DupliKate Page 3

  Except that she looked exactly like me.

  “What the hell?” I screeched. “Mom!”

  “She left for work,” the girl said sunnily. “Hi!”

  “Hi?” I replied, surveying my room frantically. Everything looked the same as usual: piles of books on the floor, clothes draped on every surface, random pens and pencils scattered on my desk and dresser, the edge of my computer monitor covered in Post-it notes. The door to my walk-in closet was open, which was weird because I always closed it at night, and the overhead light was on even though I hadn’t left my bed yet, but otherwise everything looked normal.

  Except for the girl. Who looked like me.

  “I’m hallucinating,” I said out loud. “This is why one should always say no to drugs.”

  But I had said no to drugs!

  “Who the hell are you?” I demanded. I was still backed up against the wall, and the girl happily settled herself at the foot of my bed, sitting cross-legged and hugging one of my pillows. “Don’t touch my stuff,” I added. She put the pillow down.

  “What, seriously? You don’t know?” the girl asked. “I’m Rina!”

  I stared at her blankly.

  “Rina,” she repeated. Another blank stare from me. “Nice to meet you,” the girl continued. “Or me, I guess.” She giggled.

  “You’re not me,” I said. Except that she kind of was. Actually, she totally was, except for the fact that instead of flannel jammie pants and a T-shirt, she had on a fuzzy pink tracksuit and a ton of lip gloss. And body glitter. Her cheekbones and the backs of her hands were completely covered in body glitter. Ew, tacky.

  When in doubt and fearing for your own sanity, be rude. “What kind of a freak name is Rina?” I demanded.

  “Um, the freak name you gave me ’cause you thought it was a cooler nickname for Katerina than Kate,” she said. “I couldn’t believe you signed on last night! Finally! It’s been forever!” She pointed happily at my computer. I looked too. It was still frozen, the “Welcome to SimuLife!” window stuck open.

  Oh no. Wait. The wheels turned in my head…. SimuLife—what kind of a game was SimuLife? And what did it have to do with this girl in my—oh. Uh-oh.

  She was the version of me from the game. In theory, it made no sense, but the reality sort of made sense. Leave it to my hallucination to sort of make sense. “So…you’re my SimuLife self?” I asked shakily, blinking a few times in a mixture of confusion and horror.

  “Yeah!” Rina nodded happily. “I knew we were smart! Thanks for busting me out. The last time we saw each other was what, eighth grade?”

  “I didn’t bust you out,” I snapped, relaxing enough to sink down onto one of my pillows instead of staying slammed up against the wall. “I clearly have dormant schizophrenia and it’s just manifesting itself at the most stressful time of my life.”

  “No, we’re sane,” Rina said cheerfully, the light reflecting off her glittery cheeks. She crawled toward me, stuck out a finger, and poked me in the stomach.

  “Ow! What the hell?!” I yelled, shrinking away.

  “You’re not hallucinating.” She looked around. “So now what?”

  “What do you mean, now what? I have no idea.” I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down, even as I freaked out again at the sight of me sitting across from myself. She was even twisting the ends of her hair with one hand like I do, curling the waves into loose ringlets. “There has to be an explanation for this,” I said. “A perfectly reasonable, rational, scientific explanation.”

  “Why?” Rina asked.

  “Because this isn’t the way the world works!” I exclaimed. “If it is, then there might as well be superheroes. And zombies. And goblins and talking plants and magic lamps that grant wishes—”

  “Maybe there are,” Rina said. “Oh my God, how cool would that be? I would wish for a new car, and a bunch of new clothes, and—”

  “Me too,” I said without thinking. Rina looked at me, delighted that I’d agreed with her, and I slapped myself on the forehead. What was I doing? We stared at each other for a moment; then my alarm clock went off again. Thanks, snooze button. The repetitive blare gave me a sudden moment of clarity.

  I jumped off my bed, walked over to my computer, and yanked out the power cord. Ta-da! The screen went black. Goodbye, SimuLife! Goodbye, weird girl in my room!

