CW: dead children, body modification.

Mother’s blade slides into the soft skin at the nape of my neck, sharp and eager. She doesn’t falter the way she does when it’s Maddy’s turn. No cooing or crying. No reassurances as she slices through the spot where—no matter how brief a time Mother lets me stay Awake—my skin fuses to our underbody. She growls in frustration, a familiar sound from back before. A sound I heard when I’d come home with my dress muddied and torn. When I’d accidentally chipped a plate or refused to eat her lǎo jiāng jī, loaded up as it was with ginger.

Maddy’s skin fuses just the same, but Mother blames me for that, too.

Mother’s fingers reach into the newly opened gap. She flips the safety switches, following a familiar pattern—the code she long ago memorized from the manual. Dread washes over me as my skin separates from the underbody I share with my sister. I still consider it ours; even if these days, it’s hers so often I might as well be a guest, house-sitting while she’s away.

I hope my turn will come again soon.

• • • •

Maddy always leaves a pocket of space for me. It doesn’t occur to her how much occupying it hurts. She’s as soft and oblivious as our father was, always assuming the best in others. Mother liked that about both of them.

There was never a doubt which of us was Mother’s favorite. But there’s knowing, and there’s knowing. I feel it in the way Mother’s eyes brighten when Maddy—when we—Wake. In the way Mother crushes Maddy to her chest and whispers how much she’s missed her. In the way she lingers in the embrace before kissing her on the forehead and rushing to prepare Maddy’s favorite breakfast.

Mother doesn’t know I’m here, too.

That first time, my sister asked if I’d rather rest when it’s her turn. Back then, the memory of those first few muddled months was still raw. Days or weeks vanishing while I slept, tucked inside all that nothingness. I disliked the idea of not knowing when I’d Wake again.

And, I’ll admit, I was curious. I wanted to know what it was like to be Maddy.

So I told her I’d like to stay. To perch like a budgie sitting on her shoulder. Said the perspective would bring us closer, which made her laugh. Like we need to be any closer, Kyla. We’re literally one person.

Now I perch as Mother beams at Maddy over a plate heaped with strawberry soufflé pancakes. Something in me twists as I feel the food travel down our gullet. It’s too sticky, too sweet. Maybe Maddy’s taste changed, or maybe it’s a design flaw—something that’s been corrected in the newer models.

But Maddy doesn’t complain. She knows how to keep Mother happy.

Maddy eats and eats and we all pretend Mother won’t have to empty our underbody’s waste receptacle later, sobbing at the reminder of what we aren’t.

Mother smiles and Maddy takes another bite.

We are good at pretending.

• • • •

When I was seven, Maddy eight, the first proxy models were released. Inside each one was a humanoid underbody, built from proprietary technology. Enclosing the underbody was a skinsuit complete with the dead child’s features, regrown and sculpted from what could be salvaged of the original’s remains. This was important not only for the parent’s ability to accept their replacement child, but for the proxy as well; synthetic or mismatched skinsuits frequently led to self-harm.

The process of stretching the skinsuit over the underbody and sealing it at the neck was not a task for the faint of heart, but it only needed doing on rare occasion. Naturally, the company offered this service for an additional fee.

From there, all that remained was to imprint the proxy. In place of a brain, each underbody’s head contained a cavity with two built-in ports. The first was the active slot, ready to hold a mindmap developed from the child’s most recent brain scan. The second was dormant, meant to carry a backup mindmap as a fail-safe.

The earliest proxy models couldn’t eat, didn’t yawn, never grew tired. Why build imperfections into their underbodies when their parents could have perfect children instead?

But they rubbed people wrong. No one liked waking to their child standing unmoving by their bed, watching them sleep. And it was harder to pretend with a kid who never asked for a snack, never had a bite of supper. Several proxy children were killed by their parents before anything changed.

One mother had featured in their ad campaign—her tearful reunion with her murdered daughter on display for all the world to see. We all watched as technicians connected the proxy girl’s mindmap to her new body. There was a brief memory gap, but that was for the best. She would remember nothing of her time with the Carnival Killer.

Four months later, that mother was found sobbing over her new child’s body, now a twisted mess of circuits and cut up skin and all the things that form a proxy’s underbody. As reporters descended upon the scene, clamoring for a comment, she kept whispering the same four words.

She’s not my Amy.

• • • •

This time, Maddy is Awake for sixteen days before her functionality begins to deteriorate. At dinner, a fork slips through her fingers, clattering to the ground. The next morning, she forgets the word water. Mother’s lips pull tight, her shoulders tense. We all know what this means.

Mother is extra gentle with Maddy as she tucks her into bed. “Rest up, darling.”

