The Originals Read online

  Grayson calls out, “Spirit!”

  We’ve got spirit, yes, we do!

  We’ve got spirit, how ’bout you?

  The growing crowd yells back at us. Yep, they’ve got spirit. The starter cheers go on for a while until the bleachers are packed and the band starts playing. That’s when Grayson brings out the big guns, like “Launcher!” and “Human Cannonball!”

  Thankfully, it’s only the short girls in row one who get tossed up in the air. But I swear, every time gravity takes over and Isla or Jane or Maya drops back down, I hold my breath until she’s on solid ground again. After “Fireball,” I turn to see what’s happening on the field.

  Sean is standing on the edge of center field, pointing a massive camera right at me. I tilt my head and give him a half smile, almost hearing the shutter go click. Then I turn away with a little head shake. I move back into formation and refocus on cheering so I don’t get booted in the face. I do my best not to gawk at him the rest of the game, but there’s rarely a moment I’m not aware of where he is.

  I can’t say that I’m a huge football fan, but I do manage to get into the action. In fact, I’m so caught up in the final play before halftime that when the whistle blows, I get that little start you do when you forget and then remember something exciting.

  Sounds bombard me: The announcer booms about the marching band’s halftime performance. Grayson shouts, “Meet back in twenty!” Morgan squeals about how some guy she likes looks in his uniform. But I’m focused. In my bubble, I watch Sean pack up his camera equipment and stow it in one of the locked bins under the bleachers.

  The squad scatters like marbles and I take off, too, having to check myself so I don’t run to the south entrance. Sean’s closer to that end of the field than I am; I can see him moving in the direction of our meeting place before hoards of snack-stalkers surrounding the concession stands block my view.

  I am a ball of nerves as I zoom down the right side of the rotunda. Most people are sauntering straight down the middle, happily bottlenecking the walkway as they chat about plays and passes. I can feel the precious seconds floating away like dead leaves in late fall. Finally, when I break through a blockade of dawdlers and reach our meeting point, I find Sean leaning on the left wall, looking out toward the parking lot.

  I stop to catch my breath.

  He looks over and smiles like sunshine.

  Slowly, I close the gap between us.

  “Hi,” he says quietly.

  “Hi.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  Realizing that I left my cell in my coat under the bleachers, I ask, “What time is it?”

  Sean pulls out his cell, taps it on, and shows it to me. The picture on the screen is a rusty old mailbox. I note the time.

  “Eighteen minutes,” I say.

  “Then let’s go.” Sean grabs one of my cold hands and guides me outside. It’s the first time he’s held my hand, but it isn’t awkward at all—it feels completely natural, like we’ve done it a thousand times before.

  He steers us to the right around the outside of the stadium. I hadn’t realized it before, but on this side the arena is built into a small hill. I let Sean lead me up in silence, feeling more alive than I have in a while. I admire the view even before we’ve reached the peak, but when we’re standing on top of the world, looking down at the ant-sized people, I sigh.

  “We’re outside the light,” I say. I mean it literally—the field lights don’t touch us here—but it sounds bigger than that.

  “Yeah,” Sean agrees, and I wonder how he means it. He turns to face me.

  “So, you said in class your mom’s pretty strict,” he says. I nod. “Then how do we see each other?”

  His directness forces a smile out of me. “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I guess just at school.”

  “Not good enough.”

  I look down and he bends a little so he can see into my eyes. He’s so tall; I love how tall he is.

  “I like you, Elizabeth,” he says, his voice steady. Warmth moves through me; I look away for a second. “We barely know each other, but I feel like we do, you know? That sounds so messed up, but—”

  “No, I get it,” I say. “I feel the same way.”

  A breeze blows my hair into my face and I shake it away. Looking at Sean, I see his happiness—to him this is obviously the beginning of something. But to me, everything about this night—from the stars to the colors to the rock anthem on the sound system now that the band is done to the perfect feeling in my low belly—is nothing but tomorrow’s memory. It’s nothing but what could have been.