  I turned around. Rina was still there.

  Dammit.

  “Okay, I can’t deal with this right now,” I said. “I’m about to be late for school. I haven’t showered, none of my stuff is together—” I started walking around the room, picking books and papers off the floor and cramming them into my book bag. I had to get out of here. Maybe outside the house, everything would be normal.

  “Can I come to school?” asked Rina, getting up from the bed as I went into the closet to figure out what to wear.

  “What?” I asked, kicking off my jammie pants and pulling on some jeans. “Of course not! Are you completely insane?” I started putting on a long-sleeved T-shirt and noticed through the window the sprinkling of snow on the lawn, then pulled on one of Paul’s Red Sox hoodies instead.

  Rina made a sad face at me. God, it was so, so weird looking at her; not like looking in the mirror, but more like looking at a photo come to life. I mean, was my hair doing the same thing as hers? One piece on the left side was kind of sticking out. I reached toward my head. “Your hair looks good,” Rina said. “Oh, but is there something wrong with mine?” She ran her hand through her hair in the exact same motion I’d just made. Great, this was getting even weirder.

  I sighed and looked at the clock. “Look,” I said, “If you’re still around later—”

  “Of course I’ll be around!”

  I sighed again. “Okay, just—just stay in here. I’ll be back at, like, three, and we can figure out what to do then.”

  “I have to stay in our room? I can’t even go downstairs?” she asked.

  “First of all it’s my room, not ours, and no, you can’t. Watch YouTube or iTunes or something. You’ll have to plug the computer back in. Just promise you’ll stay here.”

  Rina shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Thanks.” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, made a wish, and opened them again. Rina waved at me.

  So much for that. I picked up my book bag and started for the door.

  “Hey Kate?” Rina asked.

  “What?”

  “The last time you played SimuLife was in eighth grade,” she said.

  “So?” I asked.

  “So isn’t it great that we grew boobs since then?”

  I almost laughed before catching myself. “Yeah, I guess,” I said, smiling a little at the hilariously contented look on Rina’s face. “Okay. I’m leaving now. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Okay. Bye Kate!” Rina waved enthusiastically.

  “Bye.”

  I went downstairs and picked up my car keys from the front hall table, wondering whether it was a good idea for a clinically insane person to drive herself to school. Maybe I should head to the emergency room instead.

  Nope. Too much work to do.

  “Have a great day at school!” called Rina’s voice from upstairs. My voice. Granted, it sounded like my voice when it’s on voice mail, so it wasn’t exactly what I heard in my head. But it was still way too familiar to be coming from anywhere except my own mouth.

  “Kate?” Rina’s voice repeated. “Have a great day at school!”

  Something told me she would just say it again until I responded. “Thanks!” I finally called back.

  “Can’t wait to see you later!”

  I couldn’t say the same.

  Dear Diary,

  The real world is AWESOME! Kate’s room is SO COOL!!

  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

  YAY! YAY YAY YAY YAY YAY!

  This. Is. The happiest day of my life. Except for the time I accidentally ate glitter gloss and thought I might die but then didn’t.

 
; Love, Rina

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHOA, WHAT’S WRONG?” PAUL ASKED ME, shortly after I got to school.

  I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten from the parking lot to my locker, or how I’d remembered the combination once I was there. And I definitely wasn’t sure how I’d ended up on the ground.

  “Huh? What?” I looked up at him. He was wearing a Red Sox hoodie, which meant we matched. Great, now I had a twin at home and at school. Of course, he looked way better in his than I did in mine, although he probably would’ve disagreed. He’s good that way.

  “You’re sitting in the middle of the hallway,” Paul said.

  I looked around and saw a mass of knees and calves and feet. Paul was exaggerating—I was on the floor, yes, but I was leaning back against my locker. I pulled my feet in just as a crowd of laughing sophomore guys stomped by.

  Paul extended a hand. I let him yank me to a standing position, which he did with almost zero effort. “Sorry,” I said blurrily. “I’m just a little out of it.” That was an understatement.

