. Mia's scholarship will. If Mia loses this scholarship, we can't afford Stanford. And if we can't afford Stanford, we can't afford to send YOU to that expensive art college you want to go to in New York. We told you we'd think about it. Now we are thinking ...no."

My stomach dropped.

The art college in New York was my only escape plan. My portfolio was ready. I had been accepted. All I needed was their financial signature.

"You can't do that," I whispered.

"We can," Mom said. She wasn't crying anymore. Her voice was business-like. "It's simple. You pretend to be Mia. You wear her clothes. You act like her. You take her exams. You keep her perfect reputation. After three months, when she's healed, you go back to being Maya. And we will pay for your art school."

Mia was watching from the bed, her bandaged face unreadable. Then she smiled, a small, painful smile.

"Please, Maya?" she said, sweetly. For the first time in years she called me by my name. "Please help me? I'm your sister."

Sister. She hadn't called me sister since 8th grade.

I looked at them. My mother. My father. My twin sister in a hospital bed. Three people who only saw me when they needed me.

If I said no, I would lose my only chance to leave this house forever.

If I said yes, I would have to become the girl who ruined my life.

I looked at Mia's designer bag on the chair. Her new iPhone. Her perfect life sitting there, waiting for someone to wear it.

"Okay," I said. My voice was shaking. "I'll do it."

Mom exhaled and hugged me for the first time in a year. It smelled like her perfume and hospital.

"Good girl," she whispered. "Starting Monday, you are Mia Lane."

From the bed, Mia said, "One more thing, Maya. Don't let Jaxon kiss you. He'll know you're not me."