by Ann Aguirre
41
“Wow,” I whisper. Maybe this sketch wouldn’t hold up for anyone else, but to me, it stands as evidence supporting my fused identity theory.
I pin the picture on the bulletin board and study it. Sometimes when I’m focused like this, I can feel Morgan, like she’s about to whisper in my ear. Today I only get a whiff of that haunting perfume. It happens whenever I think of Lucy Ellis-Frost, and since this isn’t how Morgan smelled, it stands to reason that it could be her mother’s signature scent. As Liv, I don’t remember that, so this must be more Morgan-memory filtering through.
Or hell, maybe I’ve possessed Morgan and am haunted by her mother in retaliation.
Sighing, I open my laptop. With everything that’s happened, I haven’t followed up on Tina Goldsmith. A basic White Pages search online doesn’t turn up anything, so I get out the credit card and input her basic data to one of those background search companies. It’s crazy how much info you can get for $19.95. Five minutes later, I have a PDF including her credit rating, how many traffic tickets she’s had, current residence and phone number, prior addresses, employment history, and more. The Internet has to be a stalker’s best friend, as this package even includes her social media imprint. I immediately choose a popular site and send a friend request. It will probably be a while before she responds.
It’s past midnight, but I’m not tired. Sighing, I wipe my phone entirely. I wouldn’t put it past Creepy Jack to install GPS tracking or spyware apps, so he can watch my every move and read my texts. Tomorrow I’ll ask a tech nerd to make sure the reset cleared any potential problems. If I can’t get a definitive answer, I’ll just chuck it and buy a new one. For now I shut the thing off after the wipe.
Sleep isn’t coming any time soon, so I spend the rest of the night reviewing notes from Bio.
* * *
After a long, lonely weekend, concealer can’t hide the fact that I didn’t rest and I default to an oversized gray fuzzy sweater, black jeans, and ass-kicking boots to hide my minor injuries. Downstairs Mrs. Rhodes has a veggie frittata waiting for my breakfast, and I make sure to thank her. I’d like for this truce to last.
“Your father didn’t come home last night,” she whispers conspiratorially.
I smile. “Okay, I definitely need to swing by the office.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” Her cautious tone says she expects a tantrum of some sort.
“After ten years? Not so much. I’ll be leaving next year anyway, so if they want to get married, at least he won’t be alone.”
She gives me a look. “Yes, completely alone.”
“Sorry. You know what I mean. If you get a better job, you could move on anytime.”
Mrs. Rhodes mumbles, “If I could, do you think I’d still be here?”
This makes me laugh as I down my food in a few gulps. With a wave, I’m off to school.
The halls are clogged with people before first period, and a few girls are trying to copy whatever I had on Friday. This year I must be driving them crazy because my fashion choices are erratic at best.
From what I remember the science crew will be in the lab screwing around before the bell, and that’s who I need to see. In particular I’m looking for Noemi James, a biracial black girl who’s legendary in what she can do with cell phones. Rooting, cracking, cloning … as Liv, she always impressed the hell out of me. But I’ve underestimated the weirdness of Morgan Frost entering the science room. Everyone goes quiet, staring at me wide-eyed.
“Hey, guys.”
Isaiah Emerson glances up. “Did you give up? You can put my notes over there.”
“Wait, what?” Noemi’s curious.
If I want her help, I have to explain that I’m trying to test into the advanced science program, senior year. Now they’re all gaping like an alien has taken over my body. Which is not the most implausible guess. There are so many memories that we shared when I was Liv that if I wanted to freak them out, I could pretty easily. But I want a new life, not for people to think I’m possessed by my dead best friend.
Half of my dead best friend?
Whatever.
A white Physics bro, Arden Fox, is laughing so hard, he can barely stand upright. “If you pass any of those tests, I’ll come to school dressed as Goku from Dragon Ball Z.”
I smile. “Challenge accepted.”
