The Originals

  “That’s too risky,” I say. “What if they found us?”

  “They can’t possibly still be looking for us,” Ella says. “It’s been seven years since the trial.”

  “We both know Mom’s paranoid,” I say with a sigh, “but she’s pretty positive they still are.”

  Ella’s quiet for a while, and when I hear someone speak, I’m surprised that it’s me. “What should we do about it?” I ask. It’s Ella’s turn to look at me, excitement on her face.

  “Should we talk to her?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure it’ll help.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But something. We have to do something… right?”

  We’re quiet again for a little while, both staring at the ceiling and lost in separate but probably similar thoughts. Ella and I breathe at matching meter; we sound exactly the same. It’s easy to get hypnotized by synchronicity, and soon enough, I’m nodding off.

  “Can I sleep in here tonight?” Ella asks, bringing me back to awake.

  “Of course,” I say sleepily, because I want to be there for her. And I don’t want to be alone, either.

  four

  “All right, everyone, today we’re going to critique one another’s dog stories,” Mr. Ames says at the beginning of creative writing. I’m trying hard to listen, but Sean’s back is distracting; somehow I force myself to focus on our teacher. “The goal this semester is to keep working on the stories and see how far we get with them.” I smile at the thought of going into the holiday break with a solid start to a book.

  Mr. Ames tells us to pick partners.

  Turn around, Sean. Ask to be my partner.

  “Want to work together?” he asks seconds after I think it. I smile and nod, and out of the corner of my eye, I see letdown on several faces across the aisle. I guess Sean’s equally charming to girls and guys alike.

  After the slightest hint of hesitation on my part—no one’s read my writing except teachers and family—we trade papers and read quietly. I smile through his two pages, which are cleverly written from the perspective of a furious cat who asserts that the arrival of the dog has ruined her life.

  “This is really funny,” I say when I’m finished. I look up at Sean and he’s staring at me intently. “I think it’s awesome.”

  “You stole my line,” he says. “Yours is great, too. It’s better than mine.”

  “It is not,” I say, rolling my eyes at him. “Anyway, it’s based on a true story of a toad-sucking dog. It was on the news. The toads gave off this juice from their skin that was like a drug to the dog. He was addicted!”

  “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,” Sean says. “I thought you made it up.”

  “No,” I say, a little embarrassed. “It would’ve been better if I did.”

  “Naw,” Sean says. “Everyone finds inspiration in real life. You put your own spin on the story; it was really great.”

  “Thanks, Sean,” I say.

  “You’re welcome, Beth.”

  Without meaning to, I flinch. Hard.

  I have no idea what the Original’s name was—Mom says she never knew—but I’ve always thought of her as Beth. Beth is the name of a little girl trapped in time; it’s perfectly tragic, like Beth March in Little Women.

  Sean holds up his hands.

  “Whoa,” he says quietly. “I get it. No Beth.”

  I shake my head, feeling stupid. He must think I’m one of those melodramatic girls. I take a deep breath and smile warmly. “Sorry.”

  “No worries,” he says. “So, Queenie…”

  I frown. “Seriously?”

  “Fine… just Elizabeth,” he says.

  “Good. And yes?”

  “Do you want go to lunch tomorrow?”

  The good kind of shiver shoots up my spine and down my arms. I want nothing more than to spend some time alone with Sean, getting to know him better. And yet, how can I possibly eat lunch with him? By the time I make it to school, the lunch period is more than halfway over. He’ll probably want to meet me at my locker after fifth period, but that’s just not possible… unless Ella does it.

  No way.

  Sean is looking at me, waiting for my response. I’m taking too long, but put on the spot like this, I just can’t figure out how to make it work.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say finally, long after the moment has passed. “I’d love to, but I have plans tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” Sean says, nodding at me like it’s no big deal. But I see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

  “Twenty minutes,” Mr. Ames calls to the class.

  “Guess we’d better get back to it,” Sean says.

