She Had My Bag

I walked in and she was already there. Younger. Newer. Two new five-stars. Sitting on my stool.

Mrs. Adler did not say her name. Just, "Amara, this is Jolene." Like we were in the same room for no reason. We were.

Her bag was the same one I own. Same brand. Same zip. I saw it and my chest got small.

I worked the morning. I was good. I know I was good. But she was sitting where I sit. Drinking from the cup I drink from.

On the F train I found the post. Camille sent it. The Tribeca girl's helper booked Jolene for Wednesday. Two of us. Same week. Same kind.

I cried one stop. Bag on my lap. Then I texted Camille "i'm fine." The voice I save for my mom.

I do not know if they want me, or just a girl who looks like me. I am scared to ask.