“With everything your mother and I have done to help you with transitioning. The… the doctors, the therapist, getting you started on hormones, and all the legal rigmarole…the school administration thought we were all insane! I wanted to throttle that Bible-thumping bitch on the board. Now, just because your first week back in school was a little awkward and some stupid kids said some mean things to you, you’re running away from home? Where were you planning to run to? Huh?”

I was in a mild state of shock as I sat silent in the passenger seat next to a man who was a doppelganger for my deceased stepfather, Nick Perrin. He was talking a mile a minute and pushing the speed limit in an SUV that looked exactly like the one we drove at home. Home! I’m not in Kansas anymore. Or Rossington, New Jersey. Then it hit me. Dad mentioned the first week of school. But it was the middle of June just an hour ago.

“Regina, are you listening to me? Your mother’s probably climbing the walls wondering where the hell you are. It’s half past six already. How’d you get yourself going the wrong way out there by the lake?”

I looked at the digital clock on top of the dashboard and it read 6:38PM, 9/7, 63° F. Where did 3 months of my life go?

“We could always talk, honey. We’re sympatico. Remember the hand shadows I made that got you to fall asleep? That one time you told me you were really a girl, even though mom kept telling you to stop joking around.” Nick sighed as he made a right turn onto Windsor Lane, just 10 minutes from the house. “Running away won’t help at all. If you think school is too much of a gauntlet to run, your uncle can get you into Parsons Academy. Maybe you can qualify for a scholarship. Nah, your grades aren’t good enough. You used to be such a good student, Regina! If it comes to it, we’ll use the small inheritance your mother received from your grandpa’s estate.”

I wanted to speak. I wanted to tell the Nick Perrin in this world that I wasn’t his “Regina.” But who would believe I had stumbled into a parallel universe, their universe, and I was a girl now, not a boy? My lips trembled but no words emerged. I turned to look out the window as we headed home. My home away from home?

“Your mom’s gonna tear you a new one when she sees you, Regina. Just prepare yourself. That silent act won’t work on her.”

Nick took my arm and marched me toward the front stoop of the house. We passed my six-year-old brother Artie’s aquamarine Guardian bike lying sprawled on the front lawn.

“Damn that boy! Why does he think I built that bike shelter in the backyard? Your mother will never discipline him for anything…”

As Nick struggled with the sticky lock on our front door, muttering under his breath, I could hear the undeniable voice of my mother speaking in a bristling tone of voice.

“Reggie! I don’t want you showing Artie those anime cartoons. They’re not suitable for a six-year-old. And now that you’re a girl, I’d think you wouldn’t be wasting your time with that silly—”

Then I heard what was unmistakably my own voice raised in reply.

“Mom! Plenty of girls like watching anime. And they’re not silly!”

Artie interjected, “I think they’re funny, mommy.”

Nick and I entered the house. We stood just outside the living room as everyone’s heads swiveled to take in the shocking sight that I must have presented to them. And them to me!

For a long minute, the five of us comprised a tableau vivant out of a Victorian Era drawing room. Our mouths were agape. Finally, Nick and mom shouted in unison, “What’s going on!”

“Mommy, she looks just like Regina! Dad, who is she?” asked Artie as he cowered behind his older sister, who had dropped the cartoon-streaming tablet onto the floor, causing it to redound with a metallic thud.

“I…I thought she was Regina. I picked her up walking by the side of the road near the lake.” He dramatically dropped his hand from my arm and angrily asked, “Who the hell are you?”

I looked at the apprehensive expressions on their faces. The other me had a look of existential horror in her crudely mascaraed eyes.

“Re…ggie…gie…gie?”

“Gigi? Your name is Gigi?” asked mom as she came forward, placing her hands on either cheek. “Don’t be scared, Gigi. Are you a runaway? Are you from this area? We can get in touch with your folks—”

“Maybe she’s running away from her folks, mom! Maybe they’re abusing her—”

“Is that why you ran away, Gigi?” Mom’s expression changed as she seemed to be examining my face closely in her hands. “You can trust us. We’ll help if we can…”

“I’m not a runaway. I’m…I’m lost…my way.”

“Where were you headed, trying to hitch a ride? You should have said something instead of letting me keep thinking you were my daughter.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Not anything that would sound sane. So, I just kept quiet and fidgeted with my hands behind me.

“Nick, I know who she is!” She grabbed my arms and unintentionally shook me like a life-size plush doll. Then, shockingly, she hugged me, her voice wavering as she tried to get the words out.

“It’s Regina’s twin sister! My long-lost daughter! She’s come back to me. Oh, dear God, thank you! Thank you!”

“Sara, you’re tripping. Sure, she looks a lot like Regina but how in the world do you get the idea she’s her twin sister?”

“Come, Regina, Artie! Meet your sister Gigi!” She smothered me with kisses and then turned me to face Regina and Artie. “Say hello to your sister.” Artie looked up at me and then at Regina. Cautiously, he reached out his little hand to shake mine. Regina crossed her arms and bade me a barely audible greeting.

“Sara, I say we notify the authorities. Even if, by some mysterious twist of fate, Gigi is actually Regina’s long-lost twin, her parents are, I’m sure, anxiously looking for her.”

“Her adoptive parents, you mean.” Mom stood by her conviction that I was Regina’s twin sister, reunited with her after 17 years.

“Mom, Gigi’s barely said two sentences since she came into the house. Maybe we can hear from her who she is and who or what she’s running from? Call me overly cautious but she looks like a crazy person to me—”

“Regina! Don’t ever call your sister a crazy person! You spent nine months inside me like two peas in a pod.”

“Maybe I should go?”

“Where would you go? Back on the highway, thumbing rides from strange men? No, it’s late. We’ll deal with the issue of your identity tomorrow. You must be hungry. Please have dinner with us. And stay the night. Nick has to go to work tomorrow but I’ll take the day off and sort everything out. Do you trust me?”

I looked into my mother’s eyes and could only nod my head in assent. She kissed my forehead, and I felt the urge to kiss her back, maybe even hug her. It had been a long time since my ‘real’ mother had showered me with so much affection.

“Regina, show Gigi where to wash up. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

Artie bent down to pick the tablet off the floor. It was still streaming the latest episode of Demon Slayer.

“Artie! Turn that off. I don’t want you watching those things.”

“Maahmmeeeee!”

Dinner was a cavalcade of awkward, tense moments. Everyone at the table except mom either ignored me or cast occasional suspicious glances at me. For the most part, we ate in guarded silence. I was famished and attacked mom’s delicious Spaghetti Bolognese with the fervor of a soup kitchen patron.

“Regina used to love my Spaghetti Bolognese. She always asked for seconds, even thirds.”

“I’m trying to watch my figure, mom.”

“You want George to watch your figure, that’s who,” teased Artie.

Mom laughed and then plopped more spaghetti on my plate. “Artie, pass your sister the sauce bowl, please. No, dear, Gigi, not Regina. Your other sister.”

“Sara, let’s not put the cart before the horse. We have to confirm who…uh…Gigi really is.”

“It’s obvious, Nick. I know my own daughter when I see her. Just look at her. You immediately thought she was Regina! At first sight!”

“Okay, okay. Can we finish our dinner without getting into a fruitless argument? The light of day should reveal the truth. Maybe Gigi here will come clean—”

“She’s my baby and that’s that!” A moment of uncomfortable silence passed before everyone resumed eating. Artie stared at me. A smile curled his lips slowly as he passed me the sauce bowl and ladle, holding it in both hands.

After dinner, while Regina helped mom in the kitchen load everything into the dishwasher, Nick, Artie and I sequestered ourselves in the living room. Nick turned on the Mets game and let the day’s travails slide out of his consciousness. The world shrunk for him to the space between the pitcher’s mound and the batter’s box.

Artie excitedly asked me to play a video game with him.

“Regina doesn’t play with me anymore since she became my sister instead of my brother. She says I only play kiddie games and she’s a grown up now. Do you think video games are just for little kids?”

I walked over to the media cabinet and picked up the Nintendo Switch from the shelf below our flat-screen TV. Nick’s eyes never left the Mets game. Artie was stunned as I placed it down on the floor between us and proceeded to set up Mario Kart 8 for 2 players. I detached both controllers and handed one to Artie. We played for almost two hours. I was surprised Artie wasn’t getting sleepy. Maybe because I kept letting him win. He did better than the Mets that night.

“Artie, time for bed. It’s almost 9 o’clock. You’re supposed to be in bed by 8:30—”

“Aww, mommy, I’m killing Gigi in Kart 8—”

“You can play with Gigi tomorrow after school. And watch your language. Regina, did you finish your homework?”

“No, mom. I’ll do it now. The Mets are losing anyway.” She got up from the couch and accompanied Artie up the stairs to their bedrooms.

“Gigi, I imagine you’d like to shower before bedtime. I’ll have Regina lend you a pair of her old boy pajamas. I’m sure they’ll fit your perfectly. And we’ll wash what you’re wearing now tomorrow morning. Come with me. You can use the kids’ bathroom.” I followed her as she led the way upstairs.

I stood inches away from the stream of warm water gushing out of the shower head as I used a bright pink sponge to lather myself up with Regina’s bottle of body wash. I couldn’t help myself, but I played with the new equipment, especially my small but perky breasts. As I pinched my pert nipples, hoping the sound of the shower would cancel my embarrassing moaning, I recalled with a wry poignancy the recent off-the-cuff conversation I’d had with George on the optimal size of a girl’s breasts.

“I know why you like Winnie so much, Georgie,” I laughed as we walked toward the White Castle at the end of the town’s main drag, Dowd Avenue, after encountering Winnie on her way to her salon appointment.

“Because she’s pretty, smart, funny, and our school’s top cheerleader?”

“No, because she’s got huge bazooms.” My giggling ticked George off.

“Not true. I’m quite happy with a girl that’s got just a couple of handfuls. Breast size isn’t a deal breaker for me. Now, I do like a nice booty—”

Reflexively, I looked behind me for a second before asking George, “Did you think I looked nice wearing that Taylor Swift costume for Halloween? I stuffed some socks in my bra, but the rest was really me.” As we entered White Castle, I jutted out my rear end in his direction.

“Reggie! Stop it. I’m beginning to think my mom’s right about you.”

“And what does Mater say about me?”

He lowered his voice as a pair of middle-aged women walked past.

“She thinks you should have been born a girl.”

My reverie was disturbed by Regina’s booming voice behind the bathroom door cutting through the sound of the shower.

“Hey, Gigi. I’m leaving the pajamas on the doorknob for you. I think it’ll fit you okay.”

Mom pulled out the bed from our convertible sofa and set it up with sheets, a blanket, and pillows. I was wearing the pajamas Regina had lent me. Of course, they looked exactly like the pajamas I had worn until six months ago when I stole one of George’s basketball tops to sleep in. The shirt came almost to my knees and hung loose from my shoulders. Mom wasn’t too amused when she came in to wake me up one morning and discovered me practically swaddled in it under the sheets.

I was still wide awake when Regina’s mom (it’s so weird to think of her as my mother) tiptoed into the living room at a few minutes past midnight. It wasn’t easy to fall asleep, even in such eerily familiar surroundings. The last time I’d slept on the sofa was when my stepdad’s Aunt Remy stayed with us to be at Artie’s christening when he was three months old.

“I figured you’d still be awake. It’s been quite a day, I’m sure. But you’re home now. Oh, and you kept the lamp on. Regina always sleeps with a night light too. You truly are twins.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow morning after washing my clothes. You’ve been awfully nice, but I don’t belong here. My home is a world away. Literally.”

“Nonsense, Gigi. You’re my child. You’re where you’ve always belonged.” She sat down on the pull-out bed and rubbed her cheek against mine. Her tears mingled with mine as I couldn’t help reaching up to hug her.

“Mom. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

“No, honey, I’m the one who needs to apologize to you. I should never have let your grandfather give you up for adoption. I didn’t even get to have a say in the whole thing—”

“Mom, you were 16. You were just a child yourself.”

“Your grandfather told me girls were easier to get adopted. He lied because he valued a grandson more than a granddaughter. I love Reggie, I mean Regina, now that she’s transitioning…but not a day went by when I didn’t cry over losing my first-born little baby girl. My heart was broken, torn apart, but now you’re back with me…finally!” Her luminous smile had enough candlepower to light up the entire house. I had never seen her this happy. Had she ever looked at me with such joyous affection and love? She wiped the tears from my face and kissed me once more on my forehead. Pulling the blanket up to my chin, she blew me a kiss and tiptoed out of the room.

My conversation with my parallel mother kept me awake. The depth of her loss in giving up my twin sister for adoption wounded my self-worth. She had always loved the absent twin, not the one she felt burdened with. The one that made her grow up much too fast and made her settle for community college and a drudge job in a mall shop. The one who made her accept a marriage proposal from a man whose prospects would never rise above the horizon of adequacy. I was still sniffling into my pillow when I realized Regina was standing by the sofa bed, staring at me.

“You’re awake. Good. Let me ask you. Who the fuck are you and what’s your game?”

I wiped my dripping nose and turned to face Regina’s angry expression as she stood looming above the sofa bed. I didn’t know how to answer her accusatory question. Tense seconds passed between us, punctuated by a whimper from me.

Abruptly, she sank to her knees and her eyes beseeched me.

“Are you really my twin sister? How could you not be? We look exactly alike…except you’re prettier. You’re a real girl—”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you who I really am. And it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving tomorrow morning as soon as I wash my clothes.”

“No, you can’t leave! Even if you’re not my twin. Mom is convinced you are. And I’ve never seen her so happy in years. Maybe ever—”

Tears cascaded down my cheeks again as I nodded, reaching out to grasp Regina’s hands. Not to Regina but to someone a world away, I whispered hoarsely between loud sobs.

“I’m sorry, mom! I’m sorry…”

“You really are my twin! But why are you apologizing? You were barely two weeks old when they took you away.”

“I’m not your twin, Regina.”

“Then who? Who are you?”

“I’ll tell you, but you won’t believe me—”

“Try me.”

I told her I was her in a parallel universe. A universe where no one, not least mom, took my gender dysphoria seriously. I refused to move to New York City with mom and Artie after our stepdad died. I threatened to run away because no one would listen to me. To believe I was really a girl, trapped in a boy’s body. Mom agreed to let me spend the summer in town with Uncle Richie and join them when they found a permanent place to live. But secretly, I was going to run away. I’ll be 18 in March. I wouldn’t need her consent to start on hormones and eventually get the surgery done.

“But how did you end up here…in my world?”

I told Regina about Uncle Richie investigating vortices in Parsons State Park and how I helped him draw up an electromagnetic field map of spots where people had mysteriously disappeared.

“Well, that sounds like kooky Uncle Richie, all right.”