“I’m so tired.” Maddy yawns.

Most of what Maddy feels pulses through our connection. Just enough to give me a taste. But I don’t feel Maddy’s exhaustion tonight. She seems alert, tense, though she has no reason to be. It must be our link—sometimes it’s fuzzy.

Is everything okay? I ask.

Everything is as it’s meant to be. Let’s go to sleep, Kyla.

As our eyes close, I mull over her words, wondering what I’m to make of them.

• • • •

When I Wake in my own skin again, Mother’s eyes carry no tears, no welcoming warmth. Only a hardness to go with her pursed lips and bitter sigh. I sit silent at the table, watching her eat. She makes no effort at conversation, and neither do I.

Part of me longs to be back in Maddy’s skin. It’s lonely in mine—I’ve never reciprocated Maddy’s invitation to perch. The rest of me takes pleasure in Mother’s unhappiness, basks in the way she must care for me in order to care for Maddy. Mother always said I was a spiteful little thing, and I suppose she was right.

From what I’ve gathered, in the early days, Mother tried to keep Maddy Awake all the time. But the only underbody Mother could get her hands on—I shudder to think what she must have done to acquire even this model—was an obsolete version. Its flaws quickly became apparent. Each time Maddy was Awake for too long, she would begin to glitch. The only thing that seemed to refresh Maddy was switching her for me. Letting me care for our underbody so it did not waste away while she rested.

For once, Mother found me useful.

• • • •

It is the anniversary of the accident. Mother does not look at me, does not speak to me. She leaves me to my own thoughts as she locks herself into the bathroom and draws a bath. I sit outside the door and listen to the water run. Listen to the squeak of the faucet as the water shuts off. Listen to her sob for all that she’s lost.

Then I tiptoe to the living room to look at the photograph. Without Mother’s watchful gaze, I dare to drag over a chair. To climb up and pull it off the high shelf that serves as a shrine. Holding it tight, I return to the room Maddy and I have always shared.

I sit on my bed and look.

In the photo, Father has an arm slung around Maddy’s shoulder. The two of them sport bright swim gear and matching grins. Behind them, seagulls swoop above a crashing wave. I am there too, a fuzzy shape in the background. No matter how much I stare, I cannot make out my expression. But if I could, I know what I’d see.

My gaze draws down to Maddy’s feet, and I draw in a sharp breath at the sight of her fuchsia swim shoes. The ones they used to identify her when her severed foot washed up later, ankle bearing tooth marks from hungry creatures.

The ocean never returned any of Father.

I study the waves; try to guess at the exact location of the undertow that drew Maddy in. The one that drowned my sister, then my father when he tried to save her.

I know I should put the photograph back before Mother finds me, but I can’t. I miss them too much. I hug them to my chest and lay down, closing my eyes. Wishing I could still produce tears to soak my pillowcase.

• • • •

This time, Mother lets me stay Awake longer. Though it’s lonely without Maddy, I’m more comfortable in my own skin. In the day, I wander the woods behind our house, gathering pretty treasures. At night, I thumb through the worn paperbacks Maddy and I used to pass back and forth. Mother is gone a lot.

Sometimes, I stop by the ravine where I fell to my death. Another loss for Mother to bear, a mere four months after Maddy and Father died.

I stand at the edge and look down, trying to imagine what it must have felt like to tumble down that slope. Wondering if guilt drove me to it or if it was a slip in my footing.

I wish I knew for certain, but memories of my death day are buried forever with what’s left of my original body. All I have is what Mother told me and what I know of myself.

I’m Awake long enough to grow restless. Long enough to worry. Mother never deprives herself of Maddy’s presence for this long.

At the two-month mark, I can’t stand it any longer. I search my mind, looking deep, deep down for the corner where Maddy is tucked away, sleeping.

Maddy?

She’s silent for a moment, and I think back to that first day she invited me to perch; how disorienting it was.

Maddy, it’s me.

Kyla? She sounds groggy, confused. Is it . . . is it my turn?

Not yet. It’s, um . . . would you like to perch?

You’ve never asked me before.

Guilt clogs my throat, and I swallow hard. I’m sorry.

Maddy sighs, and I feel it shudder through me. Is this how my reactions feel to her? I’ve waited so long for you to ask.

Is that a yes?

Yes, it’s a yes. I would like that, Kyla.

I tell her I’ve been Awake for two months. I tell her about Mother’s absences. I tell her I’m scared.

Maddy listens. And then, we plan.

• • • •

“Maddy, darling, I missed you so much.” Mother is teary-eyed as she combs her fingers through Maddy’s hair. “Kyla said something felt wrong, like she’d been Awake too long. She said she was sure you were somehow there, trying to Wake, to come back to me. Was she telling the truth?”

