“I… can’t,” I say. Sean looks at me hard, like he can’t figure me out.

“Okay,” he says before refocusing on his writing project. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

There’s a shift in the air between us. I want to say something, to explain. I want to tell him that I’d like nothing better than to spend the afternoon with him. But I can’t, so I look down at my own work.

“I’m not really into games,” he says quietly. I look up to see that he’s still facing front, but his chin is a little to the right so I can hear him.

“I’m not playing games,” I whisper.

“It seems like you are,” he says, less angry and more stoic. He sighs. “I don’t get you, Lizzie.”

It feels awful, but what am I going to do about it in the middle of writing class? In the middle of my third of a life? So far, from his perspective, I’ve alternated between flirting with him—even telling him to kiss me—and being seen with David… or not at all. I can see how he’d think I’m playing games.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, meaning it.

Sean doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the period, and when class is over, he says “See ya” with no feeling, confusion written all over his face.

I’m completely distracted at cheer. Morgan slams into me at one point, because she moves when she’s supposed to, but like I’m stuck in the mud, I do not.

“That’s your spot,” Morgan says, pointing at the ground a few steps to the right. “This is mine,” she says, pointing at where I’m standing. She blows her bangs out of her eyes, frustrated, and rubs her shoulder.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m having a day.”

“Whatever,” she says in a way that feels about something more than the collision. She walks away, and I swear I hear her talking about me to a few of the other girls. I manage to hit my mark the next few times, but then at the end of practice the day devolves even more when a bunch of the girls decide to get pizza and invite me to go.

“My mom asked me to come straight home today,” I say. “Next time?”

“Sure,” Isla says, smiling. “Next time.”

I know that there won’t be any “next time” until I get my life back—and that getting my life back isn’t a priority for Mom. Between that and being weighed down by the frustration of things with Sean, I drive through a haze of tears the whole way home.

Mom’s car is gone and the main floor of the house is deserted when I arrive. I grab a snack and head upstairs; no one’s in the rec room. Ella’s door’s closed; when I knock, she doesn’t answer, so I peek in. She’s sitting cross-legged with books covering the entire top of her bed, bopping her head to music playing through earbuds. She doesn’t see me, and she looks so content that I don’t want to bring her down with my drama. I back out and close the door behind me.

I glance into my bedroom, then Mom’s, in search of Bet. She’s nowhere to be found. I go back downstairs and walk through the kitchen and the living room, and finally end up in the office. At first, I don’t think she’s there, but then I see feet peeking out from behind the desk. I walk around and find Betsey with papers all over her lap.

Bet screams when she sees me, which startles me and catapults both of us into hysterical laughter.

“What are you doing?” I ask when I can breathe enough to talk. “Snooping, obviously,” she says. “I thought you were Mom!”

“Hardly,” I say, scoffing. “Snooping for what?” I sit down next to her as she blushes and looks away. “Bet? What are you looking for?”

“Okay, fine,” she says, “I admit that your little theory about the Original being alive piqued my interest. I mean, it is sort of weird that the girl on Twinner matched us exactly. I just thought maybe—if it was Mom who lied—maybe she kept something about Beth in the office.”

“Probably not this one,” I mutter. It’s funny that Betsey’s snooping today after I did the same thing last night.

“I guess that’s a good point,” Bet says, tossing her curly hair out of her face. Instinctively, I wipe away my own hair even though I don’t need to: Sometimes the others’ sensations are contagious like yawns. “Well, that was a pointless search. Guess I’d better put this stuff back.”

“I’ll help you,” I say, grabbing a few stray papers and organizing them into a stack. Then I remember something about Twinner. “You know, Bet, Sean said that you can message the matches—maybe you should get an account and try it? I mean, you never know.”

Betsey looks at me with excitement in her eyes. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it seems like she needs something to preoccupy her right now, like maybe she’s as unsettled about our situation as I am.

“Maybe I will,” she says. “Thanks, Lizzie.”

I smile, happy to have done something to make her feel better. “Anytime.”

I wake up at midnight, heart pounding, sweating, distressed after a nightmare about Sean marrying Natasha. Rationally, I know we’re teenagers and no one’s marrying anyone, but when in the dream he turned and looked at me from the altar and said, “This could’ve been you,” it felt like the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

I take several deep breaths to try to calm myself, but when it doesn’t work, I get up for water. I walk into the hallway, and Ella’s opening her door, looking fearful.

“What happened?” she asks, seconds before Betsey opens hers.

“I just had a bad dream,” I say to both of them. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Are you okay?” Betsey asks, coming closer and touching my arm. “You look really pale.”

“Maybe I’m getting sick or something.” Truthfully, it’s more likely that I’m lovesick.

“No, really, Lizzie, what’s up?” Ella asks. The concern in her voice brings tears to my eyes.

“I’m just… I’m losing Sean,” I say, which doesn’t make sense, since I’m not allowed to date him in the first place. But somehow it does to me. And they can feel my emotion: It makes sense to them, too.

“I’m so sorry,” Betsey says, hugging me. “I wish I knew how to solve it.”

Something I’ve been thinking about but haven’t had the guts to bring up just falls out of my mouth now. “I want to tell him,” I say into her shoulder. Betsey pulls back and looks at me, surprised.

“What are you talking about?” Ella asks, surprised, too, and a little snippy. “There’s no way that you’re saying you want to tell him about… us. Right?”

I wipe under my eyes and look from Ella to Betsey without saying anything.

“Wow,” Betsey mutters as Ella’s mouth drops.

“You can’t be serious,” Ella says. “Mom would have a fit of infinite proportions.”

“If she found out,” I say.

“We’ve never told anyone,” Bet says. “At least I haven’t.” She looks at us funny. “Have you guys?”

“No!” Ella says definitively.

“No,” I say. “I’ve never liked anyone enough to want to tell them.” I look at Ella. “I mean, don’t you sort of want to tell Dave? To let him know you for you?”