“I thought I was going to drown in the lake, but it was like someone snapped their fingers and I came out bone dry, dressed like a girl and actually being a girl. I tried to find Uncle Richie, but he was nowhere in sight. So, I decided to walk back to Uncle Richie’s house. That’s when your stepdad picked me up on the highway. I was so stunned he was alive that I was struck dumb. I didn’t say a word until we got home.”

“I can’t process all this. It must be true. You look exactly like me, and you know every detail of our lives, except for some obvious differences. But it’s like science fiction. Parallel universes, vortices…” Regina squeezed my hands. “You can’t leave. To mom, you’re her long lost baby girl. She’d be devastated if you dropped in and out of her life like this.”

“I should leave. Maybe there’s a way to get back to my universe. I don’t belong here.”

“You don’t know if there’s a way back. Probably you’re stuck here. And you’re what you’ve always wanted to be…a real girl! A real one. You can probably have babies! What I wouldn’t give to be in your place—”

Mom appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She had come out to pour herself a glass of water.

“Girls! It’s late. Regina, you have school tomorrow. Go back to bed. You have the rest of your lives to engage in sister talk.”

“Yes, mom,” we said in unison.

“You’re right, Sara. She’s the spitting image of Regina. It’s remarkable.”

I looked up from my bowl of Fruit Loops and met Uncle Richie’s astonished stare. Of course, it was “parallel” Uncle Richie, not the one back home. I had been finishing up breakfast with mom. She had taken the day off from work to babysit me. Or watch guard over me? Nick, Artie, and Regina had already left the house more than an hour before. I was waiting for my clothes to stop tumble drying.

“Gigi, this is my brother, your Uncle Richie. I asked him to come by—”

“Yeah, he’s obsessed with bizarre, inexplicable things. Like me?”

“How would you know that, Gigi?”

I realized I had slipped and immediately replied, “Regina told me all about you…last night.”

“Gigi, why don’t you check to see if your clothes are dry? I want to speak to your uncle privately for a minute. And just put Regina’s pajamas in the hamper.”

Reluctantly, I rose from the kitchen table, placed my bowl and utensils in the sink, and walked briskly toward the back of the house where the utility room was, with its door opening into our garage. I overheard mom whispering to Uncle Richie, “It’s spooky how she seems to know her way around the house blindfolded.” I smiled to myself. Of course, I was home. Sort of.

I pulled my clothes out of the dryer. Irresistibly, I pressed them against my nose to take in their warm, clean, floral scent. I was about to strip off my pajamas and change back into my t-shirt and jeans when the urge to eavesdrop on mom and Uncle Richie became too much to ignore. Like Spiderman, I plastered myself against the walls and tried to maintain radio silence as I approached the kitchen.

“Selective amnesia can occur after traumatic or stressful experiences. Like collateral victims of war, natural disasters, the death of a loved one, sexual abuse, rape—”

“Oh God no! Not my sweet baby girl! You think she’s running away from abusive parents?”

“Happens, Sara. Happens. Unfortunately.”

“I don’t know who adopted her. It’s the damned law. They strip the birth mother of any parental rights. I have no idea what kind of hellish childhood Gigi had.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions—”

“That’s all you ever do, Richie. You believe in ancient aliens for godsake!”

“I’ll tell you what. I have some contacts in the courthouse. Maybe I can find out who the adoptive parents are. Then check into the situation. It might just be a relatively trivial parent-child conflict.”

“It can’t be trivial if she claims to not even remember the names of her parents or where she lives. I’m not even sure her name is really Gigi—”

“But you’re sure she’s your daughter?”

“A mother knows her own child. Even separated by seventeen years.”

“What does Nick have to say about this?”

“He has no say. She’s my child, not his. Any objection he has is a non-starter.”

“Okay, Sara. I’ll get on it immediately. Hopefully, I’ll have the lowdown on her by sometime next week. This might cost me an uncomfortable date with a less than desirable companion.”

“I owe you, brother.”

Sensing their conversation was about to end, I ran back to the utility room and hurriedly changed clothes. I heard the front door slam shut just as I arrived in the kitchen.

“I feel like getting some fresh air…uh…mom.”

“Don’t go too far, Gigi. The streets in this neighborhood can be very confusing. You could get lost.”

“Mr. Tubbs knew the neighborhood streets as well as any human,” I said under my breath.

“How do you know about our dog? Poor mutt had to be put down last year. Regina cried for a week after.”

“Oh, Regina told me about Mr. Tubbs last night.”

“Quite a conversation you two had.”

“I’ll be back in a few.”

I almost stumbled over the steps of our stoop as I ran to intercept Richie before he drove off.

“Uncle Richie! Wait! I need to talk to you.”

Richie unlocked the doors and I scooted into the passenger seat next to him.

“Let me guess. Your name’s not really Gigi.”

“I can tell you because if you’re anything like my Uncle Richie you’ll believe what I’m about to say.”

“Shoot.”

“I’m Reggie, your nephew.” Richie arched one eyebrow and was about to speak when the torrent of words just spilled out of me.

I essentially gave him the same summary I had offered Regina last night. I spoke quickly and barely took a breath, not allowing Richie to interrupt. Finally, I stopped. He scratched his head and threw it back against the headrest. He whistled.

“At first, I was thinking I’m talking to a lunatic but…you know too much you couldn’t possibly know…unless you’re actually telling the truth. I’ve never told anyone about the vortices in Parsons State Park. Not even Regina. She’s a skeptic like almost everyone else. Your mom…I mean Regina’s mom…doesn’t even believe in Santa Claus, for godsake.”

“Is there a way I can get back to my own universe?”

“Who knows? No one’s ever come back to tell us. It’s like a black hole. You have to pass through the singularity to find out. No one’s gone through and come back out…as far as we know.”

“I could retrace my steps. Go back into the lake.”

“It might work but, Reggie, you might just end up in yet another universe. And you’ll probably not be a girl in that one either.”

“Wait a minute. Grant Moorefield! He went through that same vortex, and he even communicated with you in dreams afterwards. We can contact him here. He’ll be able to help me.”

“Is that one of the Moorefield brothers? The ones with the podcast? What’s it named? Oh, yeah. ‘Beyond Bizarre.’ I don’t know him, Reggie. You’re talking about the one in your universe. The Grant Moorefield in this universe might not be the same dude.”

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“In the meanwhile, Reggie, just chill. Nothing’s going to happen until we get your identity cleared up. It’s just a hunch but we’re not going to run into Regina’s real twin anytime soon.”

“How’s that?”

“The laws of conservation of mass and energy, kid.”

“That’s physics, Uncle Richie. You’re a Contemporary History professor, remember? We’re not talking about chemical reactions.”

“You’re definitely not the Reggie I know from this universe. Regina only cracks a textbook under threat of being left back a grade.”

As Richie drove away, my shoulders drooped on my slow walk back to our house. Facing an uncertain future in a completely alien parallel universe can really bring you down. A familiar face appeared above the hedge bordering our house with our neighbor’s. It was Mrs. Gillespie, a 70-year-old widow who lived alone, spending most of her time tending to her extensive flower garden. During the warm months of the year, the pungent scent of a dozen varieties of flowers wafted from her backyard. Good thing no one in our family suffered from allergies.

“Oh, Regina, nice to see you. No school today?”

“Uh, good morning, Mrs. Gillespie. Just a little under the weather. But I’m already feeling a whole lot better. The fresh air helps.”

“I understand. I hated going to school on a nice day like today when I was your age too. I must say, Regina, I can’t believe you were a boy named Reggie just a little more than six months ago. You look so beautiful now. Like you were meant to be. I’m glad your parents finally saw the light.” She disappeared behind the hedge for a second before popping back up, a single red rose in her right hand. “I just took some cuttings this morning. Here, this is for you, dear. One of many you’ll receive from your future swains, I’m sure.”

I took the rose from her and thanked her. The petals tickled my nose as I breathed in its perfume.

“O my love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June.
O my love is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.”

“Robert Burns, the Scottish Bard. Do you still read him in school, dear?”

I blushed a rosy, red hue as Mrs. Gillespie smiled at me over the hedge.

When I eventually returned from my “fresh air” jaunt, mom motioned me over to the kitchen table. She patted the chair next to her. I plopped myself down.

“You need several changes of clothes. Some tops, slacks, skirts, socks, tights, panties…and, oh yes, some bras. I really don’t think a proper young lady should go around braless. Your adoptive parents let you walk around like that?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t even remember how I ended up dressed like this yesterday.”

“Well, let’s not worry about that right now. Uncle Richie will get to the bottom of it soon hopefully. As for now, I want Regina to take you to the mall tomorrow and shop for what you need. I’d take you myself, but I had to switch days at work to take off today. Now I’ll have to work the weekend to make up for it.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that, mom. I’m causing you so much trouble—”

She reached over and held my face in her hands, tenderly.

“No trouble, honey. Never. I just love having my baby girl back. And you’ll have so much fun shopping with your sister Regina. You know, just a month ago she had her first bra fitting and she was so proud. All she does now is read fashion magazines. I wish she’d apply herself more to her studies. I’m afraid she’s going to be as boy crazy as I was at her age.”

“I can’t stand taking the bus everywhere,” Regina almost screamed as we entered The Westfield Garden State Plaza in Paramus, a mall I’d been to countless times in my life. I could recall shopping for mom’s birthday gift here just two months ago…in my universe. “I bet you drove back home in your world.”

“No such luck. I got my license but then dad died…my dad…and we couldn’t afford to get me a car. Even a beat-up used one. Why doesn’t Nick buy you one?”

“Well…I know they’ve had to spend a lot on my counseling and hormone therapy. I feel like I’ve been enough of a financial burden on them. Neither of their health plans cover my…stuff.”

“You’re a good daughter, Regina. Better than I was…”

“Well, you can turn over a new leaf now, Gigi. Ha ha. Reggie—”

“It’ll be different having a sister. And being a sister!”

“You and me against the world, sister!” She hooked her arm into mine and we started to traipse through the mall, singing the Laverne & Shirley song like a couple of lunatic teenage girls (which we were!).

“Schlemiel! Schlimazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated.”

People in the mall couldn’t help but stop and shoot us some curious looks. Some laughed. Some snickered and shook their heads. More than a couple of teenage boys whistled and pointed at us.

“We’re getting a lot of attention, Regina. They’ll call the men in the white suits with fish nets to take us away soon.”

We sang even louder as we made our way through the expansive concourse, headed for the row of teen apparel shops on the first level of the mall. Suddenly, Regina stopped singing and pulled me over into a side corridor behind a T-Mobile store.

“What?”

“It’s George Parker and that bitch Winnie Schlitter! I don’t want them to see me!”

“George is my best friend in the world and Winnie…sure she’s a bit much but what do you expect from the head cheerleader who dates our star basketball player—”

“Basketball? He’s the quarterback on the football team! George and I used to be best friends forever. Then I started transitioning and he’s given me the cold shoulder ever since. He acts like I’m some kind of monster. It makes me…” Regina’s eyes started to redden.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the girly boy itself. Hello, Reggie. Or do you prefer your alter ego, Regina?”

Discovered, we came out from hiding. I tried to stay a couple of paces behind Regina, raising the hood of the pullover I’d borrowed from her to obscure my face and turning slightly away from view. Winnie had a tight grip on George’s arm even as George carried shopping bags in both hands. He did a double take.

“You’re twins?”

©2025 SammyC

“You’re twins?” George’s mouth was agape.

“Twin sisters, actually,” Regina proudly declared, pushing me forward and gesturing for me to remove the hood from my head. I did what she asked and shook out my hair out as Winnie stared at me.

George stepped forward, disentangling from Winnie’s grasp. “You told me your twin was adopted when you were—

“Two weeks old. Yeah, well, she’s visiting—”

“I thought you said you never knew who adopted her or where they lived—”

I slid in between them as Regina was floundering. “I found Regina and…and my biological mother…on my own.”

“So, you’re a runaway. The police can’t be too far behind. Your adopted parents know who your mother is,” Winnie said ominously.

“Just because your dad is deputy sheriff in this one-horse town—” I stopped myself and tried to pull up my hood again.

“Please don’t tell your dad, Winnie. Gigi isn’t a runaway. It’s kind of complicated. Too complicated to explain but her parents are ok with her visiting us.”

“If you’re lying, it won’t matter. My dad will be ordered to round her up like a stray dog anyway, “Winnie sniffed as she pulled on George’s arm to move along.

George kept a steady gaze on me as he nodded. “Nice to meet you, Gigi, is it? If you’re going to be in town for a while, you should come to the game next Friday night. We’re going to celebrate afterwards at The IHOP in Fair Lawn. You and Regina are welcome to join us—”

“George! What are you doing?” Winnie screeched as she took hold of George’s arm again.

“You know Regina and I have been friends forever. She hasn’t been to a game since last Fall—”

Regina bowed her head. “Well, you stopped being my friend, George—”

George lowered his eyes and half-whispered, “Because things kind of changed…”

“Yeah, like a sex change. Come on, George. Time’s a wasting. I saw some really cute boots in Steve Madden’s.”

As Winnie dragged him away, George twisted and turned to shout back at us. “Remember, next Friday. Kickoff at 7!”

Regina and I resumed our march toward Macy’s. Looking back, Regina nudged my ribs, and, with an annoyed sneer, she asked me, “Did you see the way he stared at you, Gigi?”

“Like an animal in the zoo?”

“No, George was eyeing you like a snack, girl. He never looked at me like that, much less invited me to a post-game bacchanal.”

“In my world, me and George were best buds and he played basketball not football. He never looked at me like that either.”

“Welcome to a whole new world, sis.”

Clothes shopping turned out to be a bit more complicated than Regina had foreseen. Considering I was a newbie to the gender, I let her guide me in fashion choices. I could tell Regina had immersed herself in the latest cool trends in teenage couture.

“What you’re picking out for me and what I’ve seen of your own wardrobe is completely different, Regina.”

“Mom wants me to dress conservatively and not attract too much attention to myself. She’s afraid of disturbing the natives.”

“Sounds like she’s not too enthusiastic about your transitioning.”

“Mom’s ok. Being an unwed teen mother kind of colors your image of what responsible parenthood is supposed to be. Far be it for her son to be a deviant because she had me at sixteen. Oh, this would look cute on you.” She held a hot pink Belize crop top in front of me.

“It’d look nice on you too.”

“Mom would shoot me if I wore something like this to school.”

“Wear it to the game Friday night. It’ll go well with the team colors.”

She looked at mom’s credit card in her right hand. “Don’t tell mom, ok?”

“We’re sisters. We don’t snitch on each other. Right?”

We shared a smile like twin co-conspirators.

It turned out the one thing we didn’t share was identical clothing sizes. Regina was crestfallen when she realized I required items consistently a size or two larger than she. Annoyingly helpful saleswomen would point out that I was broader across the chest (I found my bra fitting almost comical when I saw the envious expression on Regina’s face) and wider in my hips than my twin.

