“Yep,” she says without protest.
We’re halfway through the security line when Missy turns to me. “Are you okay? You’re normally pale, but right now you look like a corpse.”
I smirk. My skin is definitely on the golden-brown side, but I let her get her jab in as I hyperfixate on the many people snapping “covert” pictures of us.
Missy gasps. “Is Colton Downing afraid of a little paparazzi? Not the senator’s own son!”
I huff out a laugh and shove my hands in my pockets. “Not a chance.” Paparazzi is as much a part of my life as the hairs on my head.
“Then what is it?”
“We’re matching,” I say under my breath.
“Very observant. You’re going to go far in this game.”
I stretch out my arms to emphasize our matching outfits. “We look likeBananas in Pyjamas.”
“Banana what?”
“Pyjamas … You know, that old Australian kids’ show that used to play.” She gives me a blank look. “Hello, B1. Hello, B2?” Isay in a very off Australian accent, trying to mimic the costumed characters, only to instantly regret it.
A smile creeps up Missy’s face. “I’m sorry. It’s not ringing any bells.” Missy hands her driver’s license and plane ticket to the TSA officer, and I do the same before we both toss our backpacks onto the security conveyor belt and remove our shoes.
Not long after, we’re both motioned through the metal detectors, where two previously grumpy security personnel look at theSunsets and Sabotagelogo on our jackets and smile while attempting to discreetly point us out to their colleagues.
Missy shoves her already tied shoes onto her socked feet. “So, we relate to these bananas how?” she says, picking up our previous conversation.
“We’re twinning,” I say, while spending the time to properly untie and tie my shoes.
Missy gives a single laugh that attracts even more attention.
I look up. “What?”
“There are about a thousand current examples of things that twin in this world, and you choose obscure bananas in sleepwear?”
“Okay, you do one better.”
She retrieves her bag, hikes it onto her back, and starts walking before I even get mine on. “Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, Dylan and Cole Sprouse,Parent TrapLindsay Lohan and surprisingly … also Lindsay Lohan.”
“Okay, I get it.”
She ignores me and keeps going, clearly so amused by her game that she continues to pepper me with unending twin facts during our long flight to the US Virgin Islands. So much so that about an hour in, I pretend to fall asleep while wishing I’d never seenBananas in Pyjamas.
“Hello, B1.” An image of a banana in striped pajamas wearing a blonde wig shoves its way into my mind, but its accent isn’t Australian … it’s … Southern?
My groggy eyes open just enough to see Missy’s arm reach across me and open a small airplane window that blinds me with an unearthly beam of sunlight.
“Ack.” I jolt upright, fumbling for the window cover and shutting out the rays. Feeling completely disoriented, I watch the passengers around us fish out their luggage from the overhead bins. Ugh, I must have actually fallen asleep.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Missy says as she shoves a crumpled disinfectant wipe in my face—the same one I’d gotten from the flight attendant and used to wipe down our seats and tray tables before taking off.
I yank my face away from the hankie of horrors. “What are you doing?”
“It’s a wipe.” She motions to the corner of her mouth. “It’s for the crusted drool on your face.”
I ignore the wipe and swipe at my face, only to find that there is, in fact, something crusty. I shift away from her and brush it off.
“Also, you snore … badly.”