  “Guess so.”

  And with that, we both look back to the papers in front of us and reread, pens in hand to make notes. Or at least, I try to. I can’t help wanting to rewind ten minutes and do it better. I could have figured something out. But now it seems like I may have lost my chance.

  Later, frustrated by the feeling that there’s no way I can have a future with Sean, all I can think of is the past. How my family and I got to this point. When I stare up at my night-black ceiling, I remember when Mom came to wake me.

  “Lizzie,” she whispered. “Lizzie, honey, wake up.”

  “What?” I asked, foggy from having been asleep for only a couple of hours. I’d read long past bedtime.

  “I’m going to get you a suitcase. You need to put your special clothes and toys into it and get ready to go. We’re leaving.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked, yawning.

  “To California,” Mom said.

  “Why?” I asked. I remember not really feeling alarmed, just curious.

  “There are people looking for us,” Mom said. “We have to leave this house and this town so they don’t find us. And we need to start playing a game—we’re going to start pretending that you and your sisters are just one person. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  “Okay,” I said, not really thinking it sounded fun. But I was a good girl, one who basically accepted things and went with what Mom said. I packed, as did the others, and we left in the middle of the night without ninety percent of our belongings. I’m still not sure what happened to most of it.

  Until then, I’d thought I was a triplet.

  Little by little, it all came out after that.

  And now, little by little, I’m starting to wish I could send it back to wherever it came from.

  five

  The next day, when I pull into the student lot halfway through lunchtime, I have to circle around three times to find a spot. Ella’s crush David—Dave, as she calls him—is parking three spaces down. He gets out of a silver Lexus, which I hope is one of his parents’, and jogs over, carrying a bulging fast food bag that looks like it might explode.

  “Hungry?” I say, nodding to the sack. He laughs loudly.

  “Ha ha,” he says, in case I didn’t hear him actually laughing. “It’s not all for me. It was my turn to pick up lunch for the debate team.”

  Of course he’s on the debate team.

  “Cool,” I say, pretending for Ella’s sake that I care.

  I look at David in the reflection on the outside of the building as we approach, wondering what on earth Ella sees in him. I mean, okay, he’s nice-looking enough in a straitlaced sort of way. His hair is blondish brown and combed. His eyes are a standard-issue blue that some people might find welcoming. His shoulders are broad. He’s athletic. But somehow, I just don’t see him the way Ella does. David is that guy who’ll play professional football and then own his own car dealership, or become mayor or something. He’s not me. My preference is more…

  “Sean!” I shout when he bursts through the doors, three guys trailing behind him. He smiles, and I try not to blush my face off for shouting his name like a groupie.

  “What’s up, Elizabeth?” His tone is casual, but I can tell that he’s happy to see me, too. He stops walking and one of his fr
iends almost runs into him.

  “Dude,” the friend says.

  “You’re the one tailgating,” Sean says to him, laughing, but his eyes stay on me. But then Sean notices David. And his supersized lunch sack. And my very Lizzie-style ensemble that Ella and Betsey let me choose last night. And finally, my lack of a lunch sack.

  Sean’s expression clouds over and I can practically read his mind: He thinks that after I said no to him, I went all blowout fabulous to go to lunch with…

  David.

  Flipping.

  Chancellor.

  In protest, I step my turquoise boots a foot away from David. It’s almost a jump, really. Both boys look at me, confused. Then Sean’s eyes narrow a little.

  “Guess I’ll see you later,” he says to me. And then he and his friends are gone.

  “What’s with him?” David steps in front of me and opens the door just like Sean did the first day I met him, but the gesture seems too obvious this time.

  “I don’t know,” I say, passing through. “Thanks.”

  Once we’re inside, David looks like he’s going to say something else, but I cut him off. “Well, have a good lunch.”