“I’m older by several minutes,” I would say to the bemusement of the sales staff.

After almost three hours of frenetic shopping, Regina and I lugged our four bulging bags of Macy’s finest items of women’s wear (including a cute pair of Chelsea boots from Steve Madden’s) along toward the food court. We planned to treat ourselves to a late lunch of vegetable spring rolls and fried rice from Master Wok. So, we have rather pedestrian taste. What do you expect from two Jersey girls?

In the next to last corridor before the food court, we came upon Miss Julie’s Bridal Shop. Regina stopped to look over the formal dresses in the far window of the store.

“That dress in Royal Blue or Hunter Green would be perfect to wear to the Homecoming Dance. If someone would ask me…” She fell silent, still ogling the mannequins.

“I know, Regina. I really liked George in my world too.”

“Let’s eat fast and take the bus home. You have a whole runway show to prepare for when we get back.”

After dinner, I played supermodel in a makeshift fashion show, displaying the clothes we had threatened mom’s credit limit to accumulate. The family arranged themselves in seats along a “runway” Regina had constructed by lining the living room carpet with a dozen portable puck lights, six on a side. She doused the lights and played “Babylon” by Lady Gaga on blast from her phone. Using the remote, she switched on the puck lights, and I walked out in my first outfit. It was a light grey button-down ribbed midi dress. I spoiled my entrance by stumbling in my new chunky heel black Chelsea boots. Catching myself before I fell flat on my face, I tried to remember all the catwalk tips Regina had read to me off the internet.

1. Choose a point in the distance to focus on as you stride.
2. Keep your gaze forward, with your head up and a slight downward tilt to your chin.
3. Create an elegant line by pulling your shoulders slightly back and down.
4. Place one foot in front of the other, almost as if you’re walking along a thin, invisible line.
5. When you reach the end of the catwalk, gently plant your feet, and sway your hips from side to side once, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, pivoting with ease.
6. Rinse and repeat.

From that point onward, the show came off smashingly well, I must say. Artie oohed and ahhed and clapped his hands enthusiastically. Nick sat entranced. Mom snapped shot after shot with her phone, uttering single words like “lovely,” “beautiful,” and “gorgeous.” We went through the entire contents of all the bags we had brought back home, excluding the underwear, of course. Finally, I took a bow and curtsied to my captive audience in my hot pink Belize crop top (with a white t-shirt underneath for modesty’s sake) and vintage ‘90s relaxed straight jeans.

“Oh my God, Nick, we have a supermodel daughter! Gigi, you cat-walked like a professional.” Mom embraced me as Nick and Artie tried to join in a group hug. Standing to one side, applauding, was Regina. Slowly, her broad smile turned into a dazed look of disappointment. I could sense she felt ignored, even displaced in the family circle. I reached out my hand, beckoning her to join the huddle but she turned away after switching off the puck lights, leaving us momentarily in darkness.

Because of Bergen County’s notorious Blue Laws, shopping for all items except food is forbidden on Sundays. So, Nick took Artie, Regina, and I to the Short Hills Mall in Morris County, an hour’s drive from Rossington, to pick up a phone, duplicate house keys, and a NJ Transit Tap and Ride Bus Pass for me. Mom had to work on Sunday. She took the other car to Livingston early in the morning.

Regina was in a better mood and cajoled Nick into taking us to the AMC Mountainside 10 Multiplex, 15 minutes from the mall, to see the new Trent Foster concert film, “A Man for All Reasons.” Trent is Regina’s favorite pop star. In my world, I could take him or leave him. I’ve heard better.

We were a half-hour early for the next showing, so I volunteered to collect the hot dogs and sodas at the concession stand while everyone else secured a table for us. Nick gave me four twenties that I put into the new purse I had just bought that morning and I joined the line for victuals. I jumped when a finger gently jabbed me on the shoulder from behind. I quickly turned around and almost smashed my nose against George Parker’s rock-hard chest.

“Gigi! Funny—”

“Meeting you here? Hi, George. I didn’t take you for a Trent Foster fan.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t pay good money to see that dude sing. I’m a teenager but not a teenage girl, like all his fans. I’m waiting for the 2PM showing of the Magnus, Robot Fighter movie.”

“The one where he faces off against Predator? Yeah, I’d like to see that myself. We’re seeing the Trent Foster movie because…y’know, Regina…”

“I saw you and the fam walk in. Regina used to like seeing superhero movies. But, well, I guess…”

“So, are you alone? Maybe I could pass on the Trent Foster experience and sit with you?” I smiled coquettishly.

“Uh, no.” He pointed to a table where Winnie was sitting, engrossed in checking texts on her phone. “Say, I hope you’re coming to the game on Friday. Seriously, you’d be my guest at the post-game meal. I can squeeze six into my Challenger.”

“Sure. I’m coming with Regina.”

“Oh, yeah, she can come too. Hey, you’re next.”

“Can I take your order, miss?” The girl at the counter repeated her question before I turned around. I was still smiling goofily at George.

It was unusually hot for a Tuesday afternoon in the second week of September in the Northeast as I stood outside Mildred Pierce Elementary School, waiting to pick up Artie as students were let out at 3PM. I was wearing a pink sweatshirt hoodie, my new denim mini-skirt, and a pair of beige and pink trainers. Oh, and I was wearing makeup. First time out in public! You see, for teaching me how to apply makeup properly, Regina’s payment in kind was for me to take over escorting Artie home from school. At least temporarily until I had something otherwise constructive to do with my days.

When Regina brought Artie home from school Monday afternoon, the three of us immediately turned around and walked the ten blocks to the strip mall.

“I promised mom I’d teach you how to put on makeup. Artie! Don’t let go of my hand! So, we’re going to get you what I started with. One of those all-in-one makeup kits that’s perfect for teens—”

“Why can’t I just borrow your makeup. After all, we’re sisters—”

“No! Never share makeup! Even with your twin sister from a parallel universe. Germs, viruses, all that bad stuff…”

“Can I have some ice cream, Regina?” Artie pulled on her arm to command her attention.

“Okay, okay. Soft serve or scoop?”

“I vote for soft serve.” Artie low-fived me with his free hand.

Once back home, we sat down at Regina’s vanity, and she went through makeup essentials step-by-step. It was rather daunting to look at all the instruments of torture in the all-in-one kit Regina had picked up at CVS for the low, low price of a mere $20 U.S. Lip gloss, lipstick, eye shadow, primer, brow gel, blush, mascara, and every kind and size of brush. I practiced for over two hours. Artie lay on the floor playing a game on my new phone. Finally, mom came home from work and discovered the whole sick crew in Regina’s bedroom.

“Look, mommy, Gigi’s got makeup on.” He let out a squeal of surprise. “She looks just like you do now, mommy.”

“You look beautiful, Gigi. Regina’s done a good job of teaching. I’m going to go change and then start dinner. I’d love to have both my girls help.”

“Regina, is that you? You look very nice today. New outfit?”

It was Mrs. Landon. I’d had her in second grade. Since our middle and high schools were catty-corner from our primary school, we would still occasionally cross paths. In this universe, she knew Reggie had transitioned to Regina. She stepped away from the front of the building and slowly approached.

“I’m not Regina. I’m…uh…Gigi, her twin sister.”

“My goodness. I didn’t know she had a twin.”

“I was adopted as a baby. I just found out about my biological mom and sister.”

“Are your adoptive parents here with you?” she asked, a note of concern in her voice.

“Gigi! What are you doing here?” Artie bounded out of the building, followed by several classmates and a young woman in her twenties who presumably was their teacher. “It’s my other sister, Gigi, Miss Rowan. See you tomorrow!”

“I’m here to walk you home, Artie. Regina and I switched jobs. Ha ha. Come on, let’s go.”

“I guess Regina’s not gonna take me to hockey practice on Saturday either. She doesn’t want to do anything with me anymore. Do you think she doesn’t like me now that she’s a girl?”

I thought about the Artie in my world. Just before mom decided to move to New York and take Artie with her, I’d accompany Artie to his weekly tee ball games. Bunch of 6- and 7-year-old boys and girls hitting softened baseballs off a tee on top of a tube adjusted for each player’s height. Most of the time batted balls never got out of the infield. It was boring to watch, but I got a kick out of seeing Artie running around the bases, laughing and pumping his tiny arms like a miniature Olympic sprinter.

“I’ll take you, squirt. I’ve got nothing better to do on weekends. Or any other day for that matter.”

Artie hugged my leg, making it difficult for me to walk.

“Are you going to stay with us forever, Gigi? You’re the best sister I’ve ever had.”

On Thursday night, Uncle Richie came over for dinner. Afterwards, he wanted to tell us what his research into my situation revealed. Mom put Artie to bed and rejoined us in the living room, prompting Richie to begin.

“My…uh…source in the courthouse got me the names of the couple that adopted Regina’s twin sister 17 years ago. She was reluctant to divulge it because it’s really illegal to reveal that information. The law is on the books to protect the child, you see, from biological parents who reverse field and seek to regain custody. Could be a huge mess for all concerned, especially the child who’s caught in the middle—”

“Richie,” mom interrupted with exasperation, “we know all that. What did you find out?”

“Marcel and Delphine LeClerc. French citizens who met and married while working for L’Oreal at their U.S. headquarters in Berkeley Heights, here in New Jersey. They named the baby girl Genevieve. But everyone called her Gigi—”

Mom’s breath caught in her throat, and she placed a hand over her mouth.

Nick declared, “That’s our Gigi! Perfect match, honey.”

Regina and I froze in surprise. Was Richie making this up?

“The family lived in nearby Summit and Marcel rose in the ranks to Deputy Controller for the company. They enjoyed traveling and, every summer, the Leclercs would take a month’s vacation, as is French custom, you know. This year, they decided to go on a road trip through Nevada and Arizona. In mid-June, they arrived in Arizona, specifically Grand Canyon National Park. They took the popular helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon. Unfortunately, their helicopter experienced some sort of mechanical failure and crashed into Jacob Lake—”

Again, mom’s breath caught in her throat. Regina and I reflexively reached for each other and squeezed our hands together, perched on the edge of the sofa.

“There were no survivors. But they never recovered Gigi’s body. Everyone else on that flight but her. Still, under New Jersey law, there can be no declaration of death until five years have elapsed in the case of a missing person.”

Nick took mom in his arms and looked straight at me. “Of course, she’s not dead. She’s alive and well, sitting right here, in this house, with us. Welcome home, Gigi.”

Mom placed her hand on my cheek. “I’m so sorry you lost your adoptive parents, honey. But you’re safe now and truly loved and treasured. I can’t make up for the 17 years we’ve missed out on, but we can be your new old family—”

“And then there’s the question of how she survived the crash and where she’s been the last three months. How in the world did she find her way to you guys? This looks to be some humdinger of a PTSD case, alright. Almost a complete wiping of her memories in and around this incredibly traumatic event.” Uncle Richie took out his Italian-made briar pipe. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to light it. I just like holding it like a prop.” He laughed.

There was silence while everyone contemplated that mystery. Mom crossed the room, sat down on the sofa, and put her arms around me. Nick got up and paced the room.

“Richie, can you hook us up with a lawyer who can establish Gig’s identity and get the court to return custody of her to Sara?” asked Nick.

“Establishing her identity is a relatively simple matter. A DNA test will prove that she’s Regina’s fraternal twin. They ought to share at least 50% of their genes. The real problem is that, by statute, the relatives of her adoptive parents are first in line to gain custody in the event of their demise. I’m no lawyer but a good argument could be made that it’s in the best interests of the child…our Gigi…to remain in the only country she’s ever known. The LeClercs’ relatives, on both sides, reside exclusively in Europe. And, finally, it might turn out to be a moot question anyway. Gigi turns 18 in March and becomes fully adult. By the time any legal challenges are resolved, the issue will no longer exist.”

“Let’s get her DNA tested first, Richie,” mom urged.

“I have a contact at the university hospital who could set that up for Gigi—”

“I know. I know. This might cost you an uncomfortable date with a less than desirable companion.”

“You know me too well, sis. It’s late. Gotta get home. I’ve got a bunch of tests to grade. I’ll let you know when Gigi can go in for that DNA test.”

Uncle Richie leaned down and held my hand. Turning to shield himself from mom’s view, he winked his eye. “Everything will work itself out, Gigi. Trust me.”

Nick saw him to the door.

“Honey,” mom said, probing my eyes, “do you remember anything about the crash and after? Anything at all?”

I shook my head. Not only was I at a loss for words, but I also suddenly felt a throbbing pain in my stomach. Not like any stomachache I’d ever had before. It seemed to be lower down in my abdomen. Afraid I might have an accident, I jumped up from the sofa and excused myself. I ran up the stairs to the second-floor bathroom, holding my stomach with my left hand.

As soon as I entered the bathroom, I quickly lowered my jeans and panties and plopped down on the toilet seat. I expected a rapid expulsion, but nothing happened. That’s when I noticed it. In the gusset of my panties, there were little pinpoint red spots that looked suspiciously like blood. I was bleeding!

What’s going on?

©2025 SammyC

The distressing pain in my abdomen had subsided to an intermittent dull ache as I tried to fall asleep. I was sharing Regina’s queen size bed now. In my universe, mom had switched out my original twin size bed for a queen because Sassy, my Brittany spaniel mix dog refused to sleep anywhere but next to me. More about the absent Sassy later. It’s a little too painful for me to discuss right now. In any event, I gather Regina’s parallel universe followed the same set of circumstances. Speaking of whom, she had just completed her homework assignments and gone off to perform her nightly ablutions. I hope she doesn’t mind that I hung my undies to dry in the shower. After my visit to the bathroom where the “incident” made itself visible to me, i.e., the blood spots on the gusset of my panties, I soaked them in the sink with Woolite for a good half-hour. If the stains don’t come out, I guess I’ll just toss them. I just hope I didn’t sustain some sort of internal injury going through that damned vortex.

My eyes were closed though I was still wide awake when I felt Regina slide into the other side of the bed.

“I’m glad you don’t sleep commando.”

“I knew you were awake. Mom says I snore. I guess it’s the same for you. Maybe you should sleep commando though. Doctors say yeast infections are more likely when moisture is trapped by tight-fitting fabric. I mean, you have a vagina. I’m still waiting on mine…”

“In my universe, I hadn’t even gotten to the hormones stage. Mom hoped I’d grow out of my delusion.”

“Well, you’re living a charmed life. You’ve stumbled into a universe where you don’t need to transition. You’re already a biological female. Sucks to be me, I guess. Maybe I could find one of those vortices.”

“You’ll get there soon. You’re legally a woman now. And your Uncle Richie will help pay for your gender affirming surgery—”

“What? He never told me that.”

“Well…my Uncle Richie (who’s probably being grilled by the authorities not to mention my parents about my sudden disappearance) told me he’s set aside some of his book royalties for my eventual surgery.”