The science club starts placing bets, and most of them are against me. I play it cool while Noemi checks my phone. “What’s wrong with it?”
“My dad might have put some spyware or tracking apps on it. He’s gotten really protective since the accident.” Which was true for the first week, but now he’s defaulted back to hardly knowing I’m alive. That’s what Morgan was used to, based on what she said about how taxing it was to make the annual Europe trip with him.
I’m just not used to spending that much time with my dad, she’d said.
I didn’t realize how true that was. All these years, most of her parenting has come from Liv’s folks. That’s probably why she spent so much time at my place. I can attest, the Frost mansion is depressing and lonely. You could move ten people in and hardly notice them.
“You did a factory reset?”
I nod.
“Okay, then let me check a few things. I should be able to tell you if it’s clean.”
A few minutes later, she hands the phone back. “There was one hidden tracker app that survived the reset, but I’ve deleted and scrubbed it using an app I wrote.”
“Holy shit, you are awesome.” Which is what I’d have said before; it just sort of slips out.
“How much?”
Without hesitation, Noemi names the price and I slide her a couple of bills, more than worth it for peace of mind. “Come back if you get caught again.”
Wincing, I shake my head. “I hope not.”
“I’m starting to understand why Liv was friends with you,” Noemi says.
Isaiah scrutinizes me and Arden seems like he might be worried now. My smirk widens, but I’m on a mission, so I can’t linger. “Thanks. Let me know if I can ever help you out.”
Next stop, the art department. I find Oscar encircled by the rest of the group. I wave to them from the doorway, and it looks like everyone might come over, so I make meaningful eye contact with Oscar and jerk my head in a way Morgan never would. Not subtle or cool.
He separates and threads the desks to draw me a little farther down the hall. “What’s up?”
I take a deep breath and whisper, “First, do you still have those pictures?”
“You said you’d shave my head and leave me to die in the wilderness if I didn’t delete them immediately.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He grins. “Kidding, of course I saved them. You don’t get dirt like that every day. I’d be an idiot to toss away so much leverage.”
“Over me or him?”
Oscar makes an either/or face. “Whichever I need.”
Since he’s kept them secure, I can’t even get mad. Plus, Morgan trusted him enough to make him her conspirator in the first place. “Thank God. I’m ready to pull the trigger.”
He freezes. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly. I was hoping you’d send them two places for me. The gossip site that’s all about catching politicians with their pants down … and the police.”
Morgan was probably waiting to find out more about her mother’s death, but I need Jack Patterson in too much trouble to bother me. Otherwise I won’t have the breathing room to investigate. Every time I leave home I’ll be worried that he’s lurking. And logically, I can’t think of any reason why the police investigating him for sexual misconduct could work against him later being accused of murder, if it comes to that. No, the more I consider the issue, the more I think that tarnishing his public image will make it more likely serious charges will stick later.
And if it turns out he didn’t kill my mother, he still did this terrible shit to Morgan.
Either way, Creepy
Jack needs to pay.
42
Somber now, Oscar leads me out of the hallway and around the corner, looking for a private place to talk. He chooses the girls’ toilet, an interesting move, but it’s probably cleaner than the guys’. I check all the stalls, and then he wedges the door closed with the chip of wood that’s supposed to prop it open. For good measure I move the trash can, too.
“This is a huge deal, Morgan. You understand just how ugly this could get? I’ll blur your face, but it’s possible you still might be identified. Hell, that asshole’s PR team might even drop your name to the media.”
“He’s already raised the stakes.” I give Oscar an edited version of last night’s events and show him the scrapes on my back.
“Shit, yeah. This is probably your best move. Make it too hot for him to screw with you.”
“Figuratively or literally.”
“As long as you’re sure, I’ll stop by the public library after school and complete the job. I’ll include an outraged, This girl was fifteen! complaint in the e-mail.”
“Thanks.” Since anyone can walk in and use those ancient computers, it should be nearly impossible to tell who sent the message if Oscar opens an e-mail account for this purpose and never uses it again. “What about the cameras?”
