Act One

A Replica, Dreamless

I’d never slept in a bed.

I’d hung futons up on the line and let them air in the sunshine. I’d rushed to take them in before the sun set. But I didn’t know how the freshly aired white fabric felt once it was laid back out.

It was fun to imagine lying down on fresh bedding. How soft and fluffy would it be?

“Snap out of it.”

My eyelids flew open, and I blinked several times.

It felt like there was sleep in my eyes, but that was because she was still in bed, and her eyes weren’t focused yet.

“Sorry. Good morning.”

She didn’t return the greeting. She didn’t even look at me. She just waved a hand as if she were shooing a cat.

“Day two, and I just can’t,” she said. “Go for me.”

That explained it.

“Got it,” I said, nodding.

I left her room and headed for the bathroom on the first floor. I knew there wouldn’t be anyone else around at this time of day, but walking silently had long ago become a habit.

I splashed some water on my face and brushed my teeth. By now, my head was clear.

A brown-haired girl stared back at me from the polished mirror.

Low hairline, thin eyebrows. Well-defined eyelid crease. Big round eyes framed by long lashes. A well-shaped nose and thin pink lips. A balanced figure, with limbs as lithe as a cat’s.

The girl in the mirror was attractive in a way that some would call cute and others would call pretty.

I turned my eyes from her, patting my wet face with a brand-new towel. Once it was dry, I applied primer, liquid foundation, and concealer.

Finally, I slathered on sunscreen, making sure to get it all over my face, neck, hands, and legs. She’d said to apply the minimum necessary, but I’m a girl myself—skin care matters.

I then brushed my long hair thoroughly before carefully cleaning the brush and dropping any stray hairs into the wastebasket. I was borrowing all these things, so I had to take care of them.

Next, I went to the kitchen, flipped two cups from the drying rack, and filled each with water from the tap. I drained one in lieu of breakfast.

Carrying the other glass, painkillers, and a cloth-wrapped lunch box, I went back to her room.

The mound under the covers stirred, and her face poked out—the same face as the girl in the mirror.

“What’s for breakfast?” she asked.

“It looked like Japanese style. White rice, a slice of salmon, miso with daikon, rolled eggs, and—”

“Enough,” she cut me off, sounding annoyed.

The Aikawa household seemed to alternate between two kinds of breakfast, Japanese and Western; but the former was more frequent. The exact menu varied a bit, but the types of side dishes were pretty consistent.

Her mother was a drugstore pharmacist. She woke up before the roosters, made breakfast, and headed out to work. She got home early in the evening and set right to making dinner.

I’d seen Mom dressed in her apron from behind more often than I’d seen her face.

The girl got up and snatched the glass and medicine from me.

Painkillers could upset your stomach, so it was better to eat something before taking them. And to be honest, I would have preferred if she’d called for me after filling her stomach. But she hated it when I grumbled, so I just stared at the cream-colored wall.

“You’re lucky. You just get the bleeding and none of the pain.”

“Mm,” I agreed, but she just glared at me.

She handed me the half-empty glass and the empty pill packaging, and I took them back to the kitchen.

When I returned to her room, I moved into the corner and took off my pajamas. I folded them, hid them under the bed, and took the ironed uniform off the hanger on the wall.

It consisted of a pleated, checked skirt and a white blouse with a turquoise ribbon at the breast. Online consensus held that this uniform was “very cute.” The winter version added a navy blazer.

She’d picked this high school because she liked the uniform, and I rather liked it myself. Just wearing it put me in a conscientious frame of mind and made me want to stand up straight.

“Grabbing four pads.”

She didn’t answer. She must be too tired to bother talking to me.

I double-checked the class schedule folded up in her pencil box, then looked over the textbooks and notebooks in her satchel.

It had been five days since she’d last called for me. Final exams were two weeks from now. I’d have to do well on those again.

Once I was ready, I turned back to the bed.

“Phone?” I said.

A dramatic sigh. Then her hand reached out. Her phone was on her palm, in a basic powder-pink case. It was the latest model, and it was slightly warm—she must have been using it under the covers.

“I’m off. Don’t forget to lock your door.”

I knew she wouldn’t answer. I left before she made any further demands.

I stopped by the bathroom at the end of the hall and changed out my pad. Then, on my way down the stairs, I checked the weather app, making sure it would stay sunny all day before turning the phone off.

It was seven thirty.

I went to put her loafers on and found the backs crushed. I’d been taking good care of these shoes, so this was disappointing. Once that stiff leather gave way, the whole bottom of the shoe had to be replaced.