“Yeah, he’s made decent money with that crazy book. But it’s news to me if he’s willing to do that for me.”

“Good night, Regina.”

“I’m amazed you can just fall asleep like this after what Uncle Richie told us tonight. You’re in like Flynn, girl. Of course, the DNA tests will prove you’re my identical twin. The only thing you’ll have to explain is where you’ve been these three months since the helicopter crash and why you’ve got a doozy of a case of amnesia.”

“If they don’t ever find the real Gigi’s body in the depths of that lake—”

“They won’t. I’ve got a feeling you’ve literally taken her place…in this universe. Who knows? Maybe she’s swapped with you. Sort of a one-for-one trade like they do in sports.”

“Speaking of sports. Do you really want to go to that game tomorrow night? The George in this world plays football, which I’ve never had any interest in. My George played basketball and I only tolerated watching the games because he was in them. This George, not so much—”

“No, we have to go! And he personally invited us to the post-game party. That means we’ll sit with George and Billy, his favorite pass catcher, in their favorite booth—”

“And Winnie too, no?”

“Yeah…but she’ll be the…let’s see…the fifth wheel. George doesn’t really like her.”

“They looked pretty lovey-dovey at the mall to me.”

“Since you’re my twin from another universe, didn’t you feel something for George?”

“We were best buds. More like brothers really. I swear I never had any romantic interest in him. I don’t consider myself gay. I’m straight.”

“If you’re still straight, you must like guys now.”

“Gender and sexual orientation are not necessarily identical—”

“Yeah, but we are. And I’ve always been in love with George. As far back as I can remember. Now that I’ve transitioned, I’m not afraid to shout it out loud. I’M IN LOVE WITH GEORGE PARKER!”

There was a loud knock on the door.

“Girls! Go to sleep! Regina, you’ve got school tomorrow. And Gigi, you’re walking Artie to school as well. I have to leave early to open the shop. Fridays are always a super busy day. Good night, ladies.”

I turned to Regina, but she was already fast asleep…and snoring.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, surfing the net on Regina’s old laptop (I knew all the passwords), trying to see what subtle and not so subtle differences there were between this world and my original one. Pretty much, the vast majority of data points I checked were the same. Even in this universe, the New York Jets hadn’t been to a Super Bowl in over 50 years, women have resurrected cargo pants from the early 2000s, and men are wearing fanny pack crossbody bags. Eeeek!

The doorbell rang at around 11AM. It was Uncle Richie.

“I figured you’d be home alone at this time of day.”

“Come in. What’s up?”

“I’m in the process of getting you into the medical center for those DNA tests early next week and I’ve been referred to a family law attorney who could handle a lot of the legal and clerical issues of your ‘reappearance.’ What we need to do is firm up your story…because you’ll need to explain a lot of highly unlikely events.”

“Such as where I’ve been for three months and why I have no memory of that. Or, for that matter, memory of who my adoptive parents were, where I grew up, what school I attended—”

I went to pour a cup of coffee for Richie after we both settled into seats around the kitchen table.

“A traumatic experience—”

“Like dying in a helicopter crash?”

“Well, you somehow survived that. But that traumatic event wiped your topmost memories as a way for your mind to compartmentalize the terror of what you’ve just gone through. You wandered for weeks, occasionally depending on the charity and kindness of strangers (of course, you don’t remember their names either) who shepherded you along on each successive leg of your journey back to New Jersey. Your internal compass kept pushing you east toward home, the name of which you didn’t even remember. Finally, Nick Tolliver picked you up on the interstate on his commute from work a few miles from Parsons State Park, thinking you were Regina, your long-separated twin.”

“That sounds like something from your book, ‘Strangeness Beyond.’”

“Why not? I’m a non-fiction writer not a novelist. Now, let’s go over your idyllic life with your adoptive parents in Summit. These are bare-bones details but no one’s going to believe that you’ve got total amnesia. They’d lock you up in a research hospital if that’s the case.”

“Maybe I incurred a brain injury when I was thrown out of the helicopter?”

“I’m no phrenologist but I don’t see any bumps on your head, so to speak. You’re outrageously healthy, as far as I can tell.”

“I’ve been bleeding from some odd areas of my body. Not much but…”

Richie gave me an odd look before saying, “No time for bad jokes, Gigi.”

We spent the next hour locking down the fundamental facts of my 17 years on earth (this version of me anyway). It seems Gigi LeClerc had led a very happy, even privileged life. Far better than the lives either Regina or I had led. With an upper middle-class upbringing and attractive looks, Gigi was going somewhere. I wonder if the Gigi in my world had the same luck of the draw.

I felt elated and yet undeniably sad that I had careened into a world in which my prospects in life were so much better than what they were before I swam into oblivion. Here, I was a biological woman, an heiress to a tidy inheritance but my friends and family were essentially strangers to me while, to them, I was an oddly out of place cypher.

I had just walked Artie home from school and agreed to play video games on the Switch with the little bugger when Regina rushed into the house, breathless. Gulping air before she could speak, she waved her arms toward the stairs.

“Quick, we’ve only got two and a half hours to get ready for the game tonight! Chop chop!”

“What’s the rush? It’s a game, not a date.” As if in answer, Regina pulled me along by the arm, pushing me up the stairs before her.

“Gigi! George is picking us up at 6. Normally for a home game, after his last class, he just goes straight to the gym, changes into his uniform and waits to warm up before the kick-off. Today, he’s changing his routine! He’s driving us to the field. We have to look our best.”

I turned back to little forlorn Artie. “You’ll have to play by yourself, Artie. Sorry.”

“Can I come up and watch you guys?”

“It’s just putting on make-up and doing our hair, right?” Regina nodded from the landing above me.

“OK, squirt. But be quiet.” Artie ran up the stairs, giggling. I wonder, sometimes, about him.

Well, it turned out to be much more than that. We showered, dried our hair, teased, combed, and brushed it to a fare-thee-well, then placed colorful hair clips in strategic positions. I blanched at this final touch.

“Don’t these clips make us look like 9-year-olds?” Regina slapped my hands away from my hair.

“All the girls are wearing them in senior class this year. It’s a thing, silly rabbit.”

Chastened, I let her do my nails. At last count, we used 4 different colors. I used 5 on her nails. Artie liked the green polish we put on his nails. Wait till Nick, our stepdad, sees that.

For our toes, which hypothetically no one will see inside our Chelsea boots, we chose Hot Pink by Sally Hansen. It was stunning to the eye. I suggested to Regina that we wear sandals instead of boots. She stopped to consider it while I admired my wiggling toes in their foam separators. Finally, she shook her head.

“We’ll get dirt and stuff on them at the field. We’d look like migrant farm workers. Nothing wrong with that, of course.”

I took the first turn at the vanity and applied the simple make-up I had been doggedly practicing all week. I still felt apprehensive about poking an eye out or brushing too much blush on my cheeks, but it didn’t look too bad at all. Then, I sat on the bed behind Regina and watched her more experienced artistry at work. Artie caught me pantomiming Regina’s movements and giggled. I gently grabbed him by the shoulders and wrestled him to the floor, tickling his sides. We giggled until we hiccupped.

What took us the longest time was deciding what outfits to wear to this combo sporting event and after-party. Both our wardrobes were more limited than any of the girls in our senior class (I had hopes to attend class soon). Skirts were out. Too cold in the evening without tights. Dresses were definitely out. Who goes to a football game and then IHOP in a dress? Maybe Taylor Swift? Pointedly, Regina remarked an upskirt incident for her wouldn’t be that copacetic. And Regina wanted us to dress alike. After all, we were going to introduce me as her twin sister. Everyone expects twins to dress alike.

Ultimately, we decided on the belize crop tops we had both purchased at the mall. Underneath, we wore chaste white tee shirts. Our legs were sheathed in vintage ‘90s jeans, which ended high enough to show off our new Chelsea boots. Artie applauded as we cat-walked the length of our bedroom.

Mom got home from work at a quarter of six. She looked us over and nodded her approval.

“Two questions. It’s going to get chilly later tonight. Don’t shake your head, Regina. Err on the safe side and bring a sweater or jacket. Do you have something Gigi could wear?”

“She can have my pink hoodie. As for me, I’m living dangerously. I’m living as a girl.” She struck a cute pose.

“Gigi, go find it in the closet upstairs. And pick out a sweater for Danger Girl here while you’re at it.”

As I climbed the stairs, I overheard her second question.

“OK, who put polish on Artie’s nails?”

“He asked for it, mom. I swear.” Mom turned to Artie.

“Artie, is that true?”

“I like it, mom. Look at all the pretty colors.”

“Sit up front with me, Gigi,” George said as he led Regina and I to his Dodge Challenger. I could make out the dark form of Billy Bacigalupo filling up most of the back seat. In Regina’s world, Billy was the team’s star Tight End and George’s favorite target. In my own, Billy had been a bench player on our basketball team. He hardly made an impression on campus. I might have exchanged five words with him in three years. Here, he appeared to be best buddies with George. He smiled and waved to us.

George opened the passenger side door, and I scooted in. Regina, feeling ignored, opened the door behind us and settled into the small space between Billy and the window, a dyspeptic scowl on her face.

“This is Billy Bacigalupo, Gigi. All-state Tight End two years running. I wouldn’t be half the quarterback I am today without Billy making those incredible red zone catches.”

“Nice to meet you. Billy.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Gigi.”

“Not only a great athlete but a gentleman as well,” Regina hooted in the back of my seat.

“You know, the two of you look so much alike—”

“They’re twins, Billy,” noted George drily as we turned onto the main drag of our town, Dowd Avenue.

“That would explain it,” nodded Billy. “So, why aren’t you in school? They opened after Labor Day.”

“It’s a long story from what Regina’s told me. Maybe after we destroy those clowns from Radburn tonight, Gigi can tell us all about it over some classic IHOP steakburgers and fries.”

“Say, where’s Winnie?” I asked.

Regina tapped the head rest of my seat. “Gigi, she’s already there. She’s the captain of the cheerleading squad.”

I keep forgetting my Winnie is a little different from this world’s Winnie.

“Once you’re in school, Gigi, you should try out for cheer. Man, the way you look, you’re a cinch to make the squad—”

“So, Billy, should I try out too?”

“Oh, Regina, that’s silly. You might not be able to do those splits. Know what I mean?”

“Be nice, Billy. Regina’s…uh…very pretty too. I mean, Gigi and her are identical twins.” George had slipped the car into one of the teachers’ parking spaces. “She never comes to the games.” As we all climbed out of the car, Billy mumbled under his breath, “Identical? I don’t think so.” We split up when George and Billy went into the school building, headed for the gym, while Regina and I ambled toward the field.

New Jersey state regulations limit capacity at outdoor scholastic sporting events at 500. Even so, Rossington High’s football team games have some of the highest attendance in North Jersey. Normally, we’re at near capacity. At $3-$5 a ticket, it’s cheaper than buying a hotdog at the refreshment stand. Some wiseacres would say there’s little else to do on a Friday night in North Jersey.

Regina and I settled into our seats on the benches right behind the Rossington High sideline. Most of the spectators around us were friends and family of the players, with a smattering of students and interested townspeople. We did get some odd looks and a few serious stares. They must have thought they were seeing double. Which, of course, they were! I tried to ignore them, but Regina took pleasure in returning their questioning glares with a smile and a wave of her hand.

“I know all these people, Regina. Back home, they never gave me a second look. I doubt they even knew my last name,” I muttered.

“Well, it was the same for me until I started transitioning. That’s when I got to be notorious. Believe you me, they know my full three names: Regina (née Reginald) Monica Tolliver. You’d think I was the only trans kid in school history—”

“I know. There was Alice Shorter who was previously Ollie Shorter three years ago. And Jack Butler who was previously Leticia Butler two years before that.”

“How did you know--. Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting. Hey, look! They’re about to kick off!”

Competing cheer squads tried to stoke the fervor of the fans of the respective schools just before kickoff. Winnie led the cheering in front of our benches. She looked sleek and sporty-sexy in her cheerleader outfit. In my world, I don’t think she knew three words in our school song (nor did I). But, here, she was belting it out in a clear, strong contralto voice. She blew kisses to George as Rossington took the field after Radburn’s kick soared out of the end zone.

The game itself was a rout. Three minutes before halftime, Rossington was already leading 28 to 3. And darkness fell, bringing with it a bracing chill. I was already wearing Regina’s pink hoodie, but I laughed when Regina asked me for the sweater I was carrying for her in my cat’s whiskers black shoulder bag (and that she insisted she didn’t need). Yawning, I decided it would be a good time to beat the half-time rush and get a hotdog at the refreshment stand.

“Want something to eat or drink? I’m going for a hotdog myself. I’m kinda hungry.”

“We’re going to IHOP after the game. You can have double servings then. I wouldn’t touch one of those hotdogs anyway.”

“I’ll share a Pepsi with you.”

“I’ve got gum. I’m good.”

“I’ll be back.”

There was a short line at the refreshment stand. The piquant smell of hotdogs sizzling on a roller grill wafted back to my nostrils. I guess that’s one difference between Regina and me. I’ve always enjoyed a hotdog…with relish! Or just mustard. A dainty finger tapped me on my shoulder, and I turned around to see Mrs. Barrington, one of the school’s health education teachers. I would have had to take her class in Healthy Relationships as a senior back home.

“Regina! My my, you look so cute in that outfit. And the pink hoodie tops it off—”

“Mrs. Barrington! I’m…not—”

“No need to apologize, dear. I’m the one who should say sorry for pushing you to pair up with George Parker in class. I try to match up student’s orientations and, frankly, I was at a loss to find a match for you. I mean, you’re not gay, are you?”

“Well, no. I’m—”

“I assumed since you’re presenting as a girl now, you’d be ok with being paired up with a boy. After all, it’s not like you’re being matched romantically. It’s just easier to explore all the different relationship issues we’ll be covering in class if students work together in pairs. And you and George used to be such close friends. That is, before…ahem…before…”

“Mrs. Barrington, I’m not Regina.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going back to being Reggie!” There was a distinct tinge of panic in her tone. “Oh, that’ll be a disaster. I’ll have to change all the pairings—”

“I’m Gigi, Regina’s twin sister. I was adopted when I was a baby and…well, my adoptive parents were killed in a helicopter crash in Arizona. I’m staying with my biological mother now, Mrs. Tolliver.”

“Oh, dear me, that’s tragic. Losing your parents like that. But I never knew Regina had a twin sister who was given up for adoption.” She squeezed my hand sympathetically. “Surely you’ll be attending our school with your sister?”

“Hopefully soon. There’s a lot of official paperwork that has to be sorted out, you know.”

