The Originals

The hours pass, and eventually Betsey returns home.

“So, what’s this about?” Bet asks when we’re settled on couches. “Did you discover the meaning of life?”

“Funny,” I say, not laughing. “No, this is sort of serious.”

Ella and Betsey both give me their full attention. I’m not sure of the best way to tell them the things I’m thinking. I start with the office space.

“The day Mom and I got in that fight, remember I followed her?” I ask. Both of them nod in unison, synchronized like they’re doing it on purpose.

“How could we forget that day?” Ella asks. Her tone is joking, but it stings nonetheless. Betsey smacks her on the arm.

“Anyway,” I say, “Mom said she was running errands, but she wasn’t.”

“What’d she do?” Ella asks, face scrunched up in confusion.

“She went to a small office building,” I say. Bet’s face scrunches up, too. “I thought maybe she had an appointment or something, but then she got out and unlocked the door. With her own key. Like the office is hers.”

“What?” Bet asks. “Why?”

“I have no idea,” I say. “But it’s weird, don’t you think?”

“Are you sure you don’t just think you saw her unlock it?” Ella asks. “Maybe—”

“She unlocked it.”

“That’s so strange,” Ella says. “I mean, she already has an office here, and probably one at the hospital, too.”

“Why would she need another one?” Betsey asks, finishing Ella’s thought.

We’re all quiet; there are only so many times I can say “I don’t know.” I let it sink in before bringing up the second thing. I tell them about the Twinner app, and about how I let Sean use a photo of me to find my twin.

“Lizzie!” Ella shouts. “That was really stupid!”

“Maybe,” I say, “or maybe not. But that’s not the point. The point is that a match came back. She looks like us; older, but otherwise just like us.”

I listen to the clock tick; we stare at one another. Finally, Betsey speaks.

“You think it’s her, don’t you?” she asks excitedly. Betsey’s always been the one most fascinated by the girl we call Beth. “You think she’s the Original.”

“Probably not,” I say. I hesitate. “But what if she is?”

“Impossible,” Ella says. “That would mean that Mom lied, which doesn’t make sense. Why would she tell us so much about how we were created but lie about the fact that the Original was dead?”

“Maybe she didn’t want us to be able to find her,” Betsey offers. Her dark eyes are sparkling like she’s been given a mission. “Maybe there’s something about her Mom doesn’t want us to know.”

“Maybe you’re bonkers,” Ella says, reaching over to grab a handful of tortilla chips.

“Well, maybe Mom doesn’t know, either,” I say. “Maybe the clients lied to the researchers about the Original being dead. Maybe they just wanted a spare for—”

“Ew,” Betsey says, “a spare kid? Like a spare tire?”

“There are messed-up people in the world,” I say, shrugging. “You never know. But honestly, my money’s on Mom being the one who lied to us.”

“You’re just pissed at her about Sean,” Betsey says. “You don’t really think that.”

“Don’t I?” I ask sarcastically. “She’s hiding an office from us; what else is she hiding? It’s entirely plausible that she lied about the Original, too. That the baby didn’t die and for some reason, she doesn’t want us to know.” I pause, and a thought hits me. “For all we know, she could be hiding Beth in that weird secret office of hers.”

“Come on,” Betsey says, rolling her eyes. “This is Mom we’re talking about.”

“If you’re so convinced, follow her again,” Ella says between crunches, like stalking our mother is the most normal thing on earth. I look at her funny. “Seriously. I mean, you’re probably wrong—it’s probably something totally innocent. Maybe she was taking care of a colleague’s office while they were traveling or something. Just follow her again and you’ll know for sure.”

In the middle of the night, when I’m still awake envisioning talk show–style reunions with our long-lost DNA donor, when I’m still conjuring up images of what could be happening at Mom’s secret office, I pull on a sweatshirt and tiptoe out of my room and into the hall. I listen at doorways to see if anyone else is awake; when all I hear is nothing, I move quietly down the stairs. For a moment, I consider acting on Ella’s advice: driving back to Mom’s office and trying harder to get in. But the horror movie–style scary factor of that gives me the chills inside my warm house. I opt to poke around Mom’s office at home instead.

Nothing’s different from the last time I visited—even the emergency money stash is still forty dollars low. I pull open the bottom drawer and see the stacks of correspondence from Wyoming. The same feeling of curiosity overtakes me that I had the last time I was here. I take out one of the stacks and remove a bank statement from its neatly ripped-open envelope.

Back before we moved, Mom talked on the phone a lot to a guy we jokingly call the Wizard. She won’t tell us anything about him, just that he’s a friend and he helps her sometimes. One such time was when he advised her to filter money through a corporation in another state; hers is called Trifecta, Inc., and it’s based in Wyoming. We have a double layer of protection—the fake corporation and new identities. Two new identities, of course: one for her and one for the three of us.

Mom said she was paid well for the cloning, which is why she’s been able to provide for us. But she’s always maintained that she needed an outside job, too. However, as I look at the bank statement from the last month, something strange catches my eye: Twenty thousand dollars was deposited on the first of the month.

I open another statement and my jaw drops: Another twenty thousand dollars was deposited on the first of that month, too. I find another statement and another twenty grand. There must be more than twenty statements, all revealing deposits in the same amount.

Excitedly, feeling like I’ve caught Mom at something, I put everything back and run upstairs. I turn on my computer and do an Internet search for ER doctors’ average salary. When the results pop up, I’m disappointed. They can make around $250,000 a year: Even math-challenged me knows that’s more than twenty thousand a month.

I laugh a little at myself for getting worked up over nothing before turning off the computer and climbing back into bed. Even though the fact remains that I saw Mom unlock that office, maybe Ella’s right that it’s something completely benign. Maybe she really is watering someone else’s plants.

Feeling silly, I push thoughts of Mom from my head and think of Sean until I fall asleep.

twelve

Creative writing is a work period and in the middle of class, Sean asks if I want to hang out after practice. He says it so easily, reminding me that hanging out after school is what most kids do. Most kids don’t rush home so the evening clone can leave the house.