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“Being tagged is crazy,” Betsey says. “This is very sane.”
“She does it for our protection,” Ella says.
“No,” Betsey says, raising a palm and looking suddenly mad. “We live like we do for good reason, but the necklace isn’t that. It’s about her being absurdly overprotective and nothing more.” Bet pauses a second, her eyes softening. She takes hold of Ella’s hands. “El, is this what you want? To live a third of a life? To barely know what the world looks like at night?”
“To be banned from cheerleading just because you’re good at trigonometry?” I add softly.
“But this is what we agreed to,” Ella says. “It’s just how things are.”
“It’s what we agreed to when we were too young to know better,” Betsey says. “And it’s not how it has to be.”
Ella yanks her hands out of Betsey’s, ripping herself from the truth.
“I’m not sure when you turned all Che on us, but I happen to be okay with my life,” she says. “No matter what’s up with Mom right now, the fact is that we don’t have a fraction of the pressure that other girls our age have. Mom provides for us and basically leaves us alone. I’m dating Dave. We have everything we need. I’m satisfied, and I don’t want you two messing it up.” She exhales loudly. “I mean, first it’s telling Sean, then all of us going out together and getting caught—it’s all just too much. It’s not worth it.”
I bite my tongue instead of pointing out that she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. Her mention of Mom providing for us reminds me again that we have no idea how she’s managing to do that. There’s more to those twenty-thousand-dollar deposits; I just know it. But with Ella upset and the lunch hour dwindling, I choose to leave it alone for now.
“Let’s talk about it later,” I say to Ella, who shakes her head and goes inside. Betsey calls after her.
“Just don’t say anything about the locket.”
The day feels like one of those eggshell days from then on out, like things are going to crack if I bump them wrong. But then creative writing makes it all better. We have a sub, one who’s clueless about the subject she’s teaching and annoyed by the kids in class. So it’s essentially a free period.
A free period with Sean.
Right after the bell, he turns in his seat to face me, moving in the direction of the wall so his back is to the rest of the class. We’re in our own little bubble.
“Your hair is curly today,” he observes, eyes playful.
“It is,” I say, unconsciously grabbing a curl and twisting it. It’s one of those perfect ringlets that I think looks good on everyone else, especially Ella. But this curly mane has never felt right on me. Sean scrunches up his eyebrows and looks me over one feature at a time. When I could swear he’s staring at my nose, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Just making sure…” he says. His eyes fall to my chin. He tilts his head to the side a little and purses his lips as his eyes dance down my arms all the way to my fingertips. “Yep.”
“Yep what?” I ask, confused.
“Yep, it’s you,” he says confidently.
“How can you be so sure?” I tease. “We could be Parent Trap–ing you right now.”
“You’re not,” he says, smiling.
“Seriously,” I say, leaning forward. “I’m Betsey.”
Sean leans forward, too, and we’re almost inappropriately close for class. I can feel his breath on my lips. Without hesitation, he says, “You’re Lizzie.”
Smiling, I exhale and lean back again. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
“About some things,” he says, shrugging. Then: “About this.”
We hold gazes for a moment. Loud laughter across the room makes us look away. When we’ve both checked it out—a guy fell out of his chair—we’re back in our bubble.
“I got you a present,” Sean says before leaning over to get something out of his bag.
“Oh, yeah? What is it?”
Under my desk, he passes something from his palm to mine. His fingertips touch my wrist at the transfer, and he might as well have just kissed my earlobe for the jolt it gives me. I move my hand to my lap and look down: It’s a phone.
“It’s prepaid, and only I have the number,” Sean whispers. “Your mom won’t be able to monitor when we talk to each other.”
