The Originals

by Cat Patrick

  “I should probably get home,” I say. Who knows if Bet needs to go somewhere; I’m eating into evening.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Harper says. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Definitely,” I say, hoping it’s true. Harper is the definition of what a mom should be; what does that make my own?

  “Well, it was really nice to meet you, Lizzie,” she says. “I hope you’ll come over again soon.”

  “I will,” I promise. “Thanks for the cookies.”

  Harper leaves, and Sean and I linger in the studio a little longer.

  “Your mom’s so nice,” I say. “And sane.”

  Sean wraps his arms around me and looks into my eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t touch this particular subject today, but if you really think your mom’s got issues, you should seriously tell someone,” he says. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be someone… official.” He pauses. “We could just tell… like maybe my mom?”

  “Don’t,” I say quickly, stiffening. “I don’t want to… just don’t.” I take a deep breath. “Not yet, anyway.”

  I still feel like I need answers before I can ask my mom any questions—and that the questions should come from our family and not the outside world.

  “Do you really have to leave?” Sean asks. “ ’Cause I was thinking pizza sounded good.”

  “Isn’t your mom making dinner?” I ask.

  “She won’t mind,” he says, shrugging. “She was probably planning on ordering pizza anyway; I’ll bring her some back.”

  “Let me call Betsey and make sure it’s okay that I’m still out,” I say. When Sean looks at me funny, I smile half heartedly. “This is her time, not mine.”

  Bet’s cool, and Harper seems to love the idea of pizza, so Sean and I set out to get food. We take my car, because his is parked in a good spot; he tells me directions to a pizza place in University City.

  “We can’t go to my favorite place; Dave works there,” I say.

  “Ah, the dreaded Dave,” Sean says. “Did Ella have fun at the dance?”

  “I think so,” I say. “I haven’t had much chance to talk to her about it.”

  “Did you have fun at the dance?” he asks, looking over at me before adjusting the music dial.

  “The most fun ever,” I say honestly. “Thank you.”

  We’re pulling into the lot of the pizza place when my cell rings.

  “Get back here!” Ella whispers. “Mom’s home!”

  “Oh my god!” I shout. A car honks behind me because I’ve just stopped driving in the middle of the road. I pull forward and to the side. “Why?”

  “I have no idea,” Ella says. “I’m hiding in your bathroom. I ran up here when we heard the gate opening and saw that it was her. Bet’s downstairs—she told her that I went out for ice cream with Dave.”

  “Oh my god!” I say again. “She’ll know.”

  “No, she won’t; just act like me when you get home. And besides, you’re the one who’s all about taking risks lately. Wasn’t it you who said, ‘Mom’s lying, too, so who cares?’ ”

  “It’s different when I’m the only one who’s going to get yelled at,” I say, blowing out my breath. “But I guess if she recognizes me, then tonight’s the night.”

  “Okay,” Ella says. “If I hear trouble, I’ll come down. If nothing happens, I’ll sleep in your bedroom and you sleep in mine.”

  “Okay,” I say, feeling sick about the plan.

  We hang up and I update Sean, who looks a little too excited by the prospect of everything coming out. “It’s going to be fine,” he says. “Want me to go with you?”

  “No!” I say. “That’ll make it even worse.”

  He opens the door and starts to get out.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  He smiles warmly. “I’ll take the bus back home,” he says. “I need to get pizza for my mom, and you should go face the music. I think you’ll feel better afterward.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Sean leans back into the car and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m right,” he says before turning and walking away.

  My stomach is in knots the whole way back up the hill. When I pull off the main road, I stop before I get to the gate to calm myself. There’s another car idling down the secluded lane; it’s probably one of our neighbors, and I’m sure they’re wondering what it is I’m doing.

  I let the possible conversation play out in my mind:

  Where have you been?

  Out with a friend. Where have you been every night for the past… forever?

  What do you mean?

  Mom, I know about your office. I know you’re not a doctor. Where is that twenty grand coming from every month? And what do you do at night? Oh, and PS, is the Original still alive?