  It’s nothing.

  “I’m glad you feel the same way,” Sean says, straightening up and glancing down at the field. “Now we just have to figure out how we can hang out.” He squeezes my hand, and then, when I don’t offer a solution, changes the subject. “I got a great picture of you tonight.”

  “I saw your pictures on Facebook,” I say. Then I remember…

  “Did you go out with Grayson?” I ask.

  “Gray?” Sean says, surprised. “No, no. We’re just friends. We’ve lived across the street from each other since middle school.”

  I nod, then look down at the field; a few cheerleaders are already returning to our spot. I feel my twenty-minute date slipping away, and with it, all hope of having anything with Sean.

  “It’s almost over,” I say sadly.

  Sean looks at me, concerned. He can hear it in my voice. Maybe he does know me after all.

  “What do you—”

  “Sean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Kiss me.”

  He looks surprised, but I stand strong instead of shrinking. I might be imagining it, but I think I feel Ella and Betsey supporting me. Pushing me forward. For the first time, I feel entitled—I’ve gone along with Mom’s plan for seven years without stepping out of line. Now, if she tells me I can’t date Sean—if this is really my one chance—I’m damn well taking it.

  Sean doesn’t say anything else. He takes a step toward me and puts one palm on my jawbone. He rubs my cheek with his thumb, then bends slightly and presses his warm lips to mine. We stay like that a moment, barely touching, barely breathing. Then he tilts his head and wraps his other hand around my back and our mouths open in unison and we kiss like a perfect first kiss should be. When he pulls away just a few inches and looks into my eyes, I grab a fistful of his sweatshirt so he won’t go yet. I realize that his left hand is still clutching my low back. He doesn’t want me to move, either.

  Standing there under the brilliant sky, just out of reach of the field’s floodlights, I am afraid that I’ll never have anything like this again. I feel tears fill my eyes. Sean doesn’t ask what’s wrong; he doesn’t even look surprised. He just wipes away what falls and kisses my tear tracks.

  “We should go back,” I whisper.

  He nods. “Can I call you tonight after the game?”

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. Mom shouldn’t be home, but sometimes she does the unexpected.

  I can feel the questions radiating from him, but he doesn’t ask anything. He just takes my hand and leads me back toward the entrance. But before we step out of the darkness, he turns quickly and kisses me again. Our lips are closed, but he presses into me so hard I have to put a hand on the wall to steady myself. He steps back and holds my gaze.

  “I feel like…” I begin, trailing off because I’m not sure what I want to say. Instead, I plant my hand on his chest, right over his heart. He lets it stay there a moment, then pries it away and kisses my palm.

  “Me, too,” he says, turning to go.

  “Sean?”

  “Yeah?” He looks at me expectantly, and it makes me feel equal parts elated and crushed. Right now, I’m not sure whether having just a taste of him was worth it. And yet, even if it’s a bad idea, I give him just a little bit more.

  “You can call me Lizzie.”

  nine

  It’s eleven.
<
br />   It’s midnight.

  It’s two in the morning.

  My chest is caving in on itself, folding in half and half again. Part of me—the part that keeps replaying the feel of Sean’s lips on mine—is boiling over with happiness. That part is busying my wakeful brain with a movie montage of romantic times to come. That part is picking out prom dresses a season too early and whispering our names together to see whether it sounds better with his first or mine and wishing that he would’ve called even though I was so weird when he asked if he could.

  But the other part of my brain is butting in, callously reminding me of how much Sean and I aren’t really together. How, unless things change, we won’t ever be. Elizabeth Best is dating David Chancellor, and that’s all there is to it. There’s no Sean and Lizzie, or Lizzie and Sean: There’s only David and Elizabeth. That’s the part that keeps me up until three, tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position in bed.

  But my heart hurts no matter which side I’m on.

  When the sound of the vacuum wakes me up at seven, I roar out of bed from the wrong side. “Seriously?” I shout at Ella over the noise. “It’s way too early for this!”