  I rush away, and with every step in the direction of my locker, I feel the pull of the student lot. I want to flip around and explain things to Sean, but I don’t, because what would I say? “Don’t worry, Sean, David doesn’t like me, me; he likes the other me?”

  Sure, Lizzie, that’s a splendid idea.

  It’s almost painful, but I fake a migraine in dance and watch from the sidelines instead. When Ella was spinning from chatting last night with Dave, I convinced her to flat iron her curls today. It’s vain, but I don’t want to mess up my hair, particularly since Sean seems to be mad. I need all the ammo I can get. So I don’t participate, but all through dance, I tap my boots to the music and visualize myself doing the moves.

  When the bell rings, I spring up and leave; less than five minutes later, I’m one of four other students already seated in creative writing. I pull out my Spanish textbook and start my homework to take my mind off waiting for Sean. Second translation in, there he is.

  “Hey,” he says as he slides into his seat. He faces front instead of turning around for a pre-class chat. Just when I’m going to tap him on the shoulder, Natasha with the short blond hair and big boobs across the aisle speaks to him.

  “Hi, Sean,” she says in a sultry tone that makes me want to hurl.

  “Hey, Natasha,” he says. “How’s it going?”

  “I’m good. You?”

  “I’m okay,” Sean says. There’s a little bite to his words; Natasha must hear it, too, because when her friend starts talking about some surfer, she turns away from Sean.

  I lean forward and speak quietly to the back of his right shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

  He inches his head to the right and laughs in one forced exhale through his nose. I want to kick the back of his chair to make him turn all the way around and look at me. I check to make sure Mr. Ames is still milling around in the hallway, then lean forward and try again.

  “Sean,” I say, a bit more forcefully. Finally—maybe because he’s starting to get that I won’t stop if he doesn’t—he turns in his chair. His light brown eyes are cold.

  “Nice lunch?” he asks, still holding my stare. Oddly, warmth spreads through my midsection because Sean’s jealous. It’s confirmation: He likes me, too.

  “Yeah… at home,” I say, smiling. “Dave and I just walked in at the same time; he had all that food for the debate team.”

  Sean’s eyes stay on mine, so I see them soften. The corners of his lips turn up just a little, right before Mr. Ames comes into the classroom.

  “Oh,” he says sheepishly before facing front. I fight back a smile.

  “How’s everyone doing today?” Mr. Ames asks, taking his spot at the podium. A few people mutter weak responses; he turns to write on the white board.

  “I really did have other plans,” I whisper to Sean’s shoulder. “But I wanted to go to lunch with you.”

  “Me, too,” Sean whispers before turning and zapping me once with those eyes of his, leaving me wired the rest of class.

  “We’re out of soda,” I say to Ella, my face in the refrigerator. She’s over near the pantry digging for after-dinner snacks, tossing out pretzels and granola bars and Pirate’s Booty. Betsey comes in wearing jammies, her hair pulled back and her face scrubbed clean: She always changes quickly after work.

  “No way,” Bet says, walking over to check the fridge I’ve just vacated, which bugs me like a gnat charging my face.

  “I just said there wasn’t any.”

  Bet shuts the refrigerator door and rolls her eyes at me. “Sometimes you miss things.”

  “Go get some!” Ella whines to anyone who will listen. “There’s no way I can stay up to finish my paper without a Diet.”

  “You go get some,” Betsey says. “I just got home.”

  They both look at me; I look down at myself. I’m in jeans and a T-shirt. I frown at them.

  “But you’re still dressed,” Ella protests the protest that I didn’t even have to vocalize. “Just go to the Quick Mart. It’ll take like five seconds.”

  “Get some ice cream, too,” Bet adds, smiling because she knows I’ll cave.

  “Fine,” I say, sighing and leaving the room. I pull on the coat and grab the keys, then check the wallet. “There’s no money in here,” I shout from the entryway.

  “Sorry!” Bet shouts back. “I bought dinner out. Go to the ATM.”

