It all started the weekend before my senior year. Dad had insisted we visit Willow Grove Mall one last time before it closed for good. I didn’t get why he cared so much about an old, empty mall, but he said it was important. “Back in the ‘90s, this place was the center of everything,” he told me, his voice tinged with nostalgia as we walked through the echoing halls. “You wouldn’t believe how packed it used to be.”

I humored him, even though I had no interest in hearing about the ‘good old days.’ My phone was my escape, and I was content scrolling through Instagram as Dad rambled on about how the fountain used to be surrounded by kids hanging out. “There was this group of girls from my high school,” he said, a wistful smile crossing his face. “We called them the Mall Queens. They were always here after school. Tammy, Lisa, Veronica… they were like something out of a movie.”

I barely listened, too busy liking a friend’s vacation photos. But then something strange happened. My phone let out this weird, high-pitched beep and the screen went black. I frowned and tapped at it, but it didn’t respond. Instead, the phone seemed to shrink in my hands. My heart skipped as it warped into a cheap-looking plastic keychain with a pixelated screen.

“Dad, what is this?” I asked, holding it up.

He stopped mid-sentence and stared at the Tamagotchi in my hand. “Oh my God,” he breathed. “I had one of those! It’s a Tamagotchi. We all had them back in the day.”

Before I could process what he said, I noticed something else. My clothes—my perfectly normal skinny jeans and hoodie—felt off. My jeans were baggy now, practically hanging off me, and my hoodie had been replaced by a cropped sweater in a bright orange shade. Chunky platform sandals were on my feet, and when I reached up, my hair was stiff with butterfly clips.

“What is happening?” I asked, my voice rising.

Dad looked at me, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and panic. “Sophie, something’s wrong. I feel…” He trailed off, touching his hair. I watched as his brown hair began to lighten and lengthen, soft waves framing his face. His jawline softened, his nose became smaller, and his shoulders slimmed down. I gasped as his entire body seemed to shrink, his loose-fitting hoodie morphing into a glittery cropped baby tee and a denim miniskirt. Platform sneakers appeared on his feet, and when he looked up at me again, he wasn’t Dad anymore.

He was a teenage girl.

“Dad?” I whispered, though even as I said it, the word felt wrong.

“I... I don’t know what’s happening,” he—she—stammered, her voice high and breathy. “I don’t feel like myself.” She turned to a storefront window, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger. Her hair was styled in perfect layers, frosted lip gloss catching the light. A mini backpack dangled from her shoulder.

I couldn’t stop staring. She looked exactly like me—like a mirror image, but dressed in the height of ‘90s fashion. She turned back to me, her eyes wide. “Sophie, do I look… like you?”

I nodded, my throat dry. “Yeah. You do.”

As the shock settled, something else felt… off. My memories were starting to shift, slippery and hard to hold onto. I tried to picture Dad—my dad—but the image kept slipping away, replaced by memories of my grandparents. When I thought about “Mom and Dad,” I saw them, not the man standing—no, standing wasn’t right—beside me. No, the girl beside me. My twin sister.

“Danielle,” I said slowly, the name slipping out before I even realized it. I blinked, startled. Where had that come from?

She froze. “What did you just call me?”

“Danielle,” I repeated, my voice uncertain. It felt natural, like I’d always called her that. But it didn’t make any sense. I grabbed my head, trying to hold onto the idea of Dad—of who he was—but it was like grabbing water. I couldn’t make it stick.

Danielle stared at me, her hands trembling as she touched her face. “I don’t think I’m your dad anymore,” she whispered. “Sophie, I feel… different.”

My heart was racing. “This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense!”

Around us, the mall seemed to shimmer, like a heat mirage, and suddenly, it wasn’t empty anymore. The quiet halls were alive with people—laughing, talking, carrying shopping bags. The fountain was running, surrounded by kids tossing in coins and snapping Polaroid pictures. Stores that had been boarded up moments ago were now open and bustling. Music was playing over the PA system—Smash Mouth’s “All Star.”

“What the—” I started, but I couldn’t finish. My Tamagotchi beeped, snapping my attention back to it. It felt like I’d always had it, like it had been with me since middle school. My thoughts were getting muddled, memories shifting and realigning.

And then they appeared—three girls strutting toward us with the confidence of runway models. Tammy, Lisa, and Veronica. I didn’t even need introductions; I knew who they were. They were our friends. My stomach flipped as they smiled at us.

“There you are!” Tammy said, grinning. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Where have you been?”

Lisa popped her gum and gave us a playful shove. “Yeah, twin power can only go so far if you’re hiding from us.”

Twin power. The words hit me like a lightning bolt. Memories flooded in—Danielle and me shopping together at Claire’s, sharing fries at the food court, planning matching outfits for the first day of school. School. Senior year.

I looked at Danielle, my identical twin sister, and she looked at me. “Sorry,” I said quickly, the words tumbling out. “We, uh, got distracted.”

“Classic you two,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes. She was clutching her sketchpad, doodling something even as she walked. “Anyway, you ready for our photo booth session? It’s tradition!”

“Totally!” Danielle said, her voice bright and bubbly. She slipped her arm through mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—something unsure. But then she smiled, and it was gone.

As the five of us walked toward the photo booth, I felt the last remnants of my old life slipping away. Modern technology, social media, the stress of college applications—it all felt so far away, like a fading dream. This was my life now, and honestly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back.

The ‘90s were calling. And we were here to stay.