At this reminder that Mother doesn’t trust my word, a wave of resentment washes over me. I wonder how much of it Maddy can feel.

“Yes, that feels right. I can’t explain it; I don’t know how she knew.” Maddy is careful not to let on how much we can communicate. “But as soon as I Woke, I felt like it had been too long, like I’d been discarded. Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh darling, of course not! You never do anything wrong.”

Maddy furrows her brow. “Then why didn’t you want me Awake?”

“I do want you Awake. I always want you Awake! That’s the only reason I let you rest for so long this time. You needed to gather all your strength.”

“My strength?”

“Yes. I have a surprise for you. I’ll show you later.”

Maddy doesn’t push Mother, the way I would. Instead, she sits at the table, staying quiet as Mother scoops batter onto the griddle, cooking and flipping Maddy’s pancakes. When Mother presents them, Maddy smiles, but it’s not her usual grin. There’s a falter to it.

Mother, ever attuned to her favorite child, frowns.

Maddy picks at her pancakes.

“What’s wrong, Maddy dear?”

Maddy shakes her head. Puts on a brave face and takes a bite. It’s very convincing.

I start to wonder.

“Darling, you can tell me anything.”

Maddy chews her lip. Sets down her fork. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m just a little scared. I don’t understand what I need my strength for.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s a good thing! Come.” Mother stands, taking Maddy’s hand in hers, and leads her down the hall. She’s always more affectionate when Maddy’s newly Awake.

I perch with bated breath as Mother opens the door to her room and pulls Maddy inside.

There, sitting in an armchair, is a fresh new underbody.

“I . . . is that . . . who is that for?”

Mother beams. “For you, of course! It’s the latest model, and it doesn’t have the flaws of your current one. But switching underbodies can be a shock, so I wanted to ensure you were well rested.”

Maddy seems as stunned as I am. “But . . . what will happen to this underbody? Will it be Kyla’s?”

Something dark flickers in Mother’s expression before she composes herself. “Yes, of course.”

Maddy? The word comes out soft, fearful.

Shh, let me concentrate.

I try to tell myself this is a good thing. Maddy and I will have our own, separate bodies again. We will no longer have to alternate.

But Maddy feels uneasy, and I can’t tell if she’s reacting to my agitation or if she carries worries of her own.

• • • •

Maddy asks Mother more questions. Looks for evidence that Mother will keep her word. That she will transfer Maddy to the new underbody but let me keep the old one rather than selling it. Even secondhand, underbodies fetch a pretty price.

Mother says all the right things, repeating her promise. But the night before the transfer is planned, Maddy finds Mother’s communications with a prospective buyer—a grieving father looking to remake his beloved child.

Neither Maddy nor I bring up the sharpness of my hurt upon our discovery. We are not the kind of sisters that speak of sentimental things. What we do, instead, is make a new plan. In the brief time we have left, we will steal the new underbody and find my skin. Then we will leave Mother behind and find a way to transfer one of us.

We will, once again, be able to live separate lives.

• • • •

Mother is in a good mood. To celebrate Maddy’s transfer day, she tells Maddy she can pick any meal she’d like. Maddy chooses salmon risotto with a side of poached asparagus—a meal involved enough to keep Mother busy. Mother is delighted that Maddy has chosen two of original Maddy’s favorite dishes.

While Mother cleans the salmon and stirs the risotto, Maddy sneaks into Mother’s room. She tries to pick up the underbody but it’s heavy, too heavy for her to carry. In her attempts, she accidentally knocks it to the floor. Maddy goes still, waiting for Mother to come running, but she must not have heard. Still, it makes us both nervous.

Maddy gives up on carrying the underbody, searching instead for my skin. She checks Mother’s closet, the storage beneath her bed, everywhere she or I can think. Everywhere she can, while Mother is occupied.

Down the hall, the fan turns off. Mother is almost done cooking.

Kyla, I’m sorry, but we have to go.

We can’t leave without it!

It’s too late. We don’t have time.

Easy for you to say. I can’t hold it in anymore, everything I’ve carried inside for years. Not when I’m facing yet another loss. You have your skin. You have a mother who loves you, a father who died trying to save you. You have everything, like always, and I’m stuck tagging along, forever the—even now, I can’t bring myself to utter the word “unwanted”—extra child.

If Maddy can feel my pain, my sadness passing through our connection, she doesn’t let on. She feels calm and resigned, and I don’t understand.

Kyla, the one thing I’ve always wanted was a sister who loved me.

I do love you.

I know about the day I died. I know what you did. Or, rather, what you didn’t do.

I’m speechless.

