“Whatever you do, don’t fall in love with Jason.”

You gape at the twin of yourself who purposely rode into you with her electric Divvy bike. Except it’s not a twin at all. You don’t even have a twin, not that you know of. This not-twin who looks exactly like you is wearing your ripped jeans, your yellow sweater with the broken zipper, and your scruffy checkered Vans you bought back when you thought you were a skater.