Page 30 of The Originals


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“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Mom says, frowning from her seat at the table in the breakfast nook. She glances at me and Ella. “Good morning,” she says in a clipped tone.

“Morning,” we mutter in unison. Ella blocks the doorway, curious, but I shove her through and we start making breakfast. Ella gets two mugs from the cabinet and pours coffee from the pot, then puts three sugars in each on autopilot. She hands me mine; I take a sip before busying myself with toast.

“Let’s discuss it some other time,” Mom says to Betsey. Betsey snorts.

“No,” Bet says, “let’s discuss it now. We’re seventeen years old! We should be allowed to date!”

“You’re sixteen,” Mom says.

“Sixteen and a half,” Bet mutters. “Actually sixteen and three quarters.”

“You’re asking if we can date?” Ella asks excitedly, getting it now.

“Yeah, but apparently, Mom thinks we still like My Little Pony more than boys or something,” Betsey says.

“Betsey, I’ve had enough of your attitude,” Mom says. “You know perfectly well why dating is a risk… to all of us.”

“Not if we’re careful,” I say evenly, knowing and trying to wordlessly remind Betsey that calm is a better approach with Mom. I lean against the counter in a disarming stance. “If we’re careful, hanging out with a guy is just like going to night class.”

“I think you’re too young,” Mom says again, but her voice is definitely softer this time. I can sense her walls weakening. Ella leans into the counter, too, and Bet sits down at the table with Mom, pulling her right leg up under her. They get it.

“We’re old enough to wait tables,” I say carefully.

“And drive,” Ella adds, her tone measured.

“And fly an airplane, at least as a student flier,” Bet jokes. We all look at her like she’s lost it. “What?” she says, laughing. “It looks fun!”

“I think the point we’re trying to make is that we’re growing up, Mom,” I say, looking her right in the brown eyes that I always felt I inherited despite being made from someone else’s DNA. “We’re not little girls anymore.”

My words hang in the air until Mom sighs them away. She stands up and moves some plates to the sink, not talking while she does it. It’s tense in the room, but I do my best to remain unruffled—I know it’s helping Betsey stay that way, too.

Finally, Mom speaks. “There would be several nonnegotiable conditions,” she says slowly. I don’t want to send her back to “no,” but silly Ella rushes over and hugs Mom’s shoulders. Mom hugs back for a moment, then gently pries Ella’s arms loose. “I haven’t agreed yet,” she says.

“Let her talk,” I say to Ella; she nods.

“What are the conditions?” Betsey asks, slouching lower into her chair and picking at a freezer waffle on a serving dish.

“Well,” Mom says, stalling like she’s making up rules on the fly. “The necklace must be worn at all times, as usual.”

We all agree; that’s a given.

“You’ll have a curfew of ten o’clock and—”

“Uh, Mom?” I interrupt. “That’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“Eighth graders stay out later than that,” Betsey says.

“Seriously,” Ella adds, and she does look pretty serious about it.

“Fine,” Mom says. “Eleven.”

I bite my cheek to keep from smiling like I’ve been asked to appear on a dancing reality show.

But then Mom’s eyes cloud over. “I’m not sure what to do about…” Her words trail off and she twists her face in that way that she does when she’s considering something. I want to ask what she means, but I’m afraid to say anything. “Everyone thinks there’s only one Elizabeth, so obviously you can only date one boy. I’m not sure how to make it fair.”

“Straws?” Betsey offers. “Like our rooms?”

“This is a little more important than bedroom assignments,” Mom says, frowning. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all just too complicated. Maybe you should wait another—”

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