That day at the coast comes roaring back, the memory so vivid I could swear I’m inhaling the salt-strewn air, feeling the strong breeze whip my hair into a tangle. I see Mother tanning on a beach towel, Father combing the sand for beach glass. Maddy swimming in the ocean.

I see the stranger, one-piece still dripping saltwater, noticing me watch my fourteen-year-old sister swim. Almost got caught in a riptide out there. Conditions are dangerous today. Might want to warn your friend to come back.

I could have run toward the water. Could have called out a warning or gestured for Maddy to return. Could have told Mother or Father.

Could have done anything but nod and stay exactly where I was, watching her swim. Watching her fight the waves. Waiting until she was pulled under before I began screaming for Father.

Shame floods me, and I’m tempted to retreat, to hide away in my little corner and rest until it’s my turn again. Except—

—if I do that, it might never be my turn again.

Maddy, I’m . . . I . . . how long have you known?

Mother told me the first time I Woke.

My heart sinks. I remember those grief-stricken weeks after Maddy and Father died. Mother lying in bed sobbing endlessly, unresponsive no matter what I did. I’d wandered the too-quiet house and nearby woods, guilt eating me alive. Finally, I’d told Mother what I’d done, desperate for some reaction from her; a moment of weakness I’d come to regret ever since.

I’m sorry, I tell Maddy, hoping she can feel every ounce of apology in the strength of my words. I’m sorry for that one moment where I let envy ruin everything. I didn’t think it through. I didn’t think. I just . . . I don’t know.

Is that why you never let me perch?

I hesitate. But there seems no point in keeping it secret now. I thought Mother might bring it up.

“Maddy! Food’s ready!” Mother’s voice startles us both.

Quickly, Maddy leaves Mother’s room and joins her in the kitchen. While Maddy eats, I try to concentrate, to listen through our connection. Now that Maddy knows I have no excuse for what I did, nothing but jealousy and petty selfishness and not enough sisterly love, will she abandon our plan?

What if she played this whole charade to get me to confess before she welcomes Mother’s plan to transfer her to the new underbody and sell the old one?

No, no. That’s not like Maddy.

But fear is an invasive vine, taking over and smothering everything else.

When Maddy’s done, Mother clears the plates and begins washing up. Maddy retreats to our room. She takes out her backpack and starts putting in clothes, money, anything remotely valuable.

Maddy. If you knew this entire time . . . why help me now?

Maddy looks up, and I catch her expression in the mirror. My heart breaks all over again. I wait for her to tell me she loves me, that it’s what sisters do for each other. Instead, she bites her lower lip. Do you know what happened to you?

You mean . . .

How you died.

I fell down a ravine.

Kyla, I . . . Maddy pauses. Do you remember those first few days I was, um . . . new me?

Maybe? My memory of that time is fuzzy. Mother wasn’t speaking to me at all then.

There really was a glitch back in the beginning.

What do you mean back in the beginning? There’s still a glitch. I think back to Maddy telling Mother she’s tired. Forgetting the word for water. All the signs that she needed to rest. Those little missteps I was glad to see because it meant my turn was coming up.

Oh.

Mother was desperate, but she had spent everything on my new body. She couldn’t afford an official repair. So, she took me to a proxy chop shop, begging them for help. They knew of this model’s flaw, and they showed her how to hack together a fix; how two people can inhabit one underbody by replacing the backup mindmap with that of a separate person—preferably someone of similar age and build. How a second skin can care for the shared underbody while the first recovers.

I wish I was the one in control of our body right now. I wish I could dig my nails into my skin hard enough to draw blood. I wish I could run outside and scream into the night. Because I don’t want to know what she’s about to tell me.

Kyla, you didn’t die in a ravine.

Every word Maddy speaks is a knife to the heart.

Mother sacrificed you to save me.

Sacrificed.

I tremble as the implications of her words hit me.

Why are you telling me this? My words are soft and uncertain.

I was so upset with you at first, Kyla. I was hurt, betrayed. But I’ve had a lot of time to think. And I started to wonder why Mother told me what you did, first thing. Why she chose to hurt me. How she’s driven so many wedges between us. How she . . . she killed you to save me. And I couldn’t blame you anymore. Not for one moment of jealousy, not for anything. You and I are not the poison. We don’t have to be.

Maddy zips up the backpack and slings it over one shoulder.

That’s easy to say now, I tell her, but you’ll get tired of me always tagging along. If we can’t find my skin, can’t bring your new underbody, you’ll be stuck with me forever.

No, sis. Maddy says as she unlatches our window and pushes it up, letting in the cool night air. You’ll be stuck with me.

She climbs out the window and together, we step out into the unknown.