I could tell Mom myself, but she’d get mad at me for going behind her back. That said, if I spoke to her directly, she’d take it as an insult.

The shoe backs didn’t want to straighten up, but I stretched them out, hooking them around my heels. Once they were on, I tapped the toes on the tile floor of the entryway.

I put her satchel in the basket of the bicycle parked just inside the front door, then pushed the bike outside. The sea breeze made it prone to rust, so it was kept inside when not in use.

Overhead, the sky was blue with a few streaky clouds. It was the middle of the rainy season, but today was a welcome respite. I found it hard to track the seasons without inspecting the skies.

Shading my eyes with one hand, I looked at the horizon. In the distance, I could hear the churn of the surf, carried by the breeze. The Mochimune Beach was full of activity, as always—there was a reason reporters often went there to broadcast live during typhoons.

I made sure to lock the front door behind me. I wasn’t just worried about break-ins. Both her parents were away at work, and hardly anyone ever visited, but we couldn’t afford to risk even the slightest chance of someone finding her resting in bed.

There was a lock on her door, too. She’d talked her parents into adding one when she was in elementary school. By this point, she’d have crawled out of bed, sighing, and turned the lock.

I got on the bike and rode off.

This close to the ocean, the breeze must smell of salt—but my nose had long since adjusted, and I could barely tell.

The girl in bed is Sunao Aikawa, and I’m her replica.

When she was seven, Sunao created me—a being that looks exactly like her and speaks with the same voice.

She named me Second, and it’s my job to attend school in her place.

No one has realized I’m not the real Sunao. But then, how would they know that the original was sound asleep in her room?

I said hi to a woman from the neighborhood as I passed, gradually picking up speed. Next, I zoomed past an old man out walking his dog—a Yorkshire terrier, a little bundle of hair, its waddling walk somehow unsteadier than its elderly owner’s. I hope they both make it through the summer.

The wheels of the bike made a whirring sound as they spun. The tires felt a little flat. I’d changed gears, but I wasn’t getting the speed I’d hoped for. I made a mental note to pump them up when I got home.

The wheels kept whirring as familiar sights zipped past.

The light had just changed, so I crossed the road without braking and proceeded up a paved bike path that scaled the arc of the Shizuoka Bridge. There was a strong wind from the mountains, so I had to change gears and stand on the pedals to get anywhere.

As I struggled along, cars zipped past on my left. Even with full tires, even if I wasn’t on my period, I could never keep up with them. I doubted Sunao could, either.

The Abe River was still swollen from the rain two days ago, and as I crossed the bridge, I glanced back and forth between it and Mount Fuji ahead of me. The peak of the mountain, dusted with snow like powdered sugar, was nothing new to me—but five days ago, it had been hidden beneath gray skies, and seeing it once again put a smile on my face.

Once I was over the bridge, it was all flat roads.

I was hoping I’d hit only two red lights, but I got stuck at a third. Classmates had been caught by plainclothes cops, and I didn’t want a yellow ticket, so when I saw the light start to flash, I put the brakes on early.

The tickets were labeled according to which traffic rule a person had broken. They were officially called Bicycle Disciplinary Warning Cards, and the school rules stated that if we got one, we had to stick it on the chalkboard at the back of our classroom. One boy had collected fifteen like they were medals of honor, but it was rumored that the class that got the most would be called out in front of the whole school, so we all paid close attention to our speed near campus.

At last, I reached the school’s back gate. I rocketed into the cavern-like bicycle parking lot, slid down the path between the other bikes, and hit the brakes. Once my feet were back on the ground, a wave of exhaustion hit my calves—and not the comfortable, refreshing kind.

It was nine kilometers from Sunao’s house to school—on the long side for a bike commute.

On a good day, I could manage it in thirty-five minutes, but on a bad day, it could take as long as fifty. It wasn’t just my physical condition—the wind on the bridge or the traffic lights could make a big difference.

It felt like today’s trip had taken around forty-two minutes. The phone was already powered off, so I didn’t bother checking.

I wiped my sweat with a little towel. Once the rainy season ended, we’d be in the throes of summer and I’d be far sweatier than this.

In an entrance hall full of boys and girls in matching clothes, I swapped the loafers with the ruined heels for indoor slippers. The backs of these were intact; Sunao must have been leery of repercussions from our notoriously strict faculty.

“Morniiing”

“Morning. Ew, you stink.”

“Rude!”

As I was tapping the toes of my shoes against the floor to settle them on my feet, I overheard two girls goofing off, trading hugs.

Leaving them behind in the entrance hall, I climbed the stairs to one side and made my way to Sunao’s classroom, 2-1.