Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s Jesus Christ

She passed me her phone with a smirk, asking, “How old do you think I am here?”

It sounded like a dare. I looked at the formal headshot, scrutinizing it for details. Same gorgeous hair, same glowing skin, same shining eyes. It was taken last week as far as I could tell. “Twenty-five?” I guessed.

She shook her head and laughed. “Sixteen.”

My eyes widened as they bounced between her nearly-thirty face and the photo, unable to tell the difference. “How…?” I stammered.

She laughed again and shrug...