When the whistle blew to end the game, Rossington High celebrated its decisive drubbing of Radburn High to the score of 49 to 10. George Parker had thrown for 4 touchdowns and rushed for 2 as well. Billy Bacigalupo caught 3 of George’s TD passes. As the team trotted off the field, Winnie leaped into George’s arms and kissed his face repeatedly, leaving most of her lip gloss behind.

Regina huffed as we got up from our seats and joined the slow procession exiting the stands.

“Bitch has no shame. I think God hands out vaginas to the wrong people—”

“Jealous much?”

“You don’t fool me, Gigi. You like George just as much as I do.”

Suddenly, I felt a stabbing pain in my abdomen, similar to what I had experienced the night before, and almost stooped over in place.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, it must be the hotdog—”

“I warned you. Do you need to go to the ladies’ room?”

“It’ll pass. I’m ok.”

“Hey, Gigi, Regina!”

George was shouting to us from the field, his helmet in his right hand, hair wet and dirty, a small, bleeding cut on his forehead. He looked a sodden mess, but my heart skipped a beat and the lump in my throat stifled a sigh. Regina was right. I couldn’t deny it.

“We’re gonna go shower and change. Give us 15 minutes. We’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

©2025 SammyC

“All this time, she was just an hour’s drive south of here, in Summit. Her adoptive parents, a couple of French nationals who worked for L’Oreal in Berkeley Heights – real corporate types – liked taking these road trips every summer to see the USA in their Chevrolet. Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s an old commercial. Never mind—”

Regina was holding court, as I was squeezed between her and Billy Bacigalupo in one side of a booth in the Fair Lawn IHOP, where everyone (all 50-odd players, their girlfriends, and cheerleaders) had assembled for the victory party after the game. The din produced by four dozen celebratory teenagers cast a scowl on the manager’s face, but she wasn’t about to turn down capacity business on a late Friday night.

Regina was spinning all the bare-bones facts Uncle Richie had gleaned from news sources and a certain Family Court staffer into an epic of sibling separation, tragedy, and miraculous survival. She even convinced me that the whole tall tale was true. Maybe in this parallel world it really was. I turned to Billy and asked him where his girlfriend was.

“Who me? I’m not too good with girls. I never know what to say to them. Especially the pretty ones like you—”

“Regina’s pretty. Ask her out.”

“Regina?” Seeing that Regina was still in the middle of her soliloquy, he lowered his voice. “Nothing against her but everyone in school would laugh me out of town if I—”

“Why? She’s my identical twin—” Billy shrugged his shoulders.

“—washed up onto the lakeshore. Unscathed! Except for her PTDS. She lost all memory of who she was and, by dint of instinct, made her way back to New Jersey—”

Winnie, sitting with George in the other side of the booth, interrupted. “And you believe this story? This sounds like one of the episodes of that podcast with the Moorefield brothers. Uh...uh…Beyond Bizarre! I bet you they just make up most of the stuff. For gullible types like you, Regina.”

“Are you saying I’m lying!” Regina struggled to stand up and point an accusative finger in Winnie’s face.

Winnie stood up as well. “Look, girly boy, I’m just saying the whole story is unbelievable. The Tolliver family is being scammed. That’s what I think—”

George pulled Winnie back down onto their bench. “It’s obvious Gigi’s Regina’s twin sister. No two people could look so alike without the most extensive plastic surgery imaginable.”

“Well, I hear they’ve got some great surgeons in Beverly Hills.”

“When Gigi regains her memory, we’ll be able to fill in the gaps in the story. And, Winnie, the Tollivers aren’t exactly billionaires. Why would anyone go to such elaborate extremes to scam them?” George gave her an annoyed look.

“Sure, it sounds stupid, but her story is even stupider—”

“No, you’re the one who sounds stupid. Stupid cheerleader!” Regina shouted.

“Ladies! Let’s not fight. We’ve just destroyed Radburn by 40 points!” Billy interceded uncharacteristically. “Anyway, I don’t care how Gigi found her way to town. I’m just glad she’s going to be enrolling in school soon. In fact, I told her she should try out for the cheer squad.” Turning to me, he said, “You’d be our best-looking cheerleader, hands down.”

“Oh, come on, Billy. Next thing, you’ll want Regina to try out too.” Winnie glared at Regina. “But Rossington’s always had nothing but girls as cheerleaders—”

Trying to cut the tension in the air, George asked me, “So, what do you do with your days, Gigi? You’re not enrolled in school yet.”

“I’m Artie’s official escort, to school in the morning and back home every afternoon. And tomorrow I’m taking him to his first roller hockey practice in Petruska Park.”

“That’s all the way across town from your house. How are you getting there? Do you drive?”

“That’s another sign Regina and I are identical twins. Neither of us can drive. At least, I don’t remember knowing how to.”

“I’m free tomorrow all day. I was just going to flake out on the couch. The team doesn’t practice until Tuesday. Right, Billy? So, I can pick you and Artie up and drive you to the rink.”

“That’s really nice of you, George. It beats having to take the bus. Ha ha.”

“It’s no biggie. I’m kind of fond of the little bugger.”

“George!” Winnie punched George in the shoulder. “You promised to take me to the plex to see that Taylor Swift concert movie.”

“That’s it!” Billy shouted. “I knew you resembled someone famous. You look just like Taylor Swift!”

“Hey, I was dressed as Tay Tay last Halloween. Remember?” Regina tried to get at Billy but couldn’t reach him as I turned toward her, startled by the fact that we had both dressed up as Taylor Swift last year. That’s when it happened. It felt like I had pissed my pants. I turned red with embarrassment. Quickly taking Regina’s hand, I stood up at the same time I pulled her up as well.

“Sis, we need to go to the ladies’ room. Now!”

“What? But I don’t need to go—”

Billy courteously left his seat and, seeing the searching look in my eyes, pointed in the direction of the restrooms. I roughly pulled my hoodie down past my crotch and started to run, hitched by one free hand to Regina making like a U-Haul trailer.

“I don’t think they have unisex bathrooms in this place…” Winnie protested.

Miraculously, there was no one in the ladies’ room. I looked down at the front of my jeans and immediately realized I hadn’t pissed myself as I thought. There was a small but growing red-brown stain in the crotch of my pants.

“You’re having your… period!” Regina exclaimed.

“My what, period? What’s with the punctuation?”

“It’s menstrual blood. It’s your time of the month.”

“Oh my God!” I rushed into one of the stalls, followed by Regina. With the door locked, I shucked my jeans and panties. There was still blood dribbling out. We each took wads of toilet paper and tried to wipe it away like one would stanch a wound.

“How could you not know when your period is?”

“I wasn’t a girl until last week, Regina!”

“I really envy you, Gigi. Only women bleed. Real women. You know, this means you can have babies! Just think of that.”

“This isn’t stopping, Regina.”

“I’ll get some paper towels and we can use them as a pad to absorb the blood.” She ran out and came back seconds later, just as I was preparing to pull up my panties. “Come out to the sink after you’ve pulled up your jeans. I’ll wet some more of these paper towels and wipe off those stains.”

A couple of minutes later.

“Now look what you’ve done, Regina! You’ve made the stains bigger. The whole front of my jeans is one wet splotch now.”

“I’m trying to help you, sis!”

“I’ll have to tie my hoodie around my waist like this. It’s better than having everyone think I’ve pissed myself like a whale.”

“I’ll call mom and have her pick us up.” She punched in mom’s number and then reconsidered. “I’ll text her.”

Seconds later, mom texted her back. “She’ll be here in 10 minutes.”

“What did you tell her?”

“You puked yourself and your clothes are a smelly mess—”

“What? You—”

“Just kidding. I just asked her to come pick us up. She’ll interrogate us when she gets here.”

George caught up to us as we stepped out of the IHOP to wait for mom to pick us up.

“Gigi, what time is Artie’s roller hockey practice tomorrow?”

“Oh, George, I forgot to tell you—”

He handed me an 8-pack roll of Tums antacid tablets.

“They’re in assorted berry flavors.”

“Thank you, George.”

“Don’t thank me. Winnie had it in her purse. She was rather concerned about you. Must have been the dipping sauce for the chicken fingers. That’s why I strictly order the burgers here.”

“Come by around 3. Practice starts at 3:30.”

“Gotcha. Well, see you tomorrow. Night, Gigi, Regina. Look, that’s your mom’s car turning the corner now.”

George waved to us as we drove off. Regina, sitting in the back seat, kept waving back at George through the rear window. I turned toward mom.

“You don’t have to ask. I had my period and made a mess of my pants.”

“Weren’t you expecting your period? I’m afraid to ask but…have you had sex recently? Did someone force themselves on you? Did you think you might be pregnant?”

Regina jumped in to save me. “Uh, mom, Gigi got caught by surprise. She wasn’t expecting her period for another…um…week or so.”

“Well, do you use pads or tampons?”

Regina jumped in again. “Pads!”

“I have a box of pads that I haven’t opened. Usually, Aunt Flo’s pretty light for me and I prefer using tampons. You’re welcome to use my pads. Maybe Regina can go with you tomorrow morning to Target and get you your own supply. They have a nice selection.”

“Sounds like a plan, mom.”

“I was afraid it was going to hurt like hell—”

“Not if you put it in the right way, silly. And stop pulling on the string. It’ll pop out.”

I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, naked from the waist down, legs splayed in front of my twin from another universe. Regina and I had gone to Target right after breakfast to pick up a 96-count box of Tampax. While everyone was downstairs, doing what they usually do on a Saturday morning, we sequestered ourselves in the upstairs bathroom and Regina put me through the paces.

“So how is it I’m being taught how to insert a tampon—”

“And having your menstrual cycle explained to you.”

“By my sister, who doesn’t even have a vagina—”

“Yet! Yet! You said Uncle Richie will pay for my GAS…”

“And who, unless medical science advances several decades sooner than we expect, won’t be having any periods herself—”

“You can learn a lot by watching YouTube videos. And Emily Donner lent me the hygiene textbook she used in middle school.”

“She did that as a mean prank! She waited outside the gym for PE class to end and handed it to me in front of all the other boys. The whole school taunted me about that for weeks. It only stopped when George spoke up against it.”

“George did that for you?”

“In my world, yeah. He didn’t in yours?”

“No. He turned the page on us when I told him I was starting to transition.”

I placed a hand on Regina’s shoulder. “Forget him. He’s not worth it. What did Aunt Mae always say? Plenty of fish in the sea. You’re smart, funny, and beautiful. After all, you look exactly like me!”

“No, you look exactly like me, blondie.” She peeled off the pale green disposable nitrile gloves from her hands and tossed them into the waste basket. “Put your pants back on. We’re done here. Just remember to change tampons every 6 to 8 hours, if not sooner.”

“I’m really looking forward to having to do this five days a month for several decades.”

“I’d swap places with you if I could.”

“I know, sis. I know.”

“You didn’t have to sit through this, George. I could’ve texted you when practice was finished.”

After George drove Artie and me to the Petruska Park roller hockey rink, he unexpectedly stayed to sit with me on the single row of benches behind the sideboards, along with the other parents and adults. Artie was one of a gaggle of five- and six-year-old boys and girls, occasionally prat-falling as they did laps around the rink, warming up before practicing with sticks and pucks. It’s a good thing they were all outfitted with elbow and knee pads as well as helmets. One time, Artie had a particularly nasty fall and I jumped off the bench, ready to leap over the sideboard. George gently pulled me back, assuring me that Artie wasn’t hurt.

“I’m having a blast, watching the little ankle-biters falling on their ass all over the rink.”

“You don’t like little kids, do you?”

“With the right dipping sauce, they’re delicious.” I punched his shoulder as he laughed. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing much. Why?”

“You wanted to see that Magnus, Robot Fighter movie last week.”

“You’ve already seen it. With Winnie.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing it again…with you. There’s a 7PM showing at the plex.”

“Won’t Winnie be upset when she finds out?”

“We’re not going steady or anything. It’s not serious, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Tell me something, George. If you and Winnie aren’t serious, why don’t you ask Regina to go out? You know she really likes you. And you’ve known each other for years. She’s your best friend!”

“We…we used to be best buds. But that was before…you know. I mean, you must know what I’m talking about. She used to be a boy.”

“As I understand it, she always felt she was a girl. It’s just an accident of birth that she has the wrong body parts. And she’s well on the way to affirming her true gender. Didn’t you recognize that she was always trapped in the wrong body?”

“No way. I never saw that. We were both boys. You know, we’d ride our bikes together, play basketball, street football, skateboarding, shit like that. We even talked about which girls in school were the prettiest.”

“You treated her different from other boys you played with, didn’t you. You protected her from the mean boys and being pushed around playing sports. You wouldn’t let other kids laugh at her high voice and the way she walked sometimes…”

“Is that what Regina told you? She’s got a different interpretation of some pretty standard things buddies do for each other. She was always smaller and weaker than most of the other boys, that’s all.”

A stray puck smashed against the sideboard right in front of us, making a loud, explosive sound, hard plastic against metal. I was startled and fell sideways into George, who reflexively put his arms around me to keep me from falling off the bench. I looked up at him and he smiled.

“Regina didn’t like loud noises either. You really are twins.” He laughed and placed me back on the bench, his hands lingering on my arms.

“You must have held Regina like this when Mr. Tubbs got run over by that car—”

“How do you know about that?”

“We’re sisters. We tell each other things. She told me about her dog, Mr. Tubbs.”

“That mutt? Stupid dog. Ran right out into the street after that frisbee we were tossing around on the front lawn of my house. Never even saw the car that crashed into him. Poor, dumb thing. It happened when we were in middle school.”

“She cried and cried and cried. She wanted to keep holding onto Mr. Tubbs even after the emergency vets came to take him away. He died in her arms, and they pried him away.”

“Yeah, it was sad.”

“You held Regina in your arms and comforted her—”

“She wouldn’t stop crying. She was hysterical. I tried to calm her down.”

“You kissed her.”

“She…told you…that?”

“Yes. She never forgot that kiss. She dreamed of more kisses…”

“I don’t know why I did that. It’s just I couldn’t bear seeing how hurt she was. She loved that stupid dog—”

I turned away from George and said sotto voce, “She loved you.” After I tried to collect myself, George could see my eyes were still red and moist.

“You’re crying.”

“It’s…I’m…her sister. Twin sister. I feel her pain like it’s my own. You wouldn’t understand. She was crying when she told me about how she lost Mr. Tubbs. Years later. Years later.”

“I didn’t know she was still grieving over that dog.”

“Yes.”

“Yes? Yes, what?”

“The movie. I’ll go with you.”

“Great! I’ll come by around 6. We’ll have plenty of time to get something to eat before the movie starts. I’d stay away from the chicken fingers if I were you.” He smiled as another puck smashed against the sideboard. It produced a loud bang a few feet away from us. I didn’t jump this time.