  “Mom’s in one of her cleaning frenzies,” she shouts back. “We’ve all got lists of chores. I wanted to get mine done early.”

  “Agh!” I shout at her, even though it’s not her fault. Every once in a while, when Mom’s stressed about something, she turns into a Clean Bot. She assigns us things to do around the house, which really sucks, but I guess tidying up is how she deals. I’d wonder what set her off this time if I weren’t so preoccupied by my own misery and tired from only a few hours of sleep. I stomp downstairs, thinking of nothing but Sean and how unfair everything is. I can’t even be happy about my first kiss—about the fact that it was awesome—because my mom won’t let me pursue it.

  “I can see that you’re in a good mood today,” Mom says sarcastically the moment I walk into the kitchen. I almost gag from the smell of bleach.

  “I’m fine,” I mutter.

  “Is this still about the boy?” Mom asks, wiping her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. The fact that she seems to think I should already be over it tells me that she doesn’t believe my feelings are true.

  “Whatever,” I say, leaving the room, because I’d rather starve than be around her right now. This must really annoy her, because she follows me, sponge in hand.

  “Lizzie,” she says, “wait.” I keep walking. “Elizabeth!” she says forcefully. “Stop.” I don’t. “Stop walking right this second!” Rattled by the rage in her voice, I freeze, then turn around. My mom takes a deep breath.

  “We need to talk about this.”

  “Will it change anything?” I ask. “Will talking make it so I can hang out with the guy I like instead of the one Ella does?” The vacuum’s off now; I hear the floor creak upstairs. I know they’re listening.

  Mom looks down and away, then back at me. “Lizzie,” she says, “you wanted to date. You knew it’d be possible that you’d have to go along with dating David. You accepted those terms.”

  I roll my eyes at her formal language. “Yeah, great, I accepted those terms,” I say. “Fine, Mom. Whatever. Just let me go upstairs and Cinderella the day away. Just leave me alone.”

  My mom looks stunned at first, then there’s a fire in her eyes like I’ve never seen, not even when Betsey got a three-hundred-dollar speeding ticket. I wonder: Is this the first time we’ve ever had a real fight?

  “Elizabeth Best, cut the attitude right now. In life, we make choices, and then we live with them. You said you’re growing up, now start acting like it. Live with the choice you made.”

  Something snaps inside me, and suddenly, my mom’s feelings and future are not my priority. Maybe for the first time, I only care about me.

  “The choice I made?” I shout, fuming. “Was it my choice to be stolen from some lab? Was it my choice to run? Was it my choice to live as a third of a person? No! All of those were your choices, not mine!”

  My mom’s jaw tightens as she clearly tries to compose herself.

  “I’ve told you this a thousand times,” she says through clenched teeth, “but the people who paid us to create you only wanted one. The best one. They wanted the perfect baby, and the other two—who were not as perfect—would’ve been…” Her words trail off. “I had to take you. I had to do it.” Mom lifts her chin a little, resolute.

  She’s told us the story a lot, but only since we moved to California. Before then, it was all innocence and bliss. After we fled Florida, she told us about her work at the genetics lab that was secretly cloning humans while the rest of the world was getting excited about a cloned sheep. She told us about her boss, Dr. Jovovich, who was in on the plan to steal us. She showed us the newspaper reports from when his practice was exposed and he was publicly taken to jail in handcuffs—when, under oath, he admitted that we just might exist.

  When everything changed.

  “Yes, you’re such a martyr,” I say sarcastically. “You implanted the embryos into your womb like the Virgin Mary of Science and gave up your whole life to raise us. Well, thanks. I mean, living a third of a life is almost as good as having a real one.”

  My mom looks so floored by what’s flying out of my mouth that for a blink I think I’m done. But then, the unfairness of Sean driving me, I throw one final insult at her.

  “I’m not even sure why you bothered. You’re not even our real mom. You should have just left the un-best of us to die.”