  Wanting to go stalk Facebook instead of spending time driving around San Diego in search of diet soda and ice cream, I opt for thievery instead. I clomp into Mom’s first-floor office, then open the drawer where she keeps a small amount of money for emergencies in a pretty little box. It has a bunch of passwords written on a yellow sticky note taped to the outside. Real secure, Mom. I take forty dollars and close the lid and the drawer, then for some reason, I peek in the others.

  There’s nothing inside but meticulously straightened office supplies, medical files for each of us, and a stack of bank statements from Wyoming. I know what they are—and why they’re from Wyoming, of all places—but something makes me reach out and grab the one on the top. I’m curious. But then Ella startles me with her shouts from the kitchen.

  “Hurry up! I need fuel!”

  I sigh loudly, then replace the statement and shut the open desk drawers. I flip off the light, leaving Mom’s office as I found it, minus two crisp twenty-dollar bills.

  six

  Loud voices in the kitchen wake me up earlier than usual on Saturday morning. I roll out of bed and leave my room to investigate; Ella’s in the hall with crazy hair and an even crazier expression.

  “What’s going on?” she asks. I listen and hear that Mom and Betsey are in a heated discussion. Mom says something about dating, and I’m jolted into action, grabbing Ella’s hand and pulling her down the hallway and the stairs.

  “—looks bad. It makes us look like a loser,” Bet says as we walk into the kitchen. She’s standing near the island in striped PJ bottoms and a faded T-shirt, arms folded defensively over her chest.

  “I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Mom says, frowning from her seat at the table in the breakfast nook. She glances at me and Ella. “Good morning,” she says in a clipped tone.

  “Morning,” we mutter in unison. Ella blocks the doorway, curious, but I shove her through and we start making breakfast. Ella gets two mugs from the cabinet and pours coffee from the pot, then puts three sugars in each on autopilot. She hands me mine; I take a sip before busying myself with toast.

  “Let’s discuss it some other time,” Mom says to Betsey. Betsey snorts.

  “No,” Bet says, “let’s discuss it now. We’re seventeen years old! We should be allowed to date!”

  “You’re sixteen,” Mom says.

  “Sixteen and a half,” Bet mutters. “Actually sixteen and three quarters.”

>   “You’re asking if we can date?” Ella asks excitedly, getting it now.

  “Yeah, but apparently, Mom thinks we still like My Little Pony more than boys or something,” Betsey says.

  “Betsey, I’ve had enough of your attitude,” Mom says. “You know perfectly well why dating is a risk… to all of us.”

  “Not if we’re careful,” I say evenly, knowing and trying to wordlessly remind Betsey that calm is a better approach with Mom. I lean against the counter in a disarming stance. “If we’re careful, hanging out with a guy is just like going to night class.”

  “I think you’re too young,” Mom says again, but her voice is definitely softer this time. I can sense her walls weakening. Ella leans into the counter, too, and Bet sits down at the table with Mom, pulling her right leg up under her. They get it.

  “We’re old enough to wait tables,” I say carefully.

  “And drive,” Ella adds, her tone measured.

  “And fly an airplane, at least as a student flier,” Bet jokes. We all look at her like she’s lost it. “What?” she says, laughing. “It looks fun!”

  “I think the point we’re trying to make is that we’re growing up, Mom,” I say, looking her right in the brown eyes that I always felt I inherited despite being made from someone else’s DNA. “We’re not little girls anymore.”

  My words hang in the air until Mom sighs them away. She stands up and moves some plates to the sink, not talking while she does it. It’s tense in the room, but I do my best to remain unruffled—I know it’s helping Betsey stay that way, too.

  Finally, Mom speaks. “There would be several nonnegotiable conditions,” she says slowly. I don’t want to send her back to “no,” but silly Ella rushes over and hugs Mom’s shoulders. Mom hugs back for a moment, then gently pries Ella’s arms loose. “I haven’t agreed yet,” she says.