Tripped and Fell in Portland ✐ Jamie and Open ✐ Two Years Ago
Even in the dull reflection, Jamie could see the condition her face was in. It wasn’t as bad as she first thought; her cheek was still intact (save for a few scrapes of blood). Pressing a hand to the side of her face and craning her neck, she checked her angles. Yup, everything was going to be fine, at least for this man. How it’d transfer to her own face, though, was an entirely different story.
Doppelgangers don’t come with an instruction manual, and having one would be extremely handy right now. There were too many questions that Jamie didn’t know the answers to and, unlike her History homework, she couldn’t google the answers. If you encounter the person you’re mimicking, what do you do? Do you avoid or approach? Is there even a protocol for this kind of thing? At least she learned that if you decide to run, you should check that your shoes are tied.
Every nerve in her face tingled as it began to change shape. Her jawline squared off and her nose retained its shape, marking her as a ‘Wright’ again. She dropped her arm and cringed, as she reassessed the damage. Going home, to Ethan, would be a mistake. The scratch on her cheek was an ice-breaker just waiting to happen, and she wasn’t interested in that conversation right now.
Jamie turned on her heels and walked into the store whose window she borrowed. She kept her head low.
Lilly Hawkins had just come to Crystalmont for the first time; well, she supposed, technically speaking, it was the second, but as she had been nearly infantile the first time, it hardly counted. No, Crystalmont was still a mystery--new trees, new buildings, a whole world left to be explored, and the only place that felt even slightly familiarly, even slightly worth her time, was the book store at the end of town. It was owned by a kindly--albeit a bit uptight--old woman who welcomed Lilly in and spoke with her about books and poems and the great authors of the world for nearly five hours. She had hired Lilly on the spot.
So now here she was, once a great editor, leading the world's leading publishing companies to greatness, and now a measly cashier, waiting for the dull bell to ring and announce a customer; there were hardly many. But it came, as she knew it would eventually--the slight 'ding' that told her to look up, to stop reading under the counter, to stop day-dreaming of New York. "Welcome to the Poisoned Pen...are you alright?"
