The Originals

  She looks at me funny, maybe because she’s clueless, probably because she’s wondering why I’m asking. On the verge of blushing, I start buttering my toast so I have something else to focus on.

  “Yeah?” she asks. “What about him?”

  “He said hi to me and I felt like a moron because I didn’t know his name.”

  Ella just stares at me.

  I roll my eyes at her. “Ella!” I shout. “Quit messing around. What’s his name?”

  She laughs a little, stands, and takes her plate to the sink. I think she’s going to ignore me completely, but halfway through the doorway, she says his name over her shoulder.

  “Sean Kelly.”

  I use the last ten minutes of dance class primping instead of rehearsing. After my speed shower, I pull my hair back into a wet knot and then hurry to creative writing, charged by the thought of seeing a guy I don’t know at all. He doesn’t arrive until just before the bell, but when Mr. Ames turns to write today’s vocabulary words on the board, he turns around in his desk.

  My desk.

  “Hey, Elizabeth.” Zap.

  “Hi, Sean,” I say back, swallowing butterflies. I want to say his whole name, but that would be elementary school–style immature, so I just think it.

  Hi, Sean Kelly.

  I solo brainstormed a few conversation starters on the way to school, but unfortunately class starts, so I don’t get the chance to try them out. Sean’s forced to turn around and I’m obligated to stare at his broad back for most of class, pausing only to make periodic eye contact with Mr. Ames so he doesn’t call me out. I manage to stay under the radar. But then at the bell, Mr. Ames does call me out: He asks me to hang back after class for a few minutes. Disappointed, I glance at Sean as he leaves the room, then walk up front.

  “Thanks for sticking around, Elizabeth,” Mr. Ames says. “I won’t make you late for your next class—I just wanted to tell you how fantastic I thought your dog story was.”

  “Really?” I ask, ignoring his overuse of fantastic.

  “Definitely,” he says with a warm smile as he starts straightening papers on his podium. “It was an improvement over last week’s assignment and…”

  Stomach flip. I’m better than Ella at something.

  “… I just wanted to say that I’m expecting big things from you this year.”

  “Wow,” I say sheepishly. “That’s really… thanks, Mr. Ames.” No teacher has ever pulled me aside to tell me that I’m doing a good job before. Strangely, it makes me want to head home and start tonight’s homework right this second.

  “No problem,” Mr. Ames says. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow,” I echo as I turn and leave the classroom. I’m so deep in my happy place that I nearly collide with someone when I step into the hall. It takes a second before I realize that someone is Sean.

  “Are you in trouble?”

  Were you waiting for me? I wonder.

  “No,” I say. “He told me he liked my dog story.”

  “Did he say it was fantastic?” Sean asks, which makes me burst out laughing.

  “Actually, he did!”

  “That’s awesome,” Sean says, shoving off the wall. He stuffs his iPhone into his pocket, then hoists his bag onto his shoulder. He starts walking beside me, confirming that he was, in fact, waiting. “Where are you off to now?”

  “Cheerleading,” I say, trying to keep the negative tone out of my voice. I mean, the squad members are fine—nice, even. The captain, Grayson Jennings, is firm but fair. It’s just that I’m not into the idea of being catapulted into the air with nothing but a few skinny girls to catch me on the way down.

  Sean nods in a way that annoys me, like he thinks I belong at cheerleading.

  “What do you do after school?” I ask, a little snippily. He laughs.

  “Whatever,” he says. “Hang out with friends. Read. Play games. Write. Sometimes I take pictures.”

  “Of what?” I ask, tone gone.

  “Well, I take all the pictures for the school Facebook,” he says. “But I really like to shoot stuff around town. My mom’s a pro photographer for like businesses and magazines and stuff, and sometimes she lets me help out.”

  “Sounds fun,” I say, trying to come off as nonchalant when I really want to launch into game-show-host mode and ask him a lightning round of personal questions. But, as if we were beamed here, too soon we’re at the entrance to the locker room.

