“Say what now?” Ella asks, even though she heard me. Her loaded spoon hangs in midair.
“I’m cool with whatever,” Betsey says, leaning over and eating the ice cream from Ella’s spoon.
“Sick,” Ella says, scrunching her face in disgust.
“It was going to drip,” Betsey says with a little laugh. “And besides, we probably have matching germs.”
“I still don’t want your spit on my spoon.”
I roll my eyes at the two of them and the show comes back on; the matter is dropped. Or at least I think it is. A particularly tense scene starts and all of a sudden, Ella grabs the remote and presses Pause.
“Hey!” Betsey and I say in unison.
“We’re not breaking up with Dave,” she says to me, frowning. “I’m going to a high school dance!
“And you,” she says, looking at Betsey. “Stop saying things like we have the same germs. We’re not the same person!” Betsey laughs, which makes Ella frown deeper.
“I’m serious,” Ella says quietly, which makes Betsey serious, too. “We may have matching DNA, but we don’t like the same things. We don’t make the same choices. We don’t have the same dreams. We’re our own people. I’m me. You’re you. And Lizzie’s…”
“From another planet,” Betsey interrupts, making all of us laugh. Afterward, Bet grabs Ella’s hand. “I know you’re you. And I love you for you.”
“I love you for you, too,” Ella says. They hug, and I take the opportunity to eat the last bite of ice cream out of the container. The lump in my throat only makes it stick a little bit on the way down.
Later, I call Sean on the spy phone.
“Hey. I’m glad you called,” he says when he picks up after the first ring. He sounds tired… and sad.
“Did I wake you up?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I was…” His words trail off and I feel like whatever he was doing when I called isn’t important. It’s this moment that matters. Sean sighs heavily. “Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I feel like crap about what I said. I can’t believe I did that. It’s none of my business.”
“Yes, it is,” I say forcefully. “I made it your business by telling you. I think that I… I just don’t know how to act sometimes now that you know. I mean, I know you’re right.”
“I just want you to have what you deserve: a real life,” Sean says, and it makes tears pop into my eyes. “But it’s selfishly motivated, too. I mean, I say those things for me. I want you to myself. I want to see you all the time, not just during the afternoons.” He pauses. “When you’re not around, I’m sad. It feels like something’s missing. Like I want something I can’t have.”
“I feel that way, too,” I say quietly.
There’s a long pause, and I’m sure Sean’s as confused as I am: He blows out his breath hard. So much needs to change before we can act like a normal couple: It feels like an impossible situation.
“I want to be the one to humiliate you in the main hall at school,” he says.
“Funny.” I bite my lip. “Hey, I’m really sorry about that.”
“Not your fault,” he says, but it sounds a little forced.
“Even so, I’m sorry you had to see it.”
“Me, too.” His voice is flat. “But I feel worse about our fight. It was a sucky day all around.”
“Not all of it.”
“No?”
“I can think of at least one redeeming moment.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks, his tone softer. “What’s that?”
I want to talk things through with him; I want to figure things out together. But there’s been so much weighing on me—on us—that I take the chance to lighten the mood.
“Have you forgotten about the kiss in the drive-thru line?” I ask, remembering spontaneously leaning across the gearshift and planting one on him. Remembering the way he sucked in his breath in surprise when my lips first touched his—it gave me shivers.
“Mmm,” he says in a tone that does it again. He sighs contentedly this time. “Yeah, you’re right. That kiss in the drive-thru line saved the day.”
eighteen
“She joked about us being related,” Betsey whispers at breakfast.
“Why are you whispering?” Ella asks. “Mom’s vacuuming. Can’t you hear it?” I listen to the rhythmic roar of the vacuum going back and forth over the carpet in one of the bedrooms upstairs. My guess is that it’s Ella’s.
“Oh, right,” Betsey says. “Anyway, I joked back that we were separated at birth, and I asked where she was born. I’m hoping all this joking will lead to some serious info.”
I swallow a bite of melon. Then, with Sean’s words in my head, I say, “I think we need to figure this out, and if it turns out that she’s the Original, we confront Mom once and for all.”
“And if she freaks out?” Bet asks.
“Then she freaks out,” I say. “It’s not like I’m saying we should go to the police and get her in trouble. But we deserve to know what’s going on.”
“Why not just ask her now?” Betsey asks.
“Well, if Petra’s really Beth, I’d rather know going into the conversation,” I say. “Wouldn’t you guys?” I wait for two heads to nod in agreement before continuing. “Anyway, Bet, I’m sure you can figure it out relatively soon. We can wait another couple of weeks.”
“And then we demand answers,” Bet says. I nod, and we both look at Ella.
“Are you in?” I ask, thinking she’ll say no. Instead, she surprises me.
“Yeah, I’m in.”
At the switch, Ella’s late and she tells me there’s no gas in the car. I can feel a mood radiating from her; something must have happened at school.
“Why didn’t you stop?” I ask.
“I did it last time,” she says, with a little too much sass. I roll my eyes.
“What’s with you?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just… Dave was weird today. Sorry. I’ll fill it up next time.”
“It’s okay,” I say, giving her a quick hug before jogging to the car. I’ve got to hurry or I’ll be late to Spanish.
I cruise down the hill, music blaring, to the closest gas station. Luckily, there’s no one else filling up. I pull in so the pump’s on the right and hop out with purpose. Then I remember that the gas tank is on the left. Sighing, I climb behind the wheel again and back out, then pull around to the other side so the pump’s on the left. An older red BMW pulls into my former spot.
I want to check my phone, but I’ve read the Internet warnings about being set on fire while tweeting, so I just lean against the sedan, watch the numbers creep up, and breathe in the smell of gasoline. I seem to have gotten one of those pumps that don’t have a “high” setting, and I’m growing more stressed about being late by the penny.
“Nice day, huh?” a voice says. I look over and see that the driver of the BMW is smiling at me. She’s got blond hair, is about my mom’s age, and looks a little familiar. She’s wearing a gray business suit and trendy big sunglasses and I wonder if I’ve seen her on a real estate sign or something. Her look screams salesperson.