  “Okay,” I say to myself in the rearview mirror. I take a deep breath and blow it out. “You can do this.”

  I put the car into drive and cruise down the driveway, then park in our usual spot. I don’t waste any time getting out and heading inside; I don’t want to lose my nerve.

  In the entryway, I stand alone, listening. Waiting. There’s a TV on in the rec room; the foyer and dining room are dim. I can tell from the glow through the doorway that only the under-cabinet lights are on: Nobody’s in the kitchen.

  Tentatively, I kick off my flats. I turn and lock the front door as quietly as I can. Then, holding my breath, I tiptoe up the stairs. I peek around the corner to the rec room; no one’s there, but there’s a soda on the table and a book facedown on the arm of one of the couches. I turn and look down the hall; Mom’s bedroom light is on, but her door’s closed. In about four strides, I slip into Ella’s room, carefully shutting the door behind me. I jump when the phone buzzes in my hand. The caller ID says Home; it must be Ella. I answer without saying hello.

  “You made it,” she whispers.

  “I did.”

  “Okay, change into pj’s; I’ll come to my room and we can switch. Your bed sucks.”

  I laugh quietly. “See you in a sec.”

  My heart is still racing: I feel like Mom’s going to step out of the shadows at any moment. I inch my way to Ella’s closet in the dark and step inside, turning on the light only when the door’s closed. Hastily, I change into sweats and a T-shirt, leaving my clothes in a crumpled mess on the floor. When I’m searching for socks, the closet door opens.

  “It’s just me,” Ella says, palms up. “Sorry.”

  “I think I just had a heart attack,” I say, sighing. Then, “What the hell is she doing home?”

  “I have no idea,” she says, taking off my favorite sleep T-shirt while I hand over hers. “Bet came in after they talked and she said Mom was acting really weird. Asking what we did today. I guess she asked when I was going to be home like three times.”

  “Maybe she knows we know,” I say.

  “Or maybe she knows about Sean and she’s checking up on us.”

  “This is getting insane,” I say, grabbing a rubber band from a hook and tying back my hair like Ella’s. “I mean, she’s starting to act like a prison warden, don’t you think?”

  Ella just shrugs, but it’s weak. I know she agrees with me.

  “Sean thinks we should tell someone,” I say.

  “Like who? The police or something?”

  “I think he meant his mom, but just someone,” I say. “He’s worried about us.”

  “Are you sure he’s not just interested in seeing you more often?” Ella says. It comes off as a little defensive; she changes the subject. “Oh, hey, Bet said that Petra scanned some of her baby pictures. I guess it’s freakish how much she looked like us. She said she sent her school picture, too.”

  “Bet seems pretty positive that she’s Beth,” I say.

  “I don’t think she’s positive,” Ella says. “I think she just sort of wants her to be the Original. But it’s so weird: I mean, how did she end up with different parents… in Portland? Even though she looks just like us, I’m not complet
ely sold. I think the only way we could ever know for sure is a DNA test.”

  “How would we even do that?” I ask.

  “Online,” Ella says like it’s nothing. “You swab your cheek and they’ll tell you if you’re a sibling match.”

  “But we’re not si—”

  Ella and I freeze when we hear someone come into her room.

  “Bet?” she mouths to me. I shrug. We both watch the handle on the closet door turn. I glance down at what I’m wearing; I look like me. And thankfully so, because the next thing I know, Mom’s standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, good, you’re home,” Mom says to Ella. She glances at me, then looks back at El. “What are you two doing in here?”

  “Just planning our outfits for the week,” Ella says casually. She turns and pulls a miniskirt off its hanger. “I like this better with the shirt you picked out,” she says to me.

  “Fine,” I say. “I’ll give you the skirt if we can wear jeans with the blue sweater.”

  Mom shakes her head at us and laughs. It’s no different from the way she’s always laughed, but knowing what I do about the double life she’s leading, it sounds… off. I want to ask what she’s doing home tonight, but I don’t want to spend more time with her than I have to. I hold back.

