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“No, she won’t,” I say, smiling with my whole face at him. I’ll never have to worry about Mom checking the bill again. “This is spy stuff: You’re pretty sneaky.”
“And you’re just pretty.”
Sean scrunches up his nose at the line, but cheesy or not, I love it. And I love the way I feel when I’m near him, too.
Grayson looks at me quizzically at the start of cheer practice: I brace myself for the question I know is coming. Then halfway through the hour, when everyone’s going through a new cheer in small groups, she pulls me aside.
“Am I mental or do you have sisters who look just like you?” she asks.
I pause, probably a second too long, actually considering telling her. Now that we’ve told Sean, we can tell others, too, right? Then I snap out of it.
“You’re mental!” I say, letting loose a laugh that I mean to sound breezy but doesn’t at all. “Either that, or you need to have your eyes checked.”
Grayson blinks at me; she’s not buying it.
“I was with my cousins on Saturday,” I explain. “Our moms are sisters, so some people say we look alike.” I dramatically roll my eyes. “God, I hope not. You should see the nose on one of them. And the other is like a foot taller than me.”
I force another laugh, and Grayson laughs politely herself, even though nothing’s funny. Nothing at all.
“That makes sense,” she says, probably thinking that it doesn’t. But instead of saying anything more, she says simply, “Well, it was fun to bump into you anyway.”
“You, too,” I say.
We smile forced smiles at each other and she goes back to the front of the room to gather everyone. She eyes me suspiciously a few more times before practice lets out, but she keeps her mouth shut about the whole thing. I guess that’s all I can really ask for.
seventeen
Life feels like one of Sean’s pictures for two weeks: captured in a moment and standing still. I don’t want to say perfect, because Mom and her secrets are always on my mind. I don’t want to say normal, because that’s not a word I know. So I’ll say steady. Life is steady. But then it starts moving again.
Two weeks before Halloween, on a Thursday, Sean and I are parked in the lot of an abandoned superstore eating drive-thru tacos when I look down at my purse the second before it rings. I answer the call; it’s Betsey.
“She wrote back,” she whispers.
“What?” I say, plugging my left ear. “Who wrote back?”
“The girl from Twinner!” Bet says. “Her name’s Petra and she lives in Oregon. And listen to this: She’s adopted.”
“Shut up,” I say, allowing her enthusiasm to rub off on me. “I didn’t really think it could be possible, but what if—”
“I know!” Bet whispers excitedly. “I mean, I didn’t tell her anything really, but—”
Her words drop off. “Bet?”
“Shh!”
I glance at Sean, who’s looking at me with amused curiosity. I realize then that I’m hunched over and clutching the phone like it’s precious. Before I can say anything to him, Bet’s back.
“I have to go,” she says. “Mom’s lurking around: I’m hiding in the closet. I’m going to write Petra back later and see if I can get more information out of her.”
“Maybe you should become a detective when you grow up,” I joke.
“Why do I have to wait until I grow up?” Betsey asks, laughing at herself. “Anyway, see you later.”
I hang up, then relay the call to Sean.
“Does this mean that you’re finally going to do something about it?” he asks.
