I never knew the original Louisa Jenkins; she died shortly before I was born. But by now I know a great deal about her. I ought to, after all I've been taught.

There can be little doubt that she was a great person. She was our first female president, and ushered in an era of peace and prosperity that was only dreamt of in the century or so before. She served two terms in office, then retired gracefully from politics. But her retirement was anything but retiring. She continued to make speeches and public appearances, and was cheered everywhere she went. She wrote an autobiography which sold millions of copies, and donated much of the proceeds to prominent charities. Everyone loved her, and the nation was greatly saddened when she announced, in a televised speech, that she was dying of cancer.

It was only a few weeks later that rumors leaked out that Louisa Jenkins was being cloned. And some people remembered that in her farewell speech she had said that someday another one, greater than herself, would arise. . .

Shortly thereafter, flags across the country were lowered to half-mast. Louisa's death was mercifully quick and painless, it was said. Her funeral made the six o'clock news. And there her story ends and mine begins.

I am also named Louisa Jenkins - which makes perfect sense. But my host mother, understandably having warm feelings toward me, insisted that I have something to make me an individual. So she gave me my middle name, Segunda. It's not really a name. It's just Spanish for "The Second." The second Louisa Jenkins, that's me. In my lighter moods I refer to myself as Louisa Jenkins the Sequel, or, even better, Revenge of the Louisa Jenkins.

The first Louisa Jenkins had a very high IQ and a desire, from a very young age, to solve the world's problems. These are the main things my tutors are trying to cultivate in me. I say trying, because it isn't going as well as it might. Oh, sure, I'm smart. I learn whatever junk they toss at me. But if the world is expecting another Louisa Jenkins, maybe I'd best change my name to Segunda and take up second fiddle in my spare time. Greatness and I have yet to be on speaking terms.

Before the first Louisa got into politics, she was an actress. In that area, at least, I might follow in her footsteps voluntarily. I have always loved acting, and do as much of it as possible. Fortunately my tutors recognize that even a future world leader must have time for leisure activities, and so I have been allowed to indulge my love of the theater. But it's not the same as a career. The only career I'll be allowed to have is as a professional sequel, since everyone liked the original so well.

Louisa the Elder kept a journal when she was my age. It came into my hands recently, when I visited her childhood home. I keep it with me almost at all times, and read it at intervals. So far it's full of fairly ordinary teenage complaints, which actually is sort of comforting. It means I'm not too far behind in my development. I wonder if my tutors have seen this journal. Maybe they should.

I'm pretty annoyed with my tutors right now. In fact, I just left the room in the middle of a lesson. They were ganging up on me, telling me for the millionth time how much I have to live up to and how I really have to apply myself. I said to them something like, I didn't ask to be Louisa Jenkins. I didn't volunteer for this. They reminded me that it was my destiny, or some such nonsense. They're not usually so mystical. I said, Maybe if the first Louisa Jenkins had it to do over again she would have done things entirely differently. Maybe my destiny lies elsewhere. And as if to prove it I walked out.

I didn't go far; just out into the lovely wooded courtyard and sat down under a tree. I find it so comforting to be near trees. So that's where I am right now. I pull the first Louisa's journal out of my bag and settle down to read. And I happen across this entry.

"November 16

"School is so stupid. I just don't see the point. Oh, I'm smart enough to learn the material. But when am I ever going to use this knowledge? Everyone says that with my brains, I will be something great. They're always a little vague about how or what.

"Today my English teacher chewed me out in front of the whole class for not doing my homework. He said if I'm ever going to amount to anything, I have to apply myself. He said it's a shame to see such a brilliant mind go to waste. I said that it's not my fault I'm so smart. I didn't volunteer for this life. And I got so angry that I just stood up and stomped out of the classroom.

"I went out in front of the school and sat down under a tree. I just love being around trees. I sat there and felt sorry for myself and just about decided to abandon any attempt to be a great student and pursue my acting career instead. Maybe I'm not meant to be a brilliant scholar and great figure in history. Maybe my destiny lies elsewhere -"

The journal falls from my hands. I close my eyes and swallow hard and try to stop trembling. When my heart rate slows a little I open my eyes and notice that the journal has landed in a patch of mud. Fine. Let it stay there. Let it rot away and be absorbed by the earth, as the first Louisa Jenkins was. No need to preserve it. Nothing has been lost. Louisa Jenkins lives.

No! I won't let this happen! I am an individual! She will not control me any longer! What am I talking about? She's not controlling me. She's dead. But if she's not controlling me, then why am I just like her? Calm down, calm down. I am exactly like her because that was what I was made to be. That's the whole reason why I exist. The world liked her so well that it demanded an encore. No thought for me, of course. Or for her, for that matter. Maybe she wouldn't like to be resurrected in this form. Maybe she went to her grave regretting what she did with her life. Maybe. . . maybe I'm her second chance. Maybe I have a duty to break away and do something different. For her sake. For the sake of her memory, so the people remember her as more than just a beloved president. Who am I kidding? It's for my sake, of course. I want to be more than just a copy.

First things first: I can't stay here. The only thing I can do here is study how to be Louisa Jenkins. And apparently, that's something I already know. So I will leave. But where will I go? There aren't many opportunities out there for a teenage girl alone, even if she does have a famous name and face.