George came by at five minutes before six to pick up his date. He held out a hand-picked bouquet of wildflowers. Pink milkweed. Probably from his neighbor’s curb. I remember those wildflowers from so many summers past.

Mom closed the door and turned to see me slowly descending the stairs.

“Regina! There you are. I know why you didn’t want to see George pick up Gigi just now. Stop pining for that boy. There’s—”

“Plenty fish in the sea? Mom, I’m not Regina. I’m Gigi. George just picked up Regina, not me.”

“Does he know that?”

“We’re twins, mom. We’re identical twins.”

©2025 SammyC

9:30 Saturday night. I was lying across my bed, Regina’s tablet flat on the bedspread, looking at photos I had discovered on Genevieve LeClerc’s Instagram. The “real” Gigi? It was strange to think that. But, in this universe, I was her unexpected substitute. Perhaps not unwilling though.

The last images posted were dated from June. Gigi and her adoptive parents, the LeClercs, posing in front of a road sign on Route 66 that read: Welcome to Arizona. The Grand Canyon State Welcomes You. It must have been shot by an obliging passing motorist or was there someone else along with them on their road trip vacation? Gigi was a doppelganger for Regina and whomever I am now in this universe. The three of them had wide smiles plastered on their sun-splashed faces. It looks like they were a happy little family unit. The next day would be their last on earth.

Downstairs, the front door slammed explosively. Regina was home early. Instead of the usual “Hi, mom. Hi, Dad,” there was only a scuffling of feet before a stomping first step on the stairs.

“Regina! You’re home already? How was your date?” Mom asked, sitting with Nick, watching the Mets game.

Regina burst into our bedroom and shut the door emphatically behind her. Before I could even utter a word, she dove onto the bed beside me and started banging her fists on my shoulder.

“Oww! What? Hey, you’re hurting me!” Actually, her punches weren’t that hard. They got weaker and weaker as her whimpers grew stronger.

“Did George sus you out? Did he hurt you?”

“Yes! No! He didn’t hurt me. But he knew two minutes after I got into the car who I really was.”

“I take it he wasn’t happy.”

“Duh, no. He thought it was my idea to trick him like that—”

“If he’s angry, he should take it up with me, not take it out on you—”

“He…he was nice. He didn’t yell at me or anything. We went to the plex and sat through the movie. I didn’t really pay much attention to it because I was watching George. We barely said three words to each other. I tried to hold his hand, but he slipped it out of my grasp.”

“So, he didn’t kiss you?”

Regina side-swiped me with a pillow.

“It’s not funny, Gigi. We practically ran out of the theater to his car after the movie ended and he drove like a demon to drop me off. The second I got out of the car and turned to say goodbye, he burned rubber—”

“Like a bat out of hell. Yeah, George always had issues expressing his emotions.”

“Well, if you see him anytime soon, I’m sure he’ll be very expressive.”

“I intend to speak to him, alright. I’m going to read him the riot act. After all, the two of you have been best friends forever. How can he throw you over for that ditzy cheerleader?”

“To be fair, George was dating Winnie before I started transitioning…”

“Hey, the team has practice on Sundays, right?”

“Yeah, they review game film first. Right after noon. A lot of the guys attend church so…”

“I’ll talk to George tomorrow, Regina. And talk some sense into him.”

“You actually think it’ll make a difference?”

“I like to think the George in my world would see the light if I had transitioned.”

“Things are different around here, Gigi. But, whatever, I’m going to shower and get the smell of hot buttered popcorn off me. Then, I’m going to go downstairs and make myself a sandwich. I thought George would at least take me to Baldino’s Pizzeria after the movie…”

I peered through the chain link fence surrounding the football field at Rossington High School, waiting for the team to emerge from their game film review. One of the track team guys who had been stretching nearby before starting his daily 5K run told me the review session usually took an hour, so expect the team to emerge for practice a little after one o’clock. That was ten minutes away. He stared at me while I kept my eyes on the exit doors of the gym. Unwrapping a protein bar, he broke it in two and offered me a piece through the fence. I shook my head and declined.

“I haven’t seen you in school. Are you from Rossington or just visiting town? Relatives, maybe?”

“I’m hoping to start school soon. I just moved here last week.”

“On second thought, you look a lot like Reggie…uh…Regina Tolliver.”

“I’m her twin sister. Gigi LeClerc. I was adopted as a baby—”

“Sounds like a long, complicated story. A story I’d very much like to hear. I’m Tom Verlaine. I’m on the track team. Middle distance runner.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“So, anyone in particular on the football team you’re waiting for?”

“George Parker—”

“Our star quarterback? You’re aiming real high, Gigi. He’s dating our head cheerleader, Winnie Schlitter.”

“I’m not interested in dating him. I’m here to talk to him about Regina. He wasn’t very nice to her last night at the cineplex.”

“Don’t tell me he…uh…she tried to start something with Winnie. Who can forget last Spring when Winnie tried to stop Regina from trying out for the cheer squad. I thought they were going to pull each other’s hair out. Like two wildcats clawing and scratching at each other—”

“Did she pass the audition?”

“I heard she did really well but…well, you know, she’s not really a she, and the rules are the rules. Coach Mason tried to fight for her with the administration…” Tom shrugged his shoulders and held his palms out at his side. “Maybe you’d be interested in joining the cheer squad. You’re certainly pretty enough.”

“I look exactly like Regina. We’re twins, remember? Anyway, I’m not the cheerful type.”

The football team flowed like a human torrent out of the gym, spikes, pads, and helmets in regalia. I spotted George and shouted to him. He hesitated momentarily before strolling toward the fence behind which I stood. Tom popped the last bit of his protein bar into his mouth and made himself scarce.

“See you in the hallways…soon.” Tom and George passed by without acknowledging each other.

“Gigi? I was going to call you tonight—”

“Can we talk now?”

“Sure, coach can wait a few minutes before starting practice. But make it quick. He gets snippy if he sees us talking to girls during practice.”

“George, why did you act so cold to Regina last night?”

“I don’t like being tricked. Or pranked. I thought you wanted to go out with me.”

“I hardly know you, George. But Regina’s been your best friend since forever. If you’re attracted to me, why aren’t you attracted to her…anymore.”

“Anymore? I was never attracted to Regina when she was Reggie. We were buddies. We played sports and video games together. Just like any other two boys—”

“Admit it, George. It’s okay. You’re not gay for liking Regina. You kinda always knew she was a girl, didn’t you?”

“Regina’s telling tall tales, that’s all.”

“You always protected her from bullies, spoke up for her when other kids teased her about her voice, the way she walked, her ‘delicate’ nature. She was awful at sports. You were always great. Yet you always insisted she could play or else you wouldn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“The summer Regina broke her arm trying to copy one of your skateboard tricks. She couldn’t play football or baseball or basketball all summer. Her mom had her stay home because she was scared, she’d break something else, she was so fragile in her mind. You came by her house almost every day for weeks to play video games with her. You even lugged your PS4 console back and forth because Regina owned an old PS3.”

“I felt sorry for her. Being stuck in the house all summer. She didn’t have any friends—”

“She had you.”

“Look, what’s the point you’re trying to make?”

“Give Regina a chance…”

“Call me shallow but I’m more interested in real girls…like you, Gigi. Can we have a real date this time? Next Saturday? We can do whatever you want. See another movie. A dinner at a restaurant of your choice. Or we could just hang out. Go driving around town. Stuff is going on Saturday nights…”

“Parker! Get over here! Practice now, girls later. Okay?” Coach blew his whistle in our direction.

“I’ll call you!” George ran off, putting his helmet on.

We arrived at Parsons University Medical Center in separate cars. Mom and I in one car, Uncle Richie in his. It amazes me how quickly Richie was able to arrange everything. Here, on a Monday morning, about to undergo a complete medical exam and provide DNA samples. Uncle Richie assured me these procedures would prove my identity. Once executed to the satisfaction of New Jersey legal requirements, I would quickly be allowed to assume my rightful place in this universe…as Genevieve LeClerc, twin sister of Regina Tolliver and biological daughter of Sara Perrin Tolliver.

I always disliked hospitals. To me, the heavy atmosphere of human frailty and mortality far outweighed the salutary presence of dedicated medical practitioners. In short, it gave me the willies. But Parsons Medical was almost brand new, barely half a decade in existence. All bright, gleaming corridors, the latest diagnostic devices, and smiling, efficient staff in clean white uniforms. There was an optimistic sheen to all the activity in the hallways. Even gurneys were being pushed with hopeful energy. Mom sensed my state of mind and patted my shoulders, whispering assurances to me that everything was going to work out fine. She would only stay long enough to have her cheek swabbed for a DNA sample. The retail business in New Jersey, she explained, was rather dicey nowadays and she couldn’t afford to take too much time away from work. Neither of my parents were professionals; we weren’t a two-income family by choice. I nodded to convey I fully understood.

“Uncle Richie will stay with you and drive you back home. Regina agreed to pick up Artie from school today, so you needn’t worry about that.”

“Sara, our girl here has no worries. These procedures are mere formalities. There’s no doubt who Gigi is, after all. I’m doing my best to make the wheels of bureaucracy turn as quickly as possible. Tomorrow, Gigi and I are going to see my attorney friend, Bob Lester, to start the process of having her identity and inheritance confirmed. He tells me we can petition the court to have you and Nick appointed her legal guardians until she reaches the age of majority next Spring.”

“You work fast, Uncle Richie.”

“You have to know the right people, Gigi.”

“Or date them?”

“Bob tells me you could be allowed to go back to school within two weeks—”

“You’ll like that, won’t you, Gigi?” Mom asked, a mischievous smile creasing her lips.

“Oh, yes, mother,” I said, making a show of rolling my eyes.

It took the better part of an hour to complete my physical examination. They were surprised to discover no evidence I had ever fallen out of a helicopter and somehow survived being dunked in a lake. No bruises or scars from traumatic injuries. No broken bones healed or otherwise. No signs of any physical harm whatsoever. They were especially puzzled by the absence of any head injury, given my pervasive amnesia.

Without a word of explanation, after telling me to put my clothes back on, they ushered me out of the exam room and had me sit in the waiting area while the brace of doctors who had worked on me carried on an animated discussion with Uncle Richie, out of earshot. After a few minutes, Richie sat down next to me.

“Okay, champ, this is the game plan. To quote our esteemed medical savants here, you’re a remarkably healthy teenage girl. They can’t believe you suffered no physical consequences from your misadventure in that Grand Canyon helicopter crash. Miracles do happen I told them. I referred them to my chapter on miraculous survivors of catastrophes in The Strangeness Beyond. I don’t think any of them has read my book—”

“Uncle Richie! Can we go home now?”

“Unfortunately, no. They’re very interested in your amnesiac state. Something about having aspects of two different types of amnesia that aren’t usually combined…except in cases of brain injury or neurological disease. Since they don’t see evidence of either in your case…they want to “study” you for a bit this afternoon.”

“Study? What kind of studying?”

“Some tests they give to amnesia victims. To probe the depth of their memory loss. It’s a series of diagnostic tools. Frankly, I think they see a publication opportunity with your…uh…situation. You know, a book, at the very least a paper in a prestigious medical journal—”

“Like The Annals of the Society of American Headshrinkers?”

“You’re funnier than Regina, Gigi. And smarter. How were you stupid enough to go vortex hunting with your Uncle Richie?”

“George had to go to his cousin’s wedding in Bergenfield.”

“George Parker? You know, I can’t see why Regina’s stuck on him. Just another dumb jock.”

“He cared about me.”

“Your George must be quite different from our George. Anyway, let’s go and have lunch. They won’t be ready to see you until 1:30.”

“I saw a Greek taverna-type restaurant a few blocks back in that direction—”

“Oh no, I’ve eaten at the commissary here. It’s quite good.”

“Oh, great, hospital food. What a day I’m having.”

In the afternoon, fortified by a chicken parmesan sandwich and a chocolate milkshake, I met with a pair of neuropsychologists, Dr. Felice Navidad and Dr. Per Loving. It turns out they’re married…to each other. Cute but also a bit tacky. They interviewed me in their office. No, I didn’t lie on a couch. Just sat in a comfy armchair. One of them sat behind a desk (Dr. Navidad), the other (Dr. Loving) annoyingly paced back and forth. They posed a barrage of questions to me. What they didn’t realize was I genuinely didn’t remember all the details of my life before the accident. Because this Gigi had never lived that life. Nor did I remember the three months that passed before Nick Tolliver picked me up on the road a few miles from Parsons State Park.

Finally, after an awkward silence that seemed to last longer than the few minutes it actually did, they escorted me into a small room with a solitary metal table and three chairs. There, for the next hour, they administered every diagnostic test they could think of. There were verbal tests, written tests, tests with picture cards, even dissociative identity disorder questionnaires (my middle name surely wasn’t Sybil). I don’t know who got wearier as the tests cascaded, me or them. Whatever these tests were supposed to reveal, they didn’t. The frustration on the good doctors’ faces was reaching critical mass. They conferred at the window and returned to the table with what, hopefully, was the final test. Later, much later, Uncle Richie googled what they gave me: a Test of Memory Malingering, the TOMM. Basically, it’s a 50-item visual recognition test designed to help distinguish malingering from genuine memory deficit. People who are faking amnesia will intentionally perform badly, expecting the lowest scores to be proof that their amnesia is real. Real amnesiacs who are not suffering from a brain injury or pathology score within a normal range. In a veritable throwing up of their hands, they escorted me back into their office and Dr. Loving went to bring Uncle Richie in for a discussion of the consultation.

“Gigi, Professor Perrin,” Dr. Navidad began. “Thank you for consenting to undergo this afternoon’s consultation. I must say, and Dr. Loving will concur, Gigi’s case is the most unusual one we’ve come across in all our years of clinical practice. I don’t think we’ve seen a case like yours, Gigi, in any textbook or research paper either.”

“Will I ever regain my memory, Doctor?”

Dr. Loving jumped in. “Rest assured, Gigi, you’ll get your memory back, most if not all of it, in time. In cases of dissociative amnesia brought on by a traumatic event…like yours…time heals all wounds. Gradually, as your life normalizes and the trauma’s effects lessen and recede, your memory will return. That’s the good news—”

“There’s bad news, Doctor?”

Dr. Navidad tapped in. “It’s not bad news, Gigi. But there is a real mystery with your situation. The dissociative amnesia that you’re suffering from also involved a three-month long episode of dissociative fugue. You lost all sense of personal identity and wandered impulsively from place to place, fortunately for you, ending up in the home of your biological mother.”

“What you were doing, where you were, who you stayed with,” Dr. Loving mused, “are questions without answers right now. Are you not curious about what happened in that three-month period?”

“Not really. After all, I’m here. Safe and sound. I guess it was just dumb luck.”

