I Look Just Like You (Redux) - Part 1

"Sandy! Check it out—I'm your twin!" Theo's face filled the screen, his grin stretching the latex appliances that now mimicked his sister's features.

Sandy froze, her fingers hovering over her laptop keyboard. The peaceful cabin retreat suddenly felt very far from home.

"Mom's intern needed someone to practice prosthetics on," Theo continued, turning his head to show off the profile, "See the freckles? Perfect match, right? She had all these photos of you for reference."

Sandy's stomach tightened, "Theo, this crosses a line. It's... unsettling."

"Oh, the reason I wanted to call you was that I was just about to try on the voice modulator—then the transformation will be complete!"

“Voice modulator?”

Theo fumbled with something out of the camera frame.

Then, in a dead-perfect simulation of her own voice—usually so plain and never particularly memorable—Theo said, “Hello, this is Sandy.”

“Knock it off,” she said, “Why would you even—where is Mom?”

“Wine bar,” The smile on Theo’s Sandy-face looked wide and raw, “Actually, when you’re back, want to secretly swap lives for a day?”

“What?”

“Like, we can meet up somewhere before you come home and switch clothes. Then I can ‘come home’ as you! And Mom will think you’re me disguised as you!”

Even Sandy began to grin at the thought, “You’re kidding me, right? Mom will figure us out instantly.”

“I don’t think so. This disguise is actually amazing. Look,” Theo pulled off his sister’s tank top.

Sandy expected a seam, but the collarbone and neck were seamless, skin-tone perfect. She sucked in a breath—there was even the faded scar under her jawline, the one from diving off their neighbor’s dock in third grade. Theo grinned and tugged the neckline lower, showing the slope of shoulders and collarbone, and then—God, he’d even added the tiny brown mole she’d always hidden with foundation, right under her left clavicle.

Then, without warning, Theo reached behind the latex back and unclasped what was unmistakably one of Sandy’s own bras.

Theo then reached behind the latex back and unclasped the bra—Sandy’s own favorite one, the pale blue with the coral piping, which had gone missing from her laundry bag two months ago, “Look, sis! I have your titties!”

He turned his chest to the camera with such gusto that the prosthetic breasts bounced and jiggled. The illusion was uncanny. The latex even glimmered with a faint, peach-fuzz realism, the kind Sandy herself saw only in the harsh light of the bathroom mirror.

Theo gave the left nipple a cartoonish tweak. “High realism, artisanal grade,” he said, then jutted his chin forward, narrowing his gaze in a parody of Sandy’s own skeptical expression, “Don’t you think they’re good?”

A laugh burst out of her, half disgust and half amazement. “Theo, you lunatic. You look more like me than I do.”

“Let’s really do it!” he said, in her voice.

“Fine. Only cause I think it might be kinda funny.”