At first, I think Betsey’s right. But then a half hour passes, and someone turns on the TV for background noise. The cell phone buzzes and my heart leaps out of my chest; I can’t hide my disappointment when I discover that it’s just one of the cheerleaders checking to see why I’m not at practice.

“I should skip work, in case one of them happens to go to the restaurant after practice,” Betsey says.

“If you want to,” I mutter before glancing at the clock for what must be the hundredth time.

Bet leaves to call in sick, and Ella drapes a blanket over her lap and turns up the volume. She’s really watching now: It’s not just background anymore.

My insides rage with nervousness: I need Sean to call me.

Two hours after he leaves, the others force me into the kitchen for sustenance. We opt for a cocktail party–style dinner: crackers with cream cheese and jalapeño peppers, microwaved chicken skewers, carrot sticks with ranch, and cut-up fruit. My eyes are tearing up from putting too many jalapeño slices on my last cracker when there’s a knock on the door so faint that I barely hear it.

“What was that?” I ask.

“The door?” Bet says.

“I’ll get it,” Ella offers. But I shove her aside and run down the hall and across the entryway. Just before I open the door, I realize that Sean’s shoes are still here, where he kicked them off.

“Where have you been?” I ask when we’re face-to-face.

“Out here,” he says. “Getting some air.”

“For two hours?” I ask. “I thought you left.”

“No,” he says, “I just needed to think. You weren’t kidding when you said the normal part of my day was over. I think the normal part of my life is over.”

“Want to come back in?” I ask. “Or are you just here for your shoes?”

“Actually, I’m here for you,” he says quietly. “But I’ll take my shoes, too.”

I inhale salty air and gently brush my hair out of my mouth as Sean and I drive, windows down, away from my house. It’s a warm day, but it’s nearly October so there’s a little bite to it; I’d like to roll up the windows, but I guess Sean’s need for air continues. I keep looking at him, trying to mentally yank his thoughts out of his brain with the help of my eyeballs.

“I have a million questions,” he says finally. I exhale, relieved.

“I have a million answers,” I say. “Go for it.”

“Okay,” he says, turning a corner and turning down the radio. Then, noticing me shiver, he apologizes and rolls up the windows. “Was Ella in creative writing this year? At first?” He glances at me and I smile.

“Good eye,” I say. “I failed a trig quiz and Mom made us switch. My first day was the day I fainted.”

“I thought so,” he says. “You were so much cooler after that day.” He pauses, then adds, “I mean, not that Ella’s not cool.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say. “I get it. Thank you.”

“Sure,” he says. “So my next question is: Why didn’t your mom just move to another country when you were babies? Why’d she stay in the U.S.?”

“She’s not some international spy or something,” I say, laughing. “She probably just wanted to stay in the country she knew. I think she really thought hiding us in plain sight would work.”

“I see,” he says, pulling onto the freeway. He thinks for a second. “Okay, what about your system: Why do you split each day in thirds instead of just doing every third day?”

“We tried that once; it didn’t work,” I say. “It was too hard to keep up on classes if we were only in them every third day. And South had block scheduling, so that made it really hard. This works better.”

Sean pauses before firing off another question. “So, what’s it like?” he asks finally. “Looking exactly like two other people?”

The question is one I’ve never been asked, not even when I was young. It’s complicated.

“Well, it’s equal parts wonderful and horrible,” I say.

“What’s good about it?”

“The connection.” I smile. “We’re really close, and not just emotionally. We’re on one another’s wavelengths. We can feel strong feelings from the other ones, and sometimes we even have the same dreams.”

“That’s so cool,” he says. I nod.

“Sometimes, yes,” I say. “Like if I’m in a bad mood, they just know. They can feel what I feel. They don’t have to ask. It’s nice to be understood like that.”

“What about the bad parts?” Sean asks as he takes a hard turn. I realize that we’re near the water now.

“I think it’s made worse by the fact that we’re sharing one life, but the bad side of looking like two other people is feeling like I don’t have my own identity at all. Like there’s nothing unique about me.”

I pause, remembering what Sean said earlier.

“I agree with you, you know,” I say. “About how my life is messed up.”

“I figured,” he says as he pulls into a beach lot. He parks the car and turns off the ignition. He turns to me and grabs my hand. “Listen, Lizzie, I’m not going to pretend that I’m not completely floored by what you told me this afternoon. I’m going to have a lot more questions—and I gotta be honest: I don’t know her, but I think your mom is off the rails.”

“That’s okay. You might be right.”

“But I’m glad you told me,” he says quietly. “I’m glad that you’re not just trying to date me and Dave at the same time.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Ella’s dating Dave,” I say. “I hope I’m dating you.”

“I hope I’m dating you, too.”

Sean and I get out, he grabs a bag from the trunk, and we hold hands as we walk across Big Beach. Mid-fall and probably snowing in other parts of the country; here it’s a beautiful late afternoon and a few families and groups of friends are out. There’s even a small circle of wet-suit-clad surfers on the water despite the fact that the waves are surely growing colder.

Our secret out, I’m not weightless like I’d like to be, but I’m not quite as burdened, either. “You know, you’re the only person we’ve ever told,” I say to him.

He looks at me, surprised. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. There’s never been anyone we were close to, except a neighbor in Florida. But we were triplets then… so there was nothing to tell.”

“I’m sorry you haven’t had anyone to share stuff with,” he says, squeezing my hand. “But at the same time, I’m sort of honored to be the first.” He smiles a silly smile. “It’s like I’m the chosen one.”

“You’re the chosen dork,” I say, shaking my head. I realize we’re walking toward a wall of rocks; I hope he doesn’t think I’m climbing over it.

“Hey, Lizzie?” I look at his face. “Jokes aside, I’m glad you told me. As much as I might need time to process, I’m glad I know. I’m glad you trust me enough to let me in.”