“There’s a blind spot in the back row,” Oscar answers at once.
I’m curious how he knows that, but his smile says he doesn’t plan to tell me. Right now I’m so relieved that I want to hug him, but that’s not Morgan’s style, and Oscar isn’t the cuddly type, either. “I honest to God don’t know what I’d have done if you didn’t have backups.”
“Please, who do you think you’re talking to?”
“Yeah, you’re awesome. I need to repay you for your help.”
Just then, someone thumps on the door, and I hurriedly unblock it. Emma Lin bursts in, looking queasy, but she stops when she sees Oscar and me. He just grins and I try to imagine how Morgan would play this, as it’s really far out of Liv territory. Before dying, I never skipped a class in my life.
Nervous, I go for a bored smile. “Feel free,” I say. “We’re done in here.”
“You and Oscar…?” Her dark eyes are too shiny, her voice tremulous.
Oh, shit. Does Emma like him? Lots of people do, but if he’s had a hook-up, nobody in Renton knows about it. Plus, as I observed before, the art kids don’t date their own.
“This was a business meeting.” Oscar saunters out, leaving Emma to dodge into a stall and me to exit with somewhat less panache.
By this point, first period is a quarter over. I’m planning to skip and study my science notes, but I check that Oscar’s okay first. “You won’t have trouble getting back into class?”
“Nah. I’m good with teachers. I’ll text you after it’s done.”
“Could you message me now? Remember, that asshole deleted all my contacts.” Again.
“Oh right. No problem.”
A few seconds later, my phone beeps with a message that just reads, Hey. I promptly save his info and snap a picture so I’ll get his face with later texts instead of the generic avatar. Somehow I’ve walked him to class without meaning to. I could go in with him, but then people would talk. I suspect Emma won’t say anything about our bathroom strategy session.
I review in the library until it’s time for the classes I’ll still be attending after the schedule change. More studying through lunch and soon the day is over. The art kids have all sent texts, probably because of Oscar, so I reply to all of them, but Emma’s is the only one that really requires a decision.
Emma: Do you want to hang out?
This has to be because she wants to know more about what Oscar and I have going on, but … I’m lonely for female friends. When I had Morgan, I didn’t need anyone else, and I miss every damn thing about her even as I am her. We were yin and yang, a complete circle. Now there’s a hole in my life. It doesn’t mean Emma is the one who can fill it, but she’s … asking. Her party is where everything ended, so maybe this is exactly right.
Sure, I send back. What did you have in mind?
We could go to the mall.
I’m typing a response when I spot her waiting by the front doors and the idea of texting when I can see her makes me laugh. I put away my phone and quicken my steps. She lifts a hand to signal me. The whispers around me are kind of mean—“Morgan and Emma Lin?” “Oh, look, Morgan’s chosen her new sidekick.”
Ignoring that, I say, “I have my car here. I’ll drive.”
“Cool. I got a ride with my brother anyway.”
“He’s a senior, right?” Like Liv, Emma is a junior, so I can see why people might misunderstand, like I’m looking for a substitute.
But it’s not about replacing Liv. It’s about making different choices as Morgan. Sure, I could be an ice princess for another nine months and then leave Renton behind me in a cloud of dust, but that’s not how I want to spend my last year in school. If other people have gotten the chance to reinvent themselves so completely, I don’t know about it. And since I can choose what kind of person I’ll be, going forward, maybe I can incorporate the best of Liv and Morgan.
“You know Jay?”
“Only in passing. I think we had a class or two together freshman year.”
Emma smiles, obviously unsure if this is a good idea, so she must really be devoted to Oscar. “He had a huge crush on you then. Oh God, he’ll kill me if he finds out I told you.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “The secret’s safe with me.”
You’d be surprised how much of a vault I am.
“So you’re still dating Clay?” she asks as I unlock the car via remote and we hop inside.
I shake my head. “We broke up last night, actually.”
