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The four of us get out and walk up the steps. The day assaults my sleepy eyes; I squint as I reach over and ring the bell. It’s one of those doorbells you expect to be answered by a butler. Instead, a man about Mom’s age opens the door. Not to be gross, but he’s kind of hot.
“Hi,” I say nervously, thinking maybe we should’ve called first like Bet suggested. I force myself to speak. “Are you Mr. Weller?”
“I am,” the man says. The sun is right behind us; he’s squinting at me sideways. “How can I help you?”
For a split second, I think we’ve driven all this way for nothing. That I’m standing in front of one of Mom’s former coworkers or her high school sweetheart. But then a cloud blocks the sun and I see the look in his eyes: It’s recognition. I was right.
“We’re here to find out whether you can get us new identities,” I say bluntly. I hear Ella suck in her breath a little; it’s probably not how she’d have done it.
“That’s quite a request,” he says warmly. “Come on in and we can talk about it.” He holds the door open, welcoming us into his home like we’re long-lost relatives. His face is friendly, but I don’t miss his deadpan glance down the street before he closes the door.
Who or what is he looking for?
“I’m Lizzie,” I say as I step inside. “That’s Ella and that’s Betsey.”
“And I’m the driver,” Sean says, extending a hand.
“Sorry,” I say, “I’m tired. That’s my boyfriend, Sean.” Sean laughs quietly when we catch glances.
“Nice to finally meet you all,” the man says with a smile. He shuts the front door; it’s cool and quiet inside the large house. “Your mom’s an old friend; that makes us friends, too.
“Please… call me Mason.”
After a lot of explaining on our part, we wait in the comfortable living room while Mason calls Mom from the kitchen. He says he wants to tell her we’re all right, but I think he’s also asking permission to help us.
“Your mother said to call her later,” Mason says, returning from the kitchen with a bowl of pretzels in one hand and a tray of sodas in the other. “Here, I thought you might be hungry.”
Sean wastes no time digging in, but Betsey, Ella, and I look at Mason expectantly.
“And?” I ask when I can’t take it any longer.
“And it’s fine,” he says, half smiling. “I’ll do it.” He pauses, then stands up. “It’ll take about a day, so you’re welcome to stay here tonight. In fact, I insist that you do.”
“Thank you,” Ella and I say in unison. He laughs a little.
“Let’s start with pictures—for your driver’s licenses and passports.”
Ella frowns. “Can I brush my hair and teeth first?” she asks. “I mean, I’ll be carrying those things around forever.” Mason nods.
“Of course,” he says. “The bathroom’s upstairs at the end of the hall. You girls can drop your bags in the green room or the disaster with the chalkboard paint.” He looks at Sean. “You can bunk in the blue room.”
I stop in the doorway of a room so cool I want to steal it and take it home with me. There’s funky vintage furniture mixed with clean lines, and girls’ clothes strewn here and there. I smile at the quotes chalked over the bed and the mismatched but harmonious posters on the walls. I notice more than a few photos of a guy who’s not quite as hot as Sean but still double take–worthy. The room is organized chaos.
“I want to sleep in here,” I say to Ella when she walks up behind me.
“Be my guest,” she says. “I’ll take the nice, neat guest room across the hall over this any day, even if I have to share the bed with Betsey. Who could live in here?”
“Me,” I say quietly, but Ella’s already moved on.
I go in and drop my bag on a floral chair, then take a closer look at the photos on the massive corkboard. It’s easy to tell which smiling face is the owner of this room: Pretty, with enviable blond hair and really light blue eyes, she’s the common denominator in the pictures. There she is with the cute guy; there she is with a bunch of girls at an amusement park, caught mid laugh. There she is with a girl with super cool two-toned blond-and-black hair. My eyes linger on the other girl’s hair for a moment, and suddenly, inspiration strikes.
“You guys!” I shout, rushing out of the room and across the hall to the guest bedroom.
“What’s up?” Ella says, turning to face me. She’s got her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, so it sounds like wus-ah.
“Yeah, where’s the fire?” Betsey asks. She seems more herself now that we’re far away from Colorado, and far away from Mom.
