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“I’m okay,” Bet says. “Just hanging out. How about you?”
“I’m good,” Petra says. “But I thought you were going to call a little earlier. I might have to cut this short; I’m headed out to a birthday party.”
“Oh, cool,” Betsey says, and I can hear in her voice that she’s disappointed. “Yeah, sorry for not calling earlier. I was doing some stuff for my mom… you know, your long-lost mother.” Betsey fakes a laugh and I hear one on the other end of the line.
“She’s probably better than my real birth mom,” Petra says.
“You know her?” Betsey asks. Ella and I look at each other excitedly.
“I’ve never met her,” the girl says. “I just have this whole made-up persona in my mind. In my imagination, she had me as a teen and was way too young to handle a kid, so her parents made her give me up.”
I feel sad for her in that moment: having to make up the backstory to her own life.
“Anyway, I’ve gotta go,” she says. “I can’t be late to my own party.”
“Oh, it’s your birthday?” Betsey says.
“Well, not until next week, but yeah, it’s my party,” she says. “Sweet sixteen.”
“Well, happy birthday,” Bet says, “and maybe I’ll call you in a few days.” Bet missed it, but Ella heard: I know because her face looks as disappointed as I feel.
“Okay, great!” Petra says. “Have a good afternoon. Bye!”
Bet hangs up and looks at us: It’s not until then that she notices our expressions.
“What?” she asks.
>I decide that it’s time to take back my life.
twenty-two
The second day of my punishment, Mom moves my computer to the kitchen island. She announces that she’ll be changing the password daily, and I can only use it for two hours for homework when she’s there to supervise my online time. Three-plus weeks of my prison sentence ahead of me, when she actually looks over my shoulder as I Google a vocabulary word, I shove back and tell her that I’m boycotting homeschool.
“It’s not like it matters,” I say. “Ella’s the one getting the real grades.”
“That’s your choice,” Mom says, talking to me from the entryway as I storm up the stairs. “But for every assignment you fail to complete for homeschool, you add another half day to your punishment.”
I continue up the stairs and slam my bedroom door so hard it rocks the house. But later, I finish the assignment. I may be fraught with lava-hot fury right now, but I’m not a moron.
I’m not about to add to my sentence.
“Are you all right?” Sean asks the third night; we’re on the spy phone, my last remaining link to the outside world. Mom’s at work, but I wouldn’t put it past her to come home to check on me, so I’m on the floor of my bathroom with the door locked and the fan going.
“I’m a prisoner,” I groan. “It’s not like I was really all that free to begin with, but this is ridiculous. I mean, I can take missing school. I can handle being without my computer… mostly. But…” I’m quiet.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “Does it make you feel any better to know that I’m miserable without you?”
“A little,” I say, smiling weakly.
“Just a little?” he asks. “Come on.”
I laugh out loud, and the jolt of it makes the tears I’ve held back fall from my eyes. Suddenly, I’m laughing and crying at the same time. “I miss you,” I say when I catch my breath.
“I miss you, too.”
I wipe away my tears and sniff loudly; there’s a break in the conversation before Sean speaks again.
“Lizzie, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I really think we should tell someone,” he says gently. “I’ll talk to my mom; I’ll tell her not to do anything about it without your permission. I just feel like someone needs to know. She might have some good advice.”