  “This is where I leave you,” he says, nodding to the GIRLS sign over the door.

  “Thanks… uh… for walking me here,” I say, feeling self-conscious about the way I’m standing, the sound of my voice. Everything.

  “Sure,” he says. “Catch you later.”

  And then he turns and walks away, not too slowly or too quickly. He just goes, comfortable being him, backpack slung over his shoulder like a normal kid with a normal life.

  Just… normal.

  Betsey has major cramps tonight, so Ella and I draw straws for evening. It’s Wednesday, so that means Freshman English 1A at the community college, but both of us would practically sit through anything for a chance to see stars. It’s not like we’re banned from going out at night or anything, it’s just that only one of us can be out at a time.

  Of course, Ella wins. Smirking, she pulls back her hair, because mine is still tangled from dance, puts on the locket, and bounces out the front door like Tigger.

  I love her, but she’s a total pain sometimes.

  The only good thing about losing the draw is that I get to spend some alone time with Betsey. We used to spend our afternoons together but now we’re ships in the night. Yesterday, we only saw each other during the few morning homeschool classes before I had to take off for second half. When I returned, she immediately left for evening. In a way, I’m glad she isn’t feeling well tonight.

  “So, what’s going on?” I ask her when I join her in the rec room. She’s squinting at the TV, because even though the front of our house is shrouded in pine trees, the back overlooks the valley below and the setting sun is casting such a harsh glare on the screen that you can hardly make out the images.

  “Just suffering,” Betsey says. She has a heating pad on her midsection and a bowl of ice cream in her hands. My period started this morning, too, like I’m sure Ella’s did. The difference is that to us, it’s nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Bet,” I sympathize. “Do you want anything?”

  “I want the stupid sun to go away,” she says. “Can you make that happen?”

  I stand up and pull closed the heaviest drapes in the world: the kind you see in hotel rooms that start at the tip-top of the room and refuse to let in the tiniest smidgen of light. We stayed in two hotels on the drive from Florida to California and loved the room service and indoor swimming pools.

  “Done,” I say as I flop back onto the couch opposite Betsey’s. “What are we watching?”

  “You pick,” she says, tossing me the remote. “I don’t have the energy to flip.”

  I start changing channels but don’t find anything, so I end up back where we started. When the half hour turns, a rerun of Friends begins. It’s extremely funny to the point that my side hurts I’m laughing so hard. At the first commercial break, I begin the chatter again.

  “So, are there any cute guys at night class?” I ask. Betsey shrugs from her sickbed.

  “Not really,” she says. “They’re all nerds trying to get ahead.”

  “Like us.”

  “I guess,” Betsey says. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it… there might be better things to do with our Monday and Wednesday nights.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Skydiving. Miniature golfing. Things that are fun.”

  “You want to go skydiving at night?” I ask, laughing.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I wonder what Mom would say if we asked to go skydiving.”

  Betsey
looks at me and we both burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of the idea. When we’ve recovered, she says quietly, “I think Mom overreacted about the whole quiz thing.” I look back at the TV; the commercials are on mute. “Switching our schedules and all.”

  “Me, too,” I say, not really wanting to talk about Mom. Thankfully, the show comes back on. But then it’s hard for me to pay attention; I’m distracted by memories.

  “How about in second half?” Bet interrupts my thoughts. I focus and realize that we’re already at another commercial break. I look at her quizzically. “Guys?” she explains. And then thoughts of Mom are gone, replaced by Sean. My face must give it away, because she sets down her ice-cream bowl and sits up excitedly.

  “Tell me!” she says. I’m grinning so hard I have to take a deep breath to relax my face so the words can come out.

  “His name is Sean and I sit behind him in creative writing,” I report. Bet’s eyes are wide and sparkling like a little girl’s. “He’s adorable, but in an unexpected way. And tall, but he doesn’t hunch over or anything. And he’s super nice and funny and he waited for me after class to walk me to cheer.”

  “Ohmygod, what else?”