About that name and face: I'll call myself Segunda Jenkins and just hope not to be recognized. (After all, not many people know what Louisa looked like when she was young.) My name and face could get me anything I want or need. But if I reveal who I am, no one will ever be able to see me as a separate person. I want to be known for my own merits - or Louisa's other merits. I want to do what she might have done.

What might she have done? She could have gone farther in her acting career. She could have run an important charity. Maybe she could have been a great scientist and discovered a cure for cancer and saved herself. With her mind - my mind - she could have been just about anything. But she was president. And that's what she's remembered for. And if I'm not careful, it's what I'll be remembered for, too.

I'll try and get a job, and find a place to live. If I had any friends it would make things a lot easier. Oh well, I guess I'll have to make friends. That's what normal people do. And that's what I'm going to be, a normal person. I'll reject my so-called destiny. I don't believe in that sort of thing anyway. I wonder if Louisa did. Probably not. I don't know much about her personal beliefs. For that matter, I don't know much about my own personal beliefs. It's not an area I've been encouraged to explore.

I feel giddy. I've never taken control of my life before. But that's just what I'm doing now - taking responsibility, going out on my own. I'll go now - I'll walk to town, and play it by ear. On second thought, I'll take the journal. For reference. Just to make sure I don't do what the first Louisa did. So I try and brush the mud off of it, and shove it in my bag, and start off.

It's not long before I'm standing in front of a clothing store that has a sign in the window saying, "Help Wanted." I imagine they want someone with experience or qualifications, or at least identification, but I figure it can't hurt to inquire. So I walk into the store.

At first I think there's a mirror on one wall, because I can see myself out of the corner of my eye. But then I turn to look at myself, and my reflection does not turn.

It's not a reflection.

It's a girl my height, with my build, and, I realize with numbing shock, my face. Louisa's face. "Louisa," I call out without even thinking. She turns and sees me. For a long moment we stare into each other's eyes. Then she turns and walks out of the store. I follow. I have to.

Once outside, she stops. When I catch up with her, she says in a low voice, "I didn't know there were any others."

"Neither did I." In some part of my mind, I'm wondering if our voices sound the same. Then I wonder if she's wondering the same thing.

"Do you suppose there are any more besides the two of us?" Suddenly she starts to laugh.

"I don't know. There could be. There could be hundreds."

"In case one doesn't work out, there are spares." She's still laughing, not as if something's funny, but more as if there's nothing else she can do.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"I ran away. What about you?"

"Same thing."

"I couldn't stand the feeling that she was controlling me."

"She?"

"You know who I mean."

"Yes, I do. Look, do you want to go someplace and talk?"

"We can talk here. There's a bench."

We go and sit on the bench. I avoid looking at her because it's too spooky. "You go ahead and tell me your story. I suspect it's pretty similar to mine."

"Yes, I think it must be. Foster parents, private tutors, lessons in politics and acting?" She glances at me for confirmation. I nod. "Well, then, I won't bother with details. I just got tired of all the nonsense about destiny, and decided to get out on my own. Be my own person. Maybe it's foolish, but here I am, looking for a job and a place to live. Is that your story?"

"Yes. Except for one thing. This." I take Louisa's journal out of my bag and hand it to. . . the other Louisa. She starts paging through it. "It's her journal from when she was our age. Reading it made me realize that I was turning out to be just like her. And that's why I ran away."

"This is fascinating," she says, turning pages slowly. Then she stops and looks up, smiling. "You know, now that the initial shock is starting to wear off, finding you is actually pretty nice. It could make things easier. Maybe we could get an apartment together. Give ourselves new names, call ourselves twin sisters. I think we could pass for twins, don't you?" We laugh together over that, because of course we're even more alike than twins.

"That's not a bad idea," I say. "I've been kind of at a loss for what to do. I don't know anyone or have anyplace to go. It's nice to see. . . a familiar face." I laugh over that one. But she doesn't laugh with me. She's staring at the journal, paralyzed. Then, very slowly, she lifts her head and looks into my eyes. It's just like looking in a mirror.

"Have you read all of this?" she asks in a voice that quivers a little.

"Not all, no. Only about the first half. Why?"

"Then I guess you didn't see this entry."

"What entry? What about it?"

"I'll read it to you: 'I finally decided. I just got so fed up with school and with my parents always pushing me, that I decided to leave home. This is my gift to myself on my seventeenth birthday: freedom. Freedom from unreasonable expectations. My parents even want me to give up acting so I can focus on my studies! Can you believe it? That's just one of many things. So I'm leaving. I'm not sure where I'm going yet. I'll see if I can live with a friend and get a job. It won't be easy, but it's better than following someone else's plan for my life. That's something I'm determined not to do.'"

She closes the journal and sets it down. "When's your seventeenth birthday?" she asks me.

"In about three months," I say.

"Mine too."

"What do you know," I say, my face twisting into an ironic smile. "We're a little ahead of schedule."

She stares at me, speechless, and again I have the eerie feeling of looking into a mirror.

Only, I realize, we are both merely reflections.

I'm back in that same wooded courtyard by nightfall. My twin has gone to her own home. According to the journal, Louisa only ran away from home for a day. Then she came back, embarrassed and repentant, as I'm doing now. I've stopped resisting. What's the point?

My tutors are waiting for me. They knew I'd be back. For the first time I wonder who placed that journal for me to find. But I don't care. It doesn't matter. The world could use more people like Louisa Jenkins.

The world could use more people exactly like Louisa Jenkins.

And I guess I'm volunteering.