There’s no point in hiding the news. People will find out sooner or later, and it’s not like the relationship failed in a way that embarrasses me. In fact it’s about as sweet a rejection as anyone ever received. He left because his brother loves me. But I can’t see Nathan like I did before; too much has happened, and there’s no going back.
“Man, I really put my foot in it,” she mutters.
I start the car and back out of the parking spot before responding. “It’s not a big deal. Since I’m leaving next fall, it’s not like we had some big future planned anyway.”
Now that’s something Morgan would say, for sure.
“As long as you’re not sad or anything.”
“I’m as good as anyone ever is afterward. No need for ice cream and tears.”
We’ve driven halfway to the mall, and I remember how Clay brought me here. This shouldn’t be my prevailing impression since I went with Nathan a lot more, and yet what I remember is holding Clay’s hand and feeling for the first time like everything might be okay. Like the rock that never shifted beneath my feet, I thought he was the one constant in my life, only to find he had a fault line that ran deep as the San Andreas—fraternal loyalty.
Maybe I can’t be with Clay, but I can’t stop missing him, either.
43
Emma finally breaks the silence as we’re pulling into the mall parking lot. “So … I’m really curious.”
“Finally,” I say.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re dying to know about Oscar and me because you’re not sure if he was playing with you in using the whole ‘business meeting’ excuse.”
Her brown skin gets a little ruddier. “Busted.”
“There’s really nothing to tell. He was helping me with a personal problem, but I assure you, my breakup has nothing to do with him.” I pause, figuring I have to make the offer. “If you don’t really want to hang out, I can turn around.”
“No, it should be fun.” Her relief is obvious.
Actually, it is. We spend two hours picking out clothes and I buy a few things that Morgan would never wear. No, that’s wrong because I am Morgan, so no matter what I put on, it’s exactly right. Emma looks adorable in anything, but I can�
�t find the perfect pair of jeans to save my life.
“They look good,” she assures me.
But I don’t like the way they fit, so I grumble and try again. It takes me fifteen minutes to figure out the problem. I need Tall sizes now because I’m not a pixie anymore. I’m five nine with lots of leg. Average-cut pants won’t work. Now I feel stupid but fortunately Emma doesn’t seem to realize this was the problem. Once I make the switch, I lock on to some pants that make my butt look amazing.
Totally buying these.
My wardrobe needs more casual clothes. I can’t spend the rest of my life looking like I’ve just walked off a photo shoot. Morgan cultivated an aura of perfection but I don’t mind if people realize that I’m human. That means I’ll get dirty occasionally, have bad hair days, or fall down and rip my pants. Resisting those inevitable moments is just a waste of energy better put toward more important things.
I take Emma by the perfume counter, pretending I need to buy a gift, but really, I’m sleuthing. The lady at the counter asks me what I’m looking for, but I don’t know, so I try to describe the scent. “It has mandarin, I think … citrus, and some flowers, maybe lilies…?”
She sprays a few cards, and I keep shaking my head, while Emma is probably thinking I’m so specific. Finally, the assistant brings me a bottle and I recognize it, even before she mists the perfume. This is it, Clinique Happy, which is kind of ironic, considering how Lucy Ellis-Frost ended up. I buy the orange box out of a sense of obligation, relieved finally to be able to name the scent that haunts me.
We wrap up at the food court and I get sushi, sort of in memory of Clay, which is ridiculous because we broke up; he’s not dead. But he’s also not mine anymore, and it aches like a sore tooth, a low throb I can’t shake, because I hardly had any chance to be with him for real. For me most of it was fake, until it wasn’t anymore, and then it was too late.
“This was fun,” Emma says. “We should do it again.”
“Next time we’ll invite Tish and Sarah if you think they’ll come.”
“Are you serious? Everyone wants to hang out with you, it’s just … you used to come off a little scary. No, that’s not it. Aloof, like you were waiting for someone cool enough to approach you.”