  “Are you okay? Did you not go to sleep last night?” His eyes looked concerned, and he took one of my hands in his and waggled my arm around energetically.

  “No, I did,” I said. “But I’ve just—I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Specifically, the fact that I was mentally ill.

  This was a bummer.

  Although, if I played my cards right, an essay about dealing with mental illness might make for a pretty sweet college application….

  See, thinking of using my insanity to get into college just proved that I was crazy.

  “Kate,” Paul said, gently turning my face toward him. I gazed into his blue eyes for a second, forcing myself not to think about staring into my own brown eyes, but on someone else’s face, earlier this morning.

  “Hi, yes, I’m here. Let’s go to class,” I said, shaking my head.

  “We’re already there,” Paul said. Apparently, he’d walked us to AP English. He steered me through the door and into my seat, then sat down in the last row. He used to sit right behind me, but Ms. Appenfore made him switch because his height blocked the kids behind him. She likes to have a clear view of everyone, ever since the Great Senior Class Cell Phone-Throwing Incident. (Short version: somebody threw a cell phone.)

  I looked around, wondering what the next sign that I was losing my proverbial marbles would be. Would Ms. Appenfore’s head suddenly morph into a giant potato? Would the entire room turn into a black-and-white pencil drawing? Maybe everyone would start speaking Mandarin, or forty clowns would come busting out of the ceiling tiles (scary), or the voice of Daffy Duck would instruct me to pick up a black Magic Marker and draw a mustache on every kid in the room.

  But Ms. Appenfore just droned on about Crime and Punishment. People raised their hands and answered her questions. Pages were turned, pens clicked. Everything was so…normal.

  Maybe Rina had just been a bad dream. Oh my God, yes, that was it! Duh! I grinned at the thought, earning a “What’s so funny, Kate?” from Ms. Appenfore. She was justified, as she had just referenced Heart of Darkness, which isn’t exactly a laugh riot. I mouthed, “Nothing, sorry,” and then looked down at my desk, smiling to myself. I wasn’t nuts. I just had a vivid nocturnal imagination. REM sleep, you sly little dog, you.

  My hand was resting on my desk. I spotted a few specks of body glitter on it.

  Dammit, Rina.

  I flicked the glitter off. Whatever, that might’ve come from anywhere. Maybe I’d walked by an art class at some point. Maybe I’d accidentally brushed against a slutty freshman. It could still all have been a dream. Right?

  “Kate.”

  I looked up, and there was Paul, looking at me weirdly again. I realized that the bell had rung. “You’re still totally out of it. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, legitimate concern in his voice.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, hastily wiping away a few more specks of glitter.

  “Do you want to go home? Are you sick?” Paul tucked my books under his arm to carry them for me, his face a mixture of worry and confusion. “I’ve never seen you like this….”

  That was true. I generally did a better job of acting normal in front of Paul—and everyone else—when I was stressed. Of course, I’d never had my computer avatar come to life before, which demanded way more acting talent than I had.

  “I’m just sleepy,” I said, throwing my pen into my bag. “I’ll get a Diet Coke from the vending machine and I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m going to anyway.”

  That was nice of him.

  “Dude, what happened to you?” Kyla asked when I sat down next to her in AP European history. “Is something wrong? You totally look like something’s wrong but you’re trying to cover it up.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I lied wearily.

  “Are you sure? You look…shell-shocked.” Kyla’s eyes narrowed as she studied me intently.

  “I’m fine,” I said. It occurred to me that Rina had been alone for a few hours now and for all I knew, she’d wrecked the house. For all I knew, she had taken the house, or at least all the stuff in it. Oh my God, what if Rina was a shape-shifter? Like, her normal body was some sort of monster, but she’d managed to disguise herself to gain trust while also making me think I was going crazy? What if right this second she was packing all my mom’s jewelry and emergency cash, and our new big-screen TV, and everything else in the house, into a huge truck?

  “I am zero percent convinced that nothing’s wrong,” said Kyla. “You look terrible.”