  I turn and go back upstairs, running by Ella and Betsey and their open mouths on the way to my room. To my bed. I’m shaking with the realization that I’ve just unlocked something better left shut tight. I’ve changed my relationship with my mother. And worse, I’ve never felt so unsure of who I am, which is pretty messed up coming from someone who’s already broken in three pieces anyway.

  After a few hours, the guilt is weighing me down to the point that I know I have to apologize. Even though I’m mad at Mom for not letting me date Sean, what I said was horrible. And ultimately, I know that the way back to normal—to Ella, Betsey, and I living as three people instead of one—is first a truce, and then, eventually, a conversation. But everything starts with me saying I’m sorry.

  I leave my room to find her, but when I go downstairs, she’s not around.

  “She just left,” Betsey says, looking at me disappointedly. “Like, just right now.”

  “Where’s she going?” I ask.

  Betsey shrugs. “Running errands before work.”

  “I need to talk to her,” I say, knowing that the longer it takes to apologize, the worse it’ll be. “I’m going after her.”

  I rush to the entryway and shove my feet into whatever shoes are there, then grab the keys and run out of the house. I jump into the car and race up the driveway, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait for the painfully slow gate to open.

  “Come on!” I shout at it.

  Once I’m through, I pull up to the busy street and look both ways: I can see Mom stopped at the light down the hill to the left. I wait for some cars to pass, then turn and quickly move into the same lane she’s in. About six cars behind because no one will let me pass, I follow her down the hill and through town, past the mail place where she has her PO box, the drugstore where she buys her vitamins, and the bulk supermarket where she stocks up on stuff for the house. I follow her until we pass everything familiar.

  Then I start to get curious.

  I’m still three cars back when Mom pulls into a parking lot next to a duplex that’s been converted to office space. Not wanting her to see me, I drive past and park a little way down the street. I watch as she walks up the steps to the office front door. Then, instead of just going inside or knocking, like you would with an open business, Mom pulls out a key and unlocks the door herself.

  “What is this place?” I ask aloud.

  As I’m musing to myself about why an ER doctor needs a
private office, Mom emerges, locks the door, and gets in her car and drives away. I don’t follow: I drive around the block and park in the space she just vacated. I try the door, and attempt to see into a window, but everything’s locked and dark. I walk around the side, searching for another way in, but there’s nothing. Completely confused—apology forgotten—I return to the sedan and drive home wondering. I mean, maybe it’s nothing.

  But in this strange life I lead, you never know.

  Maybe it’s something, instead.

  ten

  I wake up completely focused on and unsettled by the possibility of Mom having secrets—and what they could be. Then my emotions flip like a switch and I turn pure mad when I remember that it’s Sunday: the day I get to go to a movie with a guy I don’t even like, thanks to Ella’s clumsiness and a stupid short straw.

  Most inconveniently, Ella twisted her ankle last night. She was cagey about it, but Betsey told me she’d been dancing around her room, trying on outfits, and she tripped over a pair of shoes. Mom said it looked fine but that Ella needed to stay off it for a day… maybe two days. Normal teens would go to the movie anyway, hobbling if they had to, to spend time with their crush. But in our house, if you’re limping or coughing, you’re housebound. It’s too hard to fake someone else’s affliction, and god forbid the school nurse would want to take a look.

  When Dave rings the buzzer on the gate one minute early, I push the button to let him through and then peer out the window as he navigates the drive in a different gleaming Lexus from the one I saw him driving at school. Does he live on a Lexus farm? The car and the whole thing make me cringe, but knowing how Ella must feel about me going on her date, I vow to be nice and try to have a good time. At least I get to see a movie.

  “Hi, Dave,” I say sweetly when I open the door.

  “Hi, Elizabeth,” he says, eyeing my casual wrap dress, pausing a little too long at the neckline. “Nice threads.”

  “Thanks,” I say, pulling on a jacket and buttoning it up to the top. I force myself to notice what he’s wearing: a button-down with checkered Vans and jeans. I have to admit, he doesn’t look bad, either, but I hold in the thought.