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I stifle a giggle at the thought of Sean trying to come up with nicknames for me, then I realize something and get nervous. From his comment, Ella will surely know that I was online when I wasn’t supposed to be. Just as I’m considering calling her from the landline, another comment comes through.
This one’s from… David?
David Chancellor Hey you. Don’t forget what we talked about. See you in govt.
WHAT? What is “Don’t forget what we talked about”? What does that mean? I decide to wait until Ella gets home to ask her about it, and I don’t have to wait long: She shows up a lot quicker than it usually takes Betsey to return from class. Suddenly Ella’s looming in my bedroom doorway, and she’s annoyed.
“What’s up with being online while it was my time?” she asks, hands on hips.
“What’s up with David?”
“What’s up with Sean?”
We simultaneously blush in exactly the same way—blotches spreading over our foreheads and the apples of our cheeks—effectively sharing the details of our secret crushes without having to utter the words. Ella hesitates a moment before coming over and flopping down on my bed. She grabs my hand and we lie next to each other on our backs, hands clasped between us. A few minutes pass before she speaks.
“It’s pointless,” she says quietly. Defeated.
“It is,” I agree, a feeling of angst sitting hard on me. It’s an unfamiliar one, though, like wanting something back that I never had in the first place.
“Unless…” Ella says, even quieter still. My head snaps to look at her; she stares at the ceiling.
“Unless what?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says quickly, then, “Just what if we could go back to pretending to be triplets like when we were little? What if we could live normally again?”
Ella’s words give form to what’s been eating me for the past few months: the thing that I haven’t let myself acknowledge. The fact that maybe after all this time, I’m starting to think it’s wrong for us to live as one person. The fact that I’ve been wondering about—almost craving—change. But knowing all that Mom’s given up for us—her career, any sort of a social life—it feels blasphemous.
“That’s too risky,” I say. “What if they found us?”
“They can’t possibly still be looking for us,” Ella says. “It’s been seven years since the trial.”
“We both know Mom’s paranoid,” I say with a sigh, “but she’s pretty positive they still are.”
Ella’s quiet for a while, and when I hear someone speak, I’m surprised that it’s me. “What should we do about it?” I ask. It’s Ella’s turn to look at me, excitement on her face.
“Should we talk to her?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure it’ll help.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But something. We have to do something… right?”
We’re quiet again for a little while, both staring at the ceiling and lost in separate but probably similar thoughts. Ella and I breathe at matching meter; we sound exactly the same. It’s easy to get hypnotized by synchronicity, and soon enough, I’m nodding off.
“Can I sleep in here tonight?” Ella asks, bringing me back to awake.
“Of course,” I say sleepily, because I want to be there for her. And I don’t want to be alone, either.
four
“All right, everyone, today we’re going to critique one another’s dog stories,” Mr. Ames says at the beginning of creative writing. I’m trying hard to listen, but Sean’s back is distracting; somehow I force myself to focus on our teacher. “The goal this semester is to keep working on the stories and see how far we get with them.” I smile at the thought of going into the holiday break with a solid start to a book.
Mr. Ames tells us to pick partners.
Turn around, Sean. Ask to be my partner.
