The Originals

“But you don’t want to go down and hear it yourself?”



“I can’t,” I say. “I don’t want to be near her.”



“I get it,” Sean says. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ditch my mom? We can talk on the phone all afternoon.”



“Thanks, but go spend some time with Harper,” I say. “You’re lucky to have her for a mom. And I’m fine.” I sigh, looking around. “I think I’m going to rearrange my room.”



Later, when the bed’s on the opposite wall and I’ve taped my photos into a funky swirl pattern over the headboard, there’s a soft knock at the door. Ella peeks in; Betsey pushes her way through.



“That’s really cool,” Bet says, pointing at the pictures before flopping down next to me.



“Mom left,” Ella says, joining us. I don’t ask where she went.



“So?” I ask, staring at the ceiling. “What else did she say?”



“She did a lot of apologizing,” Ella says. I shake my head. Of course she did.



“She told us all about her research… basically the same stuff she said in Colorado, but with some extremely nerdy moments between her and this one over here,” Betsey says, hooking a thumb at Ella.



“But the biggest thing we talked about was how it’s going to work now,” Ella says, rolling onto her side to face me.



“Tell me,” I say nervously. “Can’t wait to hear what scheme Mom’s come up with this time.”



“It’s not a scheme, actually,” Ella says. “She’s letting us pick where we go to school.”



“What?” I ask, surprised.



Ella nods. “She said we’re going to go back to living as triplets.”



It’s what I knew was coming—it’s what this blue stripe in my hair helped ensure—but it feels like a lackluster victory. It feels like doing philanthropy for school credit—like someone forced you to do it.



We forced her.



“Only one of us can go back to Woodbury, and we all know who that’s going to be,” Betsey says, smiling at me. I think of school with Sean and can’t help but smile back. “Mom said El and I can choose different schools and she’ll have Mason do his best to get us in midyear.”



“That’s great,” I say, unable to make the tone in my voice anything but just… there.



“What’s wrong?” Bet asks, tipping her head to the side. “These are good things.”



“Don’t you guys see that Mom’s just trying to bribe us into being okay with everything?” I ask, annoyed that they’re being so naïve.



“Of course we get it,” Ella says, looking at me seriously. “If nothing else, this whole experience has let us see Mom’s true colors. But hey, if her guilt about screwing up our lives thus far gets me a seat in a classroom at a private school far away from David Chancellor, I’m all for it.”



“I look at it like my ticket to a totally new experience,” Betsey says earnestly. “I want old brick buildings and even older professors and… fall. I want to move to New England.”



Ella sucks in her breath as my head snaps in Betsey’s direction.



Bet smiles; she looks so lovely with her bright red hair. “Will you guys kill me if I ask to go to boarding school?”



Late that night, I wander into the kitchen in search of water; Mom’s sitting at the table when I turn on the lights. I gasp loudly.



“You scared me!” I say.



She laughs a little. “Sorry,” she says, “I couldn’t sleep. I was just thinking.” I don’t ask about what.



I move to the cabinet and get a glass, fill it, and chug my water. I put the glass in the dishwasher and turn to leave.



“Lizzie, come sit down a second,” she says.



I don’t want to, but I do it anyway.



“I’m sorry that I lied to you,” she says. It disarms me.



“It’s not okay,” I say quietly. “I don’t forgive you.” Then, “Mom, I know that you’re trying to make things right. I appreciate that you let Mason give us our identities, and that we can pick our schools. But…”



“You need time,” she says. “I know.”



“I’m not sure time will fix it,” I admit. “I really just…” I look her right in the eyes. “I don’t trust you anymore.”



She flinches, just a little, but enough.



“You have every right not to,” she says sadly. “But I’m going to keep trying to make it up to you. And in the meantime, can we have a truce?” Her voice catches and she coughs. “Can we be more open with each other?”



“I guess,” I say.



“All right,” Mom says. “It’s a start.” She stands up from the table and takes a step toward the door, but not before smoothing down my hair. I want to pull away, but I don’t; as much as I hate so many things she’s done, I don’t hate the affection.



“The hair,” she says. “I like it.”



I turn in my chair and look at her; she has tears in her eyes but she sniffs them away. “The blue suits you.”



After she’s gone, when I walk through the entryway and catch a glimpse of myself, I take comfort in knowing that she was right about something, at least. And as she said, it’s a start.



thirty-one



My part is no longer first half.



Student government, chemistry, trigonometry, psychology, Spanish, dance, and creative writing are all mine to love or loathe, to pass or fail.



“Ready for this?” Sean asks the morning of my first day back. We’re in the student lot; we drove together in Sean’s car. It’s crisp and bright outside, and I’m wearing an outfit that I picked out by myself. My hair is sleek, and despite my nervousness, I’m smiling.



“I think so,” I say, grabbing Sean’s hand. As we make our way toward the school, we get a lot of attention from other kids. Maybe it’s because we’re still a new couple; maybe it’s because of my makeover. Most likely, it’s a bit of both. Little do they know that what’s changed is so much more than my hair.



When our reflections show up on the outside of the glass near the doors, Sean says quietly, “You know you look ridiculously hot, right?” My stomach flips; I squeeze his hand.



“I adore you,” I say, “and not just for the compliments.”



Dave looks surprised by my appearance in student government, but he otherwise leaves me alone, which is just fine by me. Chemistry and trigonometry are less nightmarish than I expected; between trig and psych, I run into Alison in the hallway.



“Elizabeth, your hair is awesome!” she says, smiling brightly.



“Thanks!” I say back. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”



“Ugh, the usual,” she says, shrugging. “Turkey, family drama, forced board games. How about you?”



“It was pretty uneventful,” I say. “Hey, let’s get coffee again sometime soon.”



“Anytime!” Alison says, her face brightening.



“How about today?” I ask. She looks surprised.



“What about cheer?” she asks. “Don’t you have practice?”