  I totally believed her there. I’m pretty sure the expression on my face at the thought of Rina being a shape-shifting house burglar could be described as “stricken.”

  “Well, then looking terrible is what’s wrong, and thanks a lot for pointing it out,” I replied, trying to sound confident but mostly just sounding loud. A few kids looked at me funny.

  “Sorry. I’m kidding, you look great,” she said. “Forget I said anything; I’m the worst friend ever for saying anything.”

  “It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I said, leaning my chin onto my hands. “I’m just a little stressed.”

  “Kate, I’m saying this as your best friend. If you’re stressed enough to look like that, maybe you shouldn’t retake the SATs. Because I’m afraid you might wind up having to check into a rehab facility for quote-unquote ‘exhaustion,’ and that’ll just be the worst thing since—”

  I was almost glad when Mr. Pike decided to give us a pop quiz on the life of Louis XIV.

  By lunchtime I was robotically repeating, “I have a migraine,” as my lame excuse for being totally out of it. “I took some Advil—I’ll be fine,” I told Kyla as I got up from our table after eating only a third of my turkey sandwich. “I’m gonna do some more SAT cramming.” She nodded and waved. She’s used to me holing up in the library at lunch lately, so I think she took it as a sign of normalcy. I handed the rest of my sandwich, plus my peanut butter Luna bar and banana, to our friend Carmen, whose appetite is scarily bottomless.

  “We’re hanging this weekend, right?” Carmen asked, as she started peeling the banana.

  “Sure,” I called back over my shoulder distractedly, as I was already halfway to where Paul was sitting with the basketball team. He stood up to meet me.

  “Feeling better?” Paul asked, reaching over to brush my hair out of my face.

  “Better enough to study,” I said, indicating the SAT book in my bag. “I’m going to the library.”

  “That’s my girl,” Paul said, smiling. “I’ll see you at practice later. You’re still coming, right?” he asked, his smile fading at the “huh?” look on my face.

  Right. Basketball practice. I’d promised to swing by, but I’d forgotten until he mentioned it.

  “Of course,” I answered. “I’ll be there.” I briefly pondered citing how busy I was in order to get out of it, but I needed to make up for acting so cracked out this morning.

 
“I mean, I know you’ve got all your other stuff, but you always—”

  “Absolutely,” I said quickly. I gave him a hug and made a mental note to get him a Vitamin Water after school. I made another mental note to tell Kyla I couldn’t go running with her—even without basketball practice, I wouldn’t have the time. Then I headed for the library.

  I walked straight past the big wooden tables and squishy armchairs in the front section, past all the bookshelves and study rooms, and holed up in one of the back computer carrels. There, I googled the hell out of schizophrenia, hallucinations, delusions, multiple personality disorder, and anything else that might explain me having a vision of a clone that I could talk to and touch. The research was very educational, and also extremely depressing. I pictured a lifetime of institutionalization, being on eight medications at once, and my mom having the option to come visit me once a month but then only doing it once a year because she found the whole thing too much of a downer.

  The future looked bleak. And I still had to get through the rest of the day without having a nervous breakdown.

  “You look like crap,” Jake said flatly as I sat down in physics.

  “Well, you, um, smell like crap,” I countered. He gave me a “wow, that’s lame” eyebrow raise. “I barely slept and I have a headache,” I snapped.

  “Aww, let me guess. Your eighth retake of the SATs getting you down?” Jake made a mock sympathetic face. Around us, everyone else was huddled with their partners, calculators and diagrams in hand. My heart sank. If this thing was graded on a curve, we’d definitely be getting a C. Or worse. The look that I caught Anne giving me from across the room—a mixture of amusement and satisfaction—didn’t help.

  “First retake,” I said defensively, “so shut up.” I scooched my chair as far away from him as our lab table allowed. “And no,” I added, glaring, “I actually haven’t even had time to study for the SATs lately, since some of us have more to do than play with crayons all day.” Jake was actually holding a red pencil at the moment, not a crayon, but whatever.