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“Me,” Ella says definitively, getting it. “You’re better at pretending to be me.”
I shower and Ella helps me flat iron my hair, then Bet and I take off with me lying down in the back of the sedan just in case Mom’s out on the roads somewhere.
“Ella told me you want to be the one to do it,” Betsey says as she makes a left.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve been to the office, so I won’t waste any time getting there. Plus… I don’t know: I sort of feel like I started all of this. Like I should be the one who ends it.”
“Mom started it,” Betsey says, “but I get what you’re saying. It’s fine by me.” Bet pauses for a second. “In fact, I’ve got the whole thing choreographed in my mind.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” I say, laughing.
“Later,” Bet says, turning up the country music. “They’re playing my song.”
When we pull up to the college, Sean’s lounging on the steps of the redbrick classroom building. He’s looking at his phone and doesn’t see us, but when Bet goes over and points out where I am, he stands quickly and puts the phone away. Feeling like I haven’t seen him forever, I’m as nervous as that first night at the football game when he starts walking in my direction. His hair’s shaggy tonight without styling products, and he’s wearing a dark thermal shirt that’s fitted but not too tight. He’s got a light jacket on, and halfway across the lot, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks down and away.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Sean look nervous.
But when he reaches the car, when he gets in the backseat next to me, when he turns toward me and I can see how much he’s missed me, the nervousness is gone. We crash hard into each other and kiss like we haven’t seen each other in years, not days, his hand winding in my hair and my arms gripping tight around his neck. I don’t think about how much I hate my mother; my only thought is that I love, love, love this guy.
When a rent-a-cop circles the parking lot for the third time, Sean and I decide to get out and walk the campus grounds. I lock the sedan and Sean takes my hand; we walk onto a dimly lit path around a little pond.
“I’m really sorry things didn’t work out with that Petra girl,” he says quietly. “I know you were hoping they would.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Really, I’m not sure what I was hoping for. Just… something.”
“Answers?” Sean says. I shrug. “I mean, if I were you, I’d want answers. Your life is so… strange. It’d be easy to get caught up in wanting to know where you came from. All you have is what your mom’s told you, but now, knowing that she’s lying about a lot of stuff, it’s probably easy to think she lied about that, too. I can see why you wanted to believe that Petra was the Original.”
I feel a swell of emotion for Sean and his ability to see me—to know me—without explanation. I love Betsey’s and Ella’s support—we’re all in this together—but when it comes down to it, Sean’s keeping me sane.
“I guess it’s hard to know where you’re going when you have no idea where you came from,” I say.
“Yeah,” Sean says. “I can see that. But Lizzie? You’re so strong: You’ll be fine. Whatever happens, you’re going to be okay.”
I stop walking and face him. “Hey,” I say, grabbing his arm so he stops, too. He turns and brushes a stray piece of hair out of my eyes. I think of how before I met Sean and saw what real life looked like, I was actually okay with my situation. It’s like he held up a mirror in front of me and I didn’t like what I saw.
>“You really didn’t hear what she said?” Ella asks. “Betsey, she’s sixteen.”
The realization visibly registers; Betsey slumps in the chair.
“But she’s a senior,” she says. “She looks older than us. And she sent me her senior picture. How can she be younger than us?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe she skipped ahead—you said she’s really smart. And you’re right, she does look older. But you don’t need to call her back. If she’s younger, there’s no way she’s Beth. I guess…”
Ella sighs hard and finishes my thought. “It’s over.”
twenty-four
It was only one of several secrets, but for some reason, taking the Original out of the equation also takes the wind from my sails. I guess in some way I was starting to hold out hope: Hope that there was someone sort of like family out there in the world. Hope that if she was living a normal life, we could, too. But all that this exercise with Petra did was remind me of cold, hard reality. I was created in a lab from a dead girl’s DNA. I was created illegally, and because of that, I am destined to be hidden.
For a full forty-eight hours, I stay in bed. I fall into an abyss of depression, not eating, not sleeping, not answering when Sean goes so far as calling the landline, ignoring Ella and Betsey when they ask if I’m okay. Staring at Mom like I can see through her when she comes in to get laundry. Then Monday evening, the others pull me out of it.
I’m lying on my bed, staring at the bugs in my light fixture, commiserating with them because they’re trapped, too, when Ella comes in and flops down next to me.
“Have you actually been wearing that shirt for three days?” she asks.
“Four,” I mutter, still looking at the bugs.
“You’re sort of disgusting,” she says with a small laugh that I don’t reciprocate.
