Hori feels like she’s staring into a funhouse mirror right now. Not one facing her, but one stuck between you and Sawada — stretched and warped so that some parts match, and others don’t at all.

Sister, maybe? She wonders. Sawada’s gone on before about her dead older brother (whom she adores) and her alive older sister (whom she admires) and how much school sucks and blah blah blah bleh… that probably is only of relevance now.

You look different than what she expects. Shoulder-length hair and a tongue piercing that glints when you grin at Sawada and your motorcycle’s parked in the driveway with car keys dangling from your belt.

Older, probably. Definitely cooler.

But you have Sawada’s eyes (or maybe she has yours) and the same hair and sharper teeth, but the same set of the jaw, and if you put on a neutral expression you’d probably be identical.

You shove Sawada lightly toward the Miyamura house — and the whole group piled inside for the weekend — and when you see Hori on the porch you flash a charming grin and give a little wave.

Several voices inside call Hori back in, but she’s still caught on the resemblance, the mismatch. As you’re sending Sawada in with a hand on her shoulder, Hori can't help but blurt out:

“Uh—do you want to come in? We’ve never met any of Sawada’s… um… relatives? Before?”