  “Let’s see… he’s a little obsessed with his iPhone, but he’s into creative stuff like obviously writing but photography, too, and did I mention he looks like a superhero?”

  “Like Superman?”

  “More like a less nerdy Clark Kent,” I say. “No, wait, he’s like Clark Kent’s less nerdy son who fronts an indie rock band.”

  “Is he in a band?” Betsey asks, her voice high-pitched.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I say. “But he’s super cool.”

  “And you like him,” Betsey says in a dreamlike voice, as if she’s caught up in a particularly great movie love scene instead of talking about my life.

  “I do,” I agree, admitting it to myself and to Betsey at the same time.

  “Wow.”

  We sit, staring at nothing for a moment, both of us probably wondering what it would be like to actually date someone. Betsey’s the one who mentions it.

  “We should ask again,” she says. “I think it’s time. Elizabeth Best is the only girl in school who doesn’t date. It’s weird.”

  “She’ll say no,” I say, remembering the last time. At South, a guy named Shane Williams asked Betsey to Homecoming after their social studies class one day (Betsey did second half last year). Mom said no before the question was even out of Bet’s mouth.

  “Yeah, but we were only fifteen then, and you know how overprotective she is,” Bet says. “Plus she was freaked out because she thought our next-door neighbor was spying on us. I get it. I mean, she could go to jail if anyone knew about us. But it’s different now. We’re more careful. We’re seventeen.”

  “Not until January,” I say, giving her a funny look, then refocusing on the TV. “And I don’t know, Bet. I don’t think she’ll go for it.”

  “I’m doing it,” Betsey says. “I’m bringing it up.”

  After not even ibuprofen works, Betsey goes to bed early. I turn off the TV and lazily drag myself to my room with the cozy throw blanket still wrapped around my shoulders. I decide to check our Facebook—the Facebook that we had to beg Mom to let us have, the Facebook that she only consented to because one of our teachers at South posted extra-credit assignments there sometimes.

  Of course, it’s only one account.

  I log on and check the notifications, knowing well that I can’t reply to any of the comments since Ella’s the one “on” tonight, but at least I can troll the pages and kill some time before bed. I make sure that I’m hidden from view in case people know that Elizabeth Best takes a college course right now, then I scan the updates. Ella posted to the page five minutes before class.

  Elizabeth Best is admiring the amazing moon on the way to night class.

  Just as I’m silently cursing Ella for rubbing it in, a little alert in the upper left corner catches my eye: We have a friend request. It could be anyone, so I’m unsuspecting when I click on the link and see who it’s from.

  Sean Kelly.

  I suck in my breath and hold it as I click to accept the request, then I go to his page and look around. He has 530 friends; I try not to feel inadequate. His status updates are frequent and funny, and I’m not surprised to find quite a few photo albums.

  I click through his pictures and notice two things: He’s photogenic, and a lot of his pictures feature him and other girls. A pit forms in my stomach at the sight of Sean dressed for a dance with Grayson Jennings next to him. He’s so magnetic; of course he dated the sweet, beautiful, all-around-perfect captain of the cheerleading squad.

  Just, of course.

  Another of his photo albums shows off his photography. There are expertly framed landscapes, funky old trains, elderly people in rockers, and shots of kids at a carnival taken from odd angles with vintage filters. Halfway through the album, I click Next and find a Seventeen magazine–worthy close-up of Grayson. She is freckle-faced and smiling in the sunshine with a flower in her hair. It almost makes me want to die until I remember that at practice yesterday, she talked about how she’s dating Cooper someone. But still, how can a third of a person compete with one whole Grayson?

  A little flag appears in the corner of my screen, telling me that I have a new personal message. Adrenaline shoots through me when I see that it’s from Sean.

  Sean Kelly

  About 1 minute ago

  Hi Elizabeth,

  Wow, your name is long. You are in mad need of a nickname.

  What’s going on? I see that you’re at night class.

  What are you taking? Write back if you can.