  “I’ll leave you two to your planning,” she says, turning away. But before she leaves, she looks back at Ella. “Have fun tonight?”

  “Sure,” El says, smiling.

  “What flavor did you get?” Mom asks, like the answer is somehow important.

  “Mint chip,” Ella says without missing a beat. I’m amazed at her skills as an actress. Mom nods, looks at both of us one more time, and turns and leaves.

  “Good night,” she says before closing the door to Ella’s room. El and I look at each other wordlessly for a few long seconds. Then, after we’re sure Mom’s out of sight, I creep back to my bedroom, secrets still safe.

  What I realize when I’m alone in my room is that I can’t decide whether I’m happy or sad about it.

  twenty-one

  Monday after school, the carpet is being cleaned in the commons, so cheer practice is cancelled. Time on my hands, I wander slowly from my locker to the parking lot. Sean’s hanging out with his guy friends, who have, apparently, complained about him being MIA lately. When I’m nearly to my car, someone calls my name. I turn to see Alison from dance waving at me.

  “Hi, Alison!” I call. She hurries over, her shoulder bag smacking her on the hip as she walks. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much, just headed home,” she says. “How about you? Why aren’t you at cheer practice?”

  “Cancelled due to carpet decontamination,” I say. She laughs. “Honestly, it’s nice to have the break. Dance was brutal today; I’m wrecked.”

  “Same here,” she says, brushing her red hair out of her lip gloss. “I was thinking of stopping for coffee on the way home; I could use some downtime before seeing my family. You want?”

  I cock my head to the side, considering. Mom doesn’t know cheer was cancelled, and Bet doesn’t need to leave for a while yet. I’m surprised to find myself able to say, “Yes, actually, that sounds great!”

  Alison and I drive separate cars to a nearby coffee shop. At one point, I swear I see the red BMW that Mary woman drives behind me, but when I look again, it’s gone. Alison and I park in spaces next to each other, go inside, and order matching drinks. We and our skinny vanilla lattes settle into cushy seats by the window. We chat about dance and classes and how Principal Cowell seems to wear the same sport jacket every third day, and it’s just… easy. I never knew friendships could be like this.

  When it’s getting toward Betsey’s time of the day, I tell Alison I need to get going. She nods, then looks at me seriously.

  “Lizzie, you and Dave aren’t together anymore, are you?”

  “What?” I say, caught off guard by the abrupt topic change.

  “Dave Chancellor?” she says. “I mean, I know you went to the dance together, but you’re not still into him, right?”

  I never was.

  “Uh, yeah… I am,” I say. “We’re still together. Why?”

  Alison’s eyes widen, then she frowns with purpose. “Listen, this is going to sound really weird, but I feel like we’re, like… friends… even though we haven’t hung out before today or anything.”

  “I feel the same,” I say, smiling. “And I’m just oversubscribed. I’d love to do this again. It’s been really fun.”

  “I agree,” she says, shifting like she’s suddenly uncomfortable.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “So, because I feel like we’re friends, I want to tell you something,” she says. “But it’s… I feel bad about it. It’s bad.”

  “Just tell me,” I say, my stomach knotting together.

  Alison leans forward, hugging her arms to her chest, looking at me like she’s genuinely concerned and not just gossiping as she says what she wants to say. Her mannerisms tell me that she’s a good person. That despite the blow she delivered, I’m leaving the coffee shop with a new friend. A real friend.

  And for that reason, I’m only half on fire on the way home.

  After a lot of back and forth, it’s decided that it’ll be me.

  On Tuesday after the switch, I crank up angry-girl rock on my way to school, singing along with the lyrics as loudly as I can. I can’t get over the fact that Dave cheated on Ella—he was the one who pursued her in the first place! And with Morgan, of all people! I shake my head, turn the music up louder, and press down on the accelerator, pissed and determined to protect Ella’s heart.