“That’s an interesting response. Dr. Loving and I would really like to work with you further. You may be a boon to neuropsychological science. Exploring your unusual amnesiac pathology would help us understand the ways the brain heals itself from severe emotional trauma. Can we set up weekly sessions? Don’t worry. The cost will be entirely borne by the hospital. We won’t even charge your uncle’s health insurance.”

Before I could answer, Uncle Richie adroitly interjected, “We’ll think about it. Thank you for your time. It’s been a long day, Gigi and I should head off.” He stood up and shook hands with the doctors. I followed his example and did the same.

“They seemed genuinely flummoxed by me.”

We had just walked through the front entrance of the Medical Center, on our way to the parking lot. Richie smirked as he guided me to the right.

“They smell a book. You’d be this generation’s Sybil. The amnesia case of the new century!”

“You’re saving my story for your next book, right?”

“No, Gigi, your story is too unbelievable…even for my next book. I’m afraid you’re stuck in this universe as Gigi LeClerc. Telling people the truth would just make your life unbearable.”

“Well, to tell you the honest truth, I couldn’t be happier about it. It’s like a dream come true. I’m a girl. I’m a girl!”

The screech of ambulance tires made us turn our heads to the left where the emergency room doors were swinging open, and a pair of orderlies were standing ready. The ambulance backed in and they rushed two stretchers out of the rear. It looked like two teenage girls in cheerleader outfits, securely strapped in with traction splints on one leg each. They were moaning and quietly crying. I recognized the one nearest to us. It was Winnie Schlitter, head cheerleader and George’s “casual” girlfriend. Then Coach Mason jumped out of the back of the ambulance, a distraught look on her face. Richie and I ran over to her.

“Oh, Regina, strange coincidence seeing you here—”

I was about to correct her when she grabbed my shoulders.

“Winnie and Dolores were doing the pyramid thing. You know. I think Winnie slipped and fell, falling on Dolores’ leg. They both have broken legs. Poor dears. What am I going to do?”

“Coach Mason, I’m not—”

“No, yes, I mean, of course, you can. We need you, Regina! You know all the routines. I’ll talk to the administration. They won’t turn you down this time, those bigots! Girl, welcome to the cheer squad!”

She kissed me on both cheeks.

“Thanks, Coach. You won’t regret this!”

©2025 SammyC

Call me Gigi.

The State of New Jersey, in its infinite bureaucratic wisdom, has confirmed my “new” identity in this world so different yet so alike my own. Here, as if in answer to my fondest wish, I am a real, live girl. And I enjoy being a girl…so far.

It’s been two weeks since Uncle Richie escorted me to Parsons University Medical Center, where they poked, prodded, and scoped me to a fare-thee-well and discovered my DNA to be a reasonable facsimile of my mother’s and twin sister Regina’s. In that fortnight, Regina has joined the Rossington High cheerleader squad, thanks to Winnie and Dolores breaking legs while practicing “the pyramid.” In fact, Winnie won’t be returning to school until November, missing Homecoming. Even then, she’ll still be on crutches. Regina’s ecstatic about it. Both being a cheerleader and Winnie being absent from school. Because she has to practice with the squad most days after school, the task of walking Artie home from primary school has permanently fallen to me.

Oh, and I’ve started my senior year on the fourth Monday of the Fall school calendar. They unearthed Gigi’s transcript from Summit High School and put together a schedule of classes for me. This Gigi LeClerc was some sort of brainiac! Her GPA was beyond the moon but what scared the bejesus out of me were the three AP college-level courses I’d be expected to just sail through: Calculus, Physics, and French. I can just imagine all my free time having my head deep in textbooks, in print and online. Couldn’t I just be old average plodder Reggie?

In addition, an hour every Wednesday after school was reserved for sessions with Doctors Navidad and Loving. Out of the goodness of their hearts (and professional hubris), they were intent upon helping me regain my memories…all at no expense to me, my parents, or Uncle Richie’s health plan. My new attorney, who’s looking into my inheritance from the LeClercs, tells me there’s no way they can keep my miraculous reappearance from the media, since everything is in the public record. He actually rubbed his hands together when he speculated about offers for books and film treatments. Uncle Richie tried to make it clear that the less publicity and notoriety I received, the better it would be for my mental and physical health. The attorney nodded, somewhat unenthusiastically.

On the first Monday in school, the last of my six classes was “Healthy Relationships,” taught by Mrs. Barrington, whom I had bumped into on the hotdog line at the football game two weeks before. It had been an exhausting day, beginning with first period at 7:45AM, and now finishing with this 55-minute class as school dismisses at 2:30PM. In every class, students did a double take when teachers introduced the unexpected latecomer. It didn’t help that Regina and I only shared one class together…Healthy Relationships. By sixth period, I had rehearsed and perfected a tidy 2-minute speech that explained everything. Still, eyes rolled, and mouths gaped. And that was just the teachers.

“Last week we learned about gender stereotypes - the kinds of expectations people have about how men and women act. Those stereotypes definitely influence the choices we make in relationships and about our sexual health. Today we are going to talk more about relationships: how to have healthy and happy relationships, how someone might recognize if they are in an unhealthy relationship, and what kinds of communication skills can help us have the relationships we want.

Now, please open your notebooks, if you haven’t already…Billy, and jump on over to today’s lesson plan. Everyone ready? Okay. Complete the How I want to be treated by my boyfriend or girlfriend worksheet by ranking the most important words that represent how you would like to be treated by a partner and writing why your number 1 quality is most important. Work in the pairs I’ve assigned. I hope you’re sitting in the proper seats by now. Gigi, it’s kismet you’ve joined our class. We’ve needed someone to pair Tom Verlaine with. Poor Tom’s been working by himself for three weeks—”

“Yeah, that’s why Tom’s got hairy palms—” Billy shouted out. The class erupted in laughter.

“Billy, practice your stand-up act on your own time, please.” Mrs. Barrington scolded. “Gigi, you can scoot over and work with Tom. Thank you. I’ll give you five minutes to enter your choices, everyone.”

The qualities essential to a healthy relationship, in alphabetical order, were Equality, Good communication, Honesty, Respect, and Trust. After exchanging pleasantries with Tom, who I had already met waiting for George to emerge from the gym two Sundays ago, we discussed the words and ended up selecting different #1 qualities. Tom picked Trust and I ranked Respect #1.

Mrs. Barrington polled the class and ranked the responses on the whiteboard. Respect was the quality most of the class regarded as of paramount importance in a healthy relationship between young people who were dating.

“But the other qualities are important as well. How should we behave in a real-life situation? When issues come up between two people who are dating or in a serious relationship. Let’s do some role-playing. Let me see. Okay. Regina and George please work through the Marcus and Lillian scenario in the lesson plan—”

“Are we doing a gay couple first?” chuckled Billy. Scattered laughter died out quickly as Mrs. Barrington scowled at Billy.

“Billy, do you want to be sent to the Principal’s Office? Now, Regina please read the scenario out loud.”

“Marcus and Lillian have been going out for about 6 months. Marcus feels like he is really in love with Lillian. She is the prettiest girl he has ever dated, and she seems so smart. Marcus often feels nervous that he might lose her to another guy, since she is so pretty and smart. He doesn't think she would ever cheat on him, but he does see her talking with other guys sometimes. It makes him feel so jealous he doesn't know what to do. He told her that she needed to stop talking with those other guys, especially right in front of him! Lillian got upset with Marcus, and they had a huge fight. As they were arguing, Marcus felt so mad that he grabbed her by the arms to get her to listen to him and then threw his cell phone across the room, smashing it to pieces.”

“As Lillian in this situation, Regina, how would you feel?” asked Mrs. Barrington.

“First off, I’d be scared of Marcus. He grabbed me and then smashed his phone! I mean, he treats me like
I’m his property and wants to control what I do and who I talk to. That’s not someone who displays any trust in the other person…”

“And he’s unable to communicate his fears or his feelings,” chipped in one of the girls in class.

“He’s abusive!” All of the girls in class audibly agreed.

“And George, as Marcus, how do you view your behavior towards Lillian?” prompted Mrs. Barrington.

George hesitated, aware that the rest of the class anticipated his usual alpha dog attitude. Finally, he avoided Regina’s eyes as he answered.

“I think Marcus is genuinely in love with Lillian. But he’s insecure. Being jealous and fearing Lillian would ever cheat on him is more about his own insecurity, not his lack of trust. He’s not accustomed to feeling these strong emotions and is unable to express them to Lillian. He doesn’t have the words. And even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to communicate them. His violent anger is just his feeling of inadequacy boiling over. He would never really hurt Lillian.”

“Do you think Marcus really loves Lillian?” asked Regina.

For the first time, George locked eyes with Regina. “Yeah…he does. I’m sure he does. But…well…”

In the class discussion that followed, Mrs. Barrington shepherded her students to the following foundational edicts in building a healthy relationship:

• Treat partners with respect and fairness
• Treat each other as equals
• Be honest with each other
• Earn your partner’s trust
• Communicate clearly
• Never hurt your partner physically or sexually

“Alright, class. Let’s try another scenario. On this one, can I please have our newcomer, Gigi, read the Tony and Andrea scenario? Tom, here’s your first chance to participate in our role-playing exercises.”

In the hallway, after class, Regina hugged me unexpectedly as she ran off to cheerleading practice. Tom approached, smiling.

“How was your first day?”

“Exhausting. Now I have to go pick up my little brother from elementary school.”

“The good thing is it’s just across the street.”

“The bad thing is they let out at 3. I’ve got 20 minutes to kill.”

“I’m not in a hurry to get home. And there’s no band practice today—”

“Band? I didn’t think the school had a marching band.”

“Technically, we don’t. Mr. Palmer, our band director, is on maternity leave and the school couldn’t find a replacement for him this semester. Our other music teacher had to take his classes in addition to her own.”

“Shouldn’t Mr. Palmer’s wife be the one on maternity leave?”

“Oh, you don’t know, do you? Mr. Palmer’s husband is a long-haul trucker, so they decided Mr. Palmer should be the stay-at-home mom, so to speak. I think they used a surrogate.”

“And you used to be in the band? Why are you practicing now?”

“It’s my crazy idea. I got the administration to approve of a makeshift marching band with only 5 members. Trumpet, Mellophone, Saxophone, Snare, and Cymbals. I play trumpet. We haven’t made our debut yet. Maybe next weekend. There are only 5 more games this season. And Homecoming, of course.”

“Where do you find the time? Running track, playing in a marching band, and going to class—”

“And sometimes on weekends, I do some local gigs with my rock band.”

“What? A rock band too? I’ve never heard of a trumpet in a rock band.”

“I play guitar and keyboards too.” I stopped in my tracks and stared admiringly at him.

“It’s hard to believe you’re that multi-talented. Are you planning to attend Berklee already?”

“No, I’m not sure I’m even going to college.”

“Financial concerns?”

“Partly. No, I’m a-hankering to see the world, Miss LeClerc. I’d love to learn how to play the sitar in Mumbai or Yoruba Talking Drums in Nairobi.”

“Guess you’re not prone to homesickness.”

“Are you? After you graduate, you’d be emancipated. You could go back to Summit.”

“Home feels like a world away. Another universe. Literally.”

“I did a little detective work and found out you’re like genius level. Three AP classes and your GPA is 5! That’s the highest you can have. So, where are you applying to? Harvard?”

We were standing outside the entrance to Artie’s school, still ten minutes away from the dismissal bell. There were some parents and a few older siblings waiting as well, holding animated conversations or leaning against the iron gates. A school bus was parked on the curb at the ready.

“I guess you don’t have much free time, what with all your studies. It must take you three hours a night to do your homework.”

“Well, I’m free on weekends.” I don’t know why I blurted that out.

“No, you wouldn’t be interested, I’m sure—”

“I’d love to go hear your band play. Your rock band, that is.”

“Uh, no, I was thinking about asking you…”

“Yes?”

“If you’d be interested in being part of our marching band.”

“Silly boy, that’s something I’m absolutely useless at. I have a tin ear and I don’t play any instruments—”

“You’d be perfect as our majorette.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re beautiful and you’d look great in a majorette uniform. You’ve got legs that go on forever. Has anybody ever told you look a lot like Taylor Swift?”

“I don’t know what to say. I…I’m flattered. But I warn you, I have absolutely no sense of rhythm.”

“You’ll get the hang of it after a few practice sessions. It’s easy.”

Artie bounded out of the front door, waving goodbye to his little classmates and Miss Rowan. He grinned as he pointed at Tom.

“Hi, Gigi. You already have a boyfriend! What’s his name?”

I was just about to come downstairs and peel some potatoes in preparation for mom to mash them when she got home from work. I was very pro-active at doing good daughter things, unlike Regina. The front door slammed shut and Regina’s footsteps squeaked and thumped up the stairs to our bedroom. She burst in; her Rossington High sweatshirt pulled over her cheerleading outfit.

“Guess what?”

“I give up.”

“George bought me a Chocolate Chip Cookie Blizzard at Dairy Queen after practice!”

“He drove all the way to Rochelle Park?”

“It’s only 10 minutes away.”

“I was wondering why you were late getting home. Cheer practice is only 90 minutes, right?”

“Yeah, listen! George took me to Dairy Queen!”

“You sound like you’re back in middle school.”

“Well, that’s the last time George and I went to Dairy Queen. You must remember.”

“Sure, it was a Sunday after church service. His mom and dad treated me after mom took Artie home.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“With Winnie down for the count, maybe I can win George back.”

“I wouldn’t read too much into a milkshake, Regina.”

“You’re supposed to be supportive. You’re my sister. I don’t think we have a healthy relationship.”

I was loading dishes into the dishwasher when our landline phone rang. Mom picked up the extension in the kitchen. After a few seconds, she turned to me, her hand over the receiver.

“It’s for you. Someone named Grant Moorefield. He says he’s a fan of Uncle Richie’s. Do you know him?”

I shook my head apprehensively. I’d never met him. At least not in my universe.

“Well, I’ll see what he wants…” I took the phone from mom’s hand.

“Hello, this is Gigi.”

“Grant Moorefield, Gigi. I’m coming to town next week. Would like to interview you for my podcast. You’ve heard of Strange Phenomena? I think you’ve got a story my audience would love to hear.”

©2025 SammyC

“I don’t want to be interviewed!” I shouted into the phone at this strange caller named Grant Moorefield, who claimed to know my Uncle Richie.

Mom looked up in alarm from loading dishes in the dishwasher. I lowered my voice.

“I don’t want to be interviewed. I just want to be left alone.”

“Okay. I hear you. I guess if I were in your position, I wouldn’t want everyone to know my true situation either. And, rest assured, I’m not thinking of putting you on my podcast. But I’m pretty sure I can be of great help to you, given your…your predicament.”

“What do you mean, predicament?”

“I know how you got here, Reggie.”

“My…my uncle doesn’t know you—”

“Not in this universe.”

“You’re scaring me. I’m hanging up.”