  My heart is thump, thump, thumping under my ribcage and it won’t stop. I stare at the empty box awaiting my reply, unsure what to do. I can’t reply… or can I? He might think that it’s just me, Elizabeth, replying from class. But what if Ella logs on and posts something contradictory? No, she won’t. She’s too studious.

  Undecided, I shove back from the computer and leave the room. I go downstairs, mostly to buy myself some thinking time. Directionless, I head to the kitchen and open the fridge. I grab a soda and then hit the cupboard for some chips, which I start nervously crunching by the handful.

  Back in my room, I sit down and reread his note. I wipe my salty chip hands on my pants, then, impulsively, I type.

  Elizabeth Best

  5 minutes ago

  Hi Sean,

  Thanks for friending me. As for my name, personally, I don’t have a problem with Elizabeth, but if you are spelling or typing challenged, feel free to nickname me. But it had better be good.

  Yes, I’m at class. I’m taking Freshman English 1A this semester and 1B next semester. Probably Freshman Math next year so I’ll have two classes done by the time I start college. My mom is really, really concerned about me getting into a good college.

  I sit and stare at the message. It’s already longer than his original note, which makes me want to edit myself. But instead of overthinking things, I just hit Reply. Minutes later, another message from him comes in.

  Sean Kelly

  2 minutes ago

  I won’t keep bugging you. I don’t want to get you kicked out of class. But I’ll think of a wicked nickname for sure. See you in writing tomorrow.

  It’s nice… but disappointing. I want to write back that he’s not bugging me, that I want to talk all night. But he thinks I’m in class, and besides, that would sound desperate. Instead, I just write back “See you tomorrow” and leave it at that.

  I get up and brush my teeth, thinking that the exchange left me happy and sad at the same time, like a ball of protons and electrons, and I can’t believe I just thought of that analogy, maybe I’m not so stupid after all, Mom.

  When I go back to turn off the computer, I notice that Ella’s done with class and has updated her status again. I happen to be looking at her comment when another one comes in.

  Sean
Kelly How about Astro Girl, you know, cause you like the moon? No, that’s just as long as Elizabeth. I’ll keep thinking.

  I stifle a giggle at the thought of Sean trying to come up with nicknames for me, then I realize something and get nervous. From his comment, Ella will surely know that I was online when I wasn’t supposed to be. Just as I’m considering calling her from the landline, another comment comes through.

  This one’s from… David?

  David Chancellor Hey you. Don’t forget what we talked about. See you in govt.

  WHAT? What is “Don’t forget what we talked about”? What does that mean? I decide to wait until Ella gets home to ask her about it, and I don’t have to wait long: She shows up a lot quicker than it usually takes Betsey to return from class. Suddenly Ella’s looming in my bedroom doorway, and she’s annoyed.

  “What’s up with being online while it was my time?” she asks, hands on hips.

  “What’s up with David?”

  “What’s up with Sean?”

  We simultaneously blush in exactly the same way—blotches spreading over our foreheads and the apples of our cheeks—effectively sharing the details of our secret crushes without having to utter the words. Ella hesitates a moment before coming over and flopping down on my bed. She grabs my hand and we lie next to each other on our backs, hands clasped between us. A few minutes pass before she speaks.

  “It’s pointless,” she says quietly. Defeated.

  “It is,” I agree, a feeling of angst sitting hard on me. It’s an unfamiliar one, though, like wanting something back that I never had in the first place.

  “Unless…” Ella says, even quieter still. My head snaps to look at her; she stares at the ceiling.

  “Unless what?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she says quickly, then, “Just what if we could go back to pretending to be triplets like when we were little? What if we could live normally again?”

  Ella’s words give form to what’s been eating me for the past few months: the thing that I haven’t let myself acknowledge. The fact that maybe after all this time, I’m starting to think it’s wrong for us to live as one person. The fact that I’ve been wondering about—almost craving—change. But knowing all that Mom’s given up for us—her career, any sort of a social life—it feels blasphemous.