  I storm into school, pausing at the top of the two steps that drop down into the packed cafeteria to scan the crowd. I easily spot Sean, who raises his chin at me with a sexy smile on his lips… until he sees the expression on my face. Then he looks worried.

  He watches me search for Dave.

  Surrounded by fellow football players, Dave’s eating french fries and laughing like nothing can touch him. Well, maybe nothing can, but I’m about to do my best.

  I take one step down, then two, eyes on Dave. I walk straight down the middle of the aisle cutting the two sides of the cafeteria, slow and deliberate. In the periphery, I see a few students look up at me; it could be my imagination, but it feels like some of the chatter tapers off, too. Dave’s at the last table on the right and Sean’s at the second table in from the center, middle row, left. Thankfully, Dave is facing in my direction, so he sees me approaching.

  He smiles at first, a cocky come here, baby sort of smile, but then he, too, looks worried when I don’t smile back. The memory of Ella’s tears eggs me on and forces me to swallow my nerves. When I’m even with Sean’s row, eyes still on Dave, I turn and make my way toward my real boyfriend. I stop right behind Sean; he spins around on the bench and asks conspiratorially, “What’s going on?”

  “Just go with it,” I whisper, pulling him up.

  When Sean’s standing, I step so close to him that I hear a few chuckles from his table. And then there are a few more when I pull him close and kiss him hard, long, and lingering, like I do when we’re alone. In this beehive swarming with activity, I’m not sure that many people see the kiss, but I hope that Dave does. That’s all that matters.

  When I step back, Sean’s grinning like it’s his birthday, but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches me walk back to the center aisle, then make my way to Dave’s table. I know immediately that he saw me kiss Sean: His face is red; his jaw is clenched. Loudly, from a few feet away, I say what Ella wouldn’t have been able to.

  “So, obviously, we’re over. Enjoy Morgan.”

  I tell Grayson I need to go home for a family thing after school, but instead I meet Sean in the parking lot. He’s leaning against the trunk of the sedan, waiting for me. In distressed jeans, a gray hoodie, and dark sunglasses, with his hair stretching to the sky and his eyes on his phone, he’s gorgeous.

  “Hey, you,” I say sweetly. H
e looks up and smiles.

  “There you are,” he says. “Feel like going back to the cove?”

  “Seems fitting,” I say, remembering our trip there after I told him I’m a clone. It only seems natural that we’d go again on our first day as an official couple.

  Sean has to stop first at the post office to mail some photos for his mom. It sounds weird, but the normalness of running errands with him warms me. We take Sean’s car because mine’s almost out of gas, and when we’re out on the main roads, he cranks up the music and we both sing out of tune.

  “What’s going on with that Petra girl?” Sean asks when the song’s over.

  “Betsey set up a time to talk to her on the phone this weekend,” I say. “She’s going to try to see if there’s a good time to ask if she wants to do a DNA test.”

  “I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” Sean says, laughing. “I like Airborne Toxic, too; want to take a DNA test to see if we’re related?”

  “I know; me, too,” I say. “But Bet will figure out a way to ask her.”

  We chat through the commercials about nothing, then The Bravery comes on. He turns it up again.

  “I love this song,” I say.

  “I love you.”

  It’s so nonchalant—his eyes still on the road—that it takes a second to hit me. When it does, I suck in my breath and look sharply at him. Feeling my stare, he smiles, but keeps his eyes on the road. I look away and roll down my window a little, because suddenly I feel hot. We get caught at a light and when he stops, he looks at me.

  “Lizzie,” he says. I look at him.

  “I heard you,” I say, smiling.

  “Yeah, but it came out wrong,” he says. “I think about it all the time—I think about you all the time—and it just came out sort of… light. But I mean it.”

  I have to look away from his intensity: I glance at the stoplight to make sure it’s still red.

  “Lizzie,” he says again, drawing me back in. He touches my right jawline with three fingertips. “I’ve never said it to anyone else, but I know what I feel. I’m completely serious when I say that I love you.”