“There are some very important things you should know about your situation. We’ll talk. I’m coming to New York later this week to meet with some execs at GlobalNet. They want to turn my podcast into a series! Where and when can we meet?”

“No place and never.” I hung up.

The expectant look in mom’s eyes prompted an explanation.

“Some weird dude who wanted to interview me for some stupid podcast. He tried to claim he knew Uncle Richie. The media are scum. I’ve got homework to finish.” I rushed up the stairs to my bedroom.

Regina was sitting at the small desk in our bedroom, typing away on her notebook, Bluetooth headphones framing her blonde locks, bopping to the barely audible beat of her favorite tunes. I threw myself onto the bed and reached for my own notebook.

“Hey, sis, we need to put another desk in the room.” There was no reply. “I said there should be another desk in the room. I’m not used to doing my homework, lying on my stomach.” Exasperated, I lifted the left speaker away from her ear and repeated myself.

“I heard you, Gigi!” She took her headphones off and looked toward me on the bed, her lips quivering as if hesitating to speak. “I have something to confess, Gigi.”

“Spill.”

“Well, I guess I made a big deal of George taking me to Dairy Queen after practice today—”

“It is a big deal. With that bimbo Winnie out of commission for a few weeks, maybe Georgy Porgy will finally see beyond the tip of his nose. Even a jock like him should have the brains to see who he should be with—”

“That’s the thing. He wanted to speak to me alone to ask me if I could ask you to tutor him in Senior Math.”

“What?”

“He thought he could bribe me with a Chocolate Chip Cookie Blizzard like we were still 12 years old. He didn’t ask me out on a date. I know I made it seem like that—”

“Why me?”

“Duh. You’re Genevieve LeClerc, the genius from Summit High School who’s taking three AP classes this term, including college-level Calculus, remember?”

“Oh, shit. Don’t remind me. I’ll be challenged to get a “Lady’s B” in that. Why did Gigi have to get all the brains?”

“Looks like she got all the looks too.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Regina. We’re twins. We’re both beautiful!”

“Well, you’re a beautiful girl. I’m a strangely feminine looking girl-boy or whatever this in-between state is called.”

I put my arm around her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes.

“You’re becoming, Regina. People who have eyes in their soul see you as you are…a beautiful girl. Don’t ever think otherwise. Anyway, the truth is you know as much math as I do. You’d do as good a job tutoring George as me. I’ll talk to him. Would you mind tutoring him?”

“Of course not. Do you think he’d be agreeable?”

“Leave it to me.” I opened my French textbook and tried to concentrate as the thought of being ambushed by Grant Moorefield worried the back of my mind.

I ran into Tom Verlaine after second period and told him that I wasn’t the least athletic (although Regina apparently had enough strength and flexibility to pass a cheerleading audition). He smiled and said, “Just look beautiful in your majorette outfit.”

So, on Tuesday, after picking up Artie from primary school, I took him along with me to meet up with Tom and the other five members of his ragtag marching band in the girls’ end of the gym. They were already warming up on their instruments. Tom tossed a baton to me as I approached. Deftly, I caught it with my free hand as my other was holding onto Artie. Then, less gracefully, it plopped out of my hand and bounced once on the floor.

“Hi, everyone!” I smiled and waved as Artie let go of my hand to retrieve the baton. “Don’t play with that, Artie. You’ll poke somebody’s eye out with that.”

“Gather round, people. Let me introduce Gigi. She’s agreed to be our one and only majorette—”

Everyone waved or said something like “Hi” and “Welcome aboard.” It was Greg, his head almost eclipsed by the mellophone he was holding, who exclaimed, in obvious confusion, “I thought you changed your name to Regina, not Gigi.”

Cynthia slammed a drumstick on her snare and remonstrated Greg. “That’s her twin sister. Where have you been? It’s the talk of the hallways. Nice to meet you, Gigi. Were you a majorette back at Summit?”

“I…I don’t think so. My memory’s kind of hazy. But I’ll give it try.” I took the baton from Artie. “I’m a bit of a klutz, I’ll warn you.”

“We can see that,” Greg sourly noted.

While the rest of the band continued to warm up, Tom put me through the paces. Since the first appearance of the band was that Saturday afternoon, he wanted me to concentrate on one simple thing: swinging a baton to the beat while high stepping in front of the band.

“We can graduate to twirling if you can handle it. It’s not mandatory but the spectators like a little showmanship from their majorettes. After Saturday’s game, you’ll have two weeks to work on it before our next home game.”

“Don’t we go to away games?”

“You’re kidding. We have barely enough budget for cleaning our uniforms. Oh, that reminds me. Your majorette outfit is going to need some alterations.”

“I have an outfit?”

“We…” He gestured toward the band. “…bought our own uniforms from the place in Belleville that supplies pretty much all of North Jersey, but a couple of last year’s majorettes graduated and donated their outfits to the school.”

“That’s nice and thoughtful of them.”

“Well, I guess they weren’t going to get much further use from them. The white and gold colors are specific to Rossington High.”

“No sentimental attachment, eh?”

“Maybe you can hand it down to your daughter when she gets to high school.”

“Or my son.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just a private joke.”

The thing about a marching band is that you have to play…while marching. For an hour and a half, we circled our little area of the gym, playing the two numbers Tom had scored for the band: “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes and Frank Zappa’s “Peaches En Regalia.” Two songs are all you can squeeze into the twenty-minute halftime break. I kept time pretty well, considering it was my maiden voyage. Swinging a baton to a 4/4 beat isn’t that hard, although there were three times I swung the baton so hard it flew out of my hand and once or twice I high stepped my knee into the bottom knob of the baton, sending needle pricks of pain up and down my arm.

Greg ended practice when he raised his hand after the final fanfare of “Peaches En Regalia.”

“Hey, it’s almost 5. I told my mom to pick me up at a quarter to 5. She’s probably idling the car on the curb outside right now. If the engine overheats, dad’ll kill me. And then mom‘ll kill me again after he does.”

“Alright, people. Tomorrow, same place, same time. Have a good one.” Everyone went to store their instruments back in their lockers. Artie handed the baton back to Tom. Before he turned to join the others at their lockers, Tom said, “Wait for me. I’ll walk out with you. I think I live a few blocks away from your house.”

Artie and I stood by the exit doors as each member of the band walked past. Artie saluted each of them in turn.

“Artie, they’re not soldiers. They’re wearing marching band outfits. You don’t have to salute them.” I laughed as I took his backpack from him and slung it over my shoulder. A minute later, Tom came trotting out. He was carrying his trumpet in its case.

“About your majorette outfit, I spoke to Mrs. Wakamatsu. She teaches Family and Consumer Sciences—”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You do? How?”

“Oh…I’ve heard Regina speak about her.”

“Sure. Reggie took her class last year. He was one of two boys in the class. Of course, now she’s a girl. Anway, Mrs. Wakamatsu does a lot of the alterations for the band’s outfits and the costumes for our school plays. If you can take a few minutes from your lunch period tomorrow, we can have her take your measurements and alter your outfit overnight.”

“I don’t want to impose—”

“She loves doing stuff like this.” Tom walked us out onto the sidewalk outside the school. As we walked past the football field, I spotted Regina and the cheer squad still going through their routines as the football team were running sprints at the end of practice. I waved to Regina. She waved back and shouted out my name. That drew the attention of George, who immediately ran toward the fence behind which we were walking.

“Gigi! Hey, Gigi! Hold up!”

“George! I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”

“Look, I’m not mad anymore about the dirty trick you pulled on me Saturday. Did Regina ask you about…” He looked at Tom and lowered his voice. “…tutoring me in math?”

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow, Gigi. Remember. Lunch.” He saluted Artie as he turned to walk away.

“What’s with you and Tom?”

“I’m going to be the majorette for the marching band—”

“That’s…like…unexpected. Did you do that at Summit?”

“No, I don’t remember if I did. But Tom’s a very persuasive guy.”

“Don’t waste your time with him, Gigi. He’s a loser. I hear he’s not going to college. Not even JC.”

“That’s his choice. He might go back and get his degree after experiencing the real world for a while. Maybe more kids should do that.”

“Whatever. So, will you tutor me?”

“I can’t. With my workload. I’m taking three AP classes! And now I’ll be majoretting for the marching band…”

“Oh, man, I’m dying with Senior Math. If I fail it, I might not pass the GPA requirements for a Division I school like Rutgers or Syracuse, not to mention UConn. I don’t want to play varsity for James Madison or Mahwah. I’ll never get drafted from there.”

“Regina’s good in math and she’s taking the same course you’re taking, just different classes. And she’s more patient with slow learners…like you. I don’t think I could do it.”

“You mean you find me boring?”

“I’m sure you’re the life of the party but…” I leaned into the fence, my lips inches from his ear. “…my mind tends to work at a faster refresh rate than…”

“Someone like me? Yeah, I’m no Einstein, that’s for sure. I guess getting tutored by Regina wouldn’t be too bad. I like her dad. And her mom bakes great pies.”

“Go ask her. I’m sure she can arrange a schedule that’ll work for both of you.”

“Thanks, Gigi. Say, if you’re not doing anything with Tom on Sunday, maybe we can go hiking in Parsons State Park, by the lake—”

“Uh…no…I’m planning something with Tom.”

“What?”

“Well, I still haven’t seen Magnus, Robot Fighter. Tom hasn’t seen it either so we’re gonna go see it in…uh…Belleville. The multiplex there.”

“You could have seen it Saturday night if you and Regina hadn’t pulled that prank on me.”

“Hey, gotta go. Artie’s got some stuff he’s got to do at home. Right, sport?” Artie surprised me by nodding his head. “Remember to ask Regina! Bye.”

“You look so much like Reggie…I mean Regina,” Mrs. Wakamatsu marveled, as she used a wedge of chalk to outline the alterations needed to my majorette uniform. “Hold still, Gigi.”

“My stomach’s rumbling, Mrs. Wakamatsu. I didn’t have breakfast this morning because I overslept, and my sister didn’t bother to wake me. Rat!”

“I still can’t come to grips with Regina becoming a girl. Although, I must say, he was the best male student I’ve ever had in my Family and Consumer Sciences class. The other boys just wanted to avoid PE class because they kept getting harassed for being too effeminate. I guess Regina was always meant to be a girl. If she ends up looking like you, she’ll have to beat the boys off with a stick.”

“I’ve always wondered, Mrs. Wakamatsu, what kind of stick do girls use to beat boys off with? Just a regular broomstick or something with spikes like a club?”

“Gigi, you’re a riot. I think Tom really likes you. You’re not thinking of using a stick on the poor boy, are you?”

“If he behaves properly, no. But, seriously, I’m not interested in boys…right now.”

“I understand. Principal Stover was telling us about your astronomical GPA from Summit High School. You might be the smartest student we’ve ever had at Rossington. At least since I’ve been teaching here. And that goes back almost twenty years. Studies now, boys later. Plus, you’ll meet a much smarter brand of young men in Harvard or Yale or wherever you choose to go.”

She placed the majorette hat on my head and turned me to face the full-length mirror in her classroom. She had pinned the white and gold outfit to perfectly trace my contours and the image that stared back at me stunned me. I was the very model of a modern majorette. I turned so that I looked over my shoulder, my right hand holding the brim of my majorette hat, a sweet, sly smile creasing my lips.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful. You look like a Miss Universe contestant.”

“The question is: which universe?”

The rain that swept through Northern New Jersey on Saturday morning was a biblical downpour. Even an hour before kickoff was scheduled at Noon, there was the probability that the game would be cancelled. But, just minutes before the cheer squad and the marching band set foot on the field, the rain stopped. The field itself was muddy but, thanks to the foresight of the school’s builders, drained quickly so that no puddles the size of ponds remained.

The benches were filled with the usual friends, family, and townspeople. Perhaps a smaller crowd given the inclement weather. But, there was plenty of loud enthusiasm for the home team as our cheerleaders, including Regina, goose pimples on her bare legs in the cool, damp air, went through their practiced routines (minus the notorious pyramid which had put Winnie and Dolores out of commission).

As for myself, I proudly made my debut as our marching band’s majorette, swinging my baton 4 pumps to the bar, stepping lively, and leading my quintet of white and gold garbed music makers onto the 50-yard line. My wide smile was mirrored in the stands by my family: Nick, mom, Artie, and Uncle Richie. They swiveled their heads from side to side, watching Regina doing her splits and me trying to keep my majorette hat from falling off my head. Only a few unfamiliar faces dotted the benches, mostly from the opposing school’s town, Ridgewood.

I noticed one man sitting far up in the last row of benches, wearing an oddly incongruous felt fedora, the kind of hat Harrison Ford’s Indiana Jones made famous. He kept the brim low, placing most of his face in shadow. He was speaking to someone sitting next to him and pointing at something or someone down on the field. For a moment, it seemed to be me he was pointing at. But it could conceivably be any member of the band.

As the final notes of “Seven Nation Army” redounded in the playing field, I turned my head to face my family in the stands and basked in their love and pride.

Hoping the skies would remain clear while we completed the game, the band stationed ourselves behind the north end zone. We were champing at the bit to play our two songs during halftime. There was nary a thought amongst us that a 6-person marching band was a laugh-inducing sight.

Tom told me that Ridgewood High had close to 30 members in its marching band, including 5 majorettes. Budget cuts across school districts all over the state had pretty much abolished marching bands traveling with teams to away games.

Still, we got a warm ovation from the crowd of 400 or so spectators after kicking ass on “Peaches En Regalia.” We ran off the field just as the two teams came roaring on to start the second half.

I leaped to avoid a sizeable puddle just beyond the end zone and my left boot skidded on the muddy grass. Just before I was about to face-plant myself, Tom caught me with his free hand, his trumpet in the other. When he lifted me up to my feet, our noses mushed together. Greg later said we looked like two Innuits in an Arctic rom-com. Embarrassed; we sat a little further apart from each other for the rest of the game but kept stealing glances and smirking.

We beat Ridgewood High by a score of 42 to 10, still undefeated through the first 5 games of the season. If we could keep our winning streak going through the month, we’d be a cinch to make the State playoffs at the end of November.

The happy winners, including the team, our coaches, the cheerleaders, and the marching band, were going to celebrate at IHOP in Fair Lawn, our usual post-game destination. Family and friends were invited to come along but Nick and Mom had to take Artie to his afternoon roller hockey game and Uncle Richie had a date to get ready for. We embraced tearfully and Artie high-fived me, saying he wished I could come to roller hockey to cheer him on. “Next week, squirt,” I told him.

Regina and I skipped to the parking lot. George and Tom fought over who drove who to IHOP. As we stood by, both agreeing that boys are just crazy stupid, the dark man in the felt fedora seemed to linger by his car door, watching us. Several cars passed between us and when the lane cleared, neither the man nor his car was there.

“Get in, Gigi. Tom won the coin toss.”