The Originals

The Originals Page 24

“I’m glad, too,” I say just as we stop in front of the rocks. I furrow my brow at him.

“Now I need you to trust me again.”

“Oh, really?” I ask, playfulness in my tone. It feels nice. He points to an opening between two massive boulders.

“You want me to go in there?”

He nods. “It’s amazing; you’ll see.”

“What if there are wild animals hiding in the darkness?”

“There aren’t,” he says, grinning.

“Are you sure?” I take a step closer and try to peer inside, but all I can see is blackness.

“I’m sure. It’s just a passage. My dad used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid, back before my parents split. I come back sometimes to veg out or take pictures or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” I tease, a touch jealous. “Been here a lot, have you?” I take another step closer to the rocks.

“I’ve never brought another girl here, if that’s what you mean.”

Sean laughs, but it reassures me just the same; when he leads me into what looks like a cave, I feel reasonably safe. Then when we wind through and pop out the other side, I feel like I’ve just won the emotional lottery. The cove before me is a three-walled room with an open window to the ocean: the most beautiful escape I could ever imagine.

“It’s our own personal beach,” I murmur, looking out toward the water.

“Mm-hmm,” Sean says, taking out his camera and setting the bag in the sand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him focusing on my profile. He’s standing next to and a little behind me, so I know that the background of the photo is water crashing on the far wall of rocks. I don’t hear the shutter snap, because the waves are too loud, but I hear what Sean says next.

“I’m glad to know you aren’t crazy.” I flip in his direction; he’s smirking at me.

“What are you talking about?”

He shrugs, snaps another photo of my now-surprised-slash-irritated expression, then answers. “I thought you might’ve had split personalities or something,” he says. “Because Ella and you are so…”

“Different,” I say. We quietly take each other in for a few seconds.

“You were wrong earlier,” he says.

“Oh, yeah? About what?”

“About not being unique. I mean, I know you look like Ella and Betsey. But I don’t see the three of you the same way. You’re… you.”

The waves crash; I shiver in the ocean breeze. Neither of us speaks for a few more moments.

“Can I take some pictures of you?” Sean asks sweetly. I smile and nod, happy to be moving on from the day’s heavy discussion to do something light.

We spend the next two hours snapping shot after shot. I climb onto a low rock and he takes a series of pictures of me standing there like a warrior. I sit on a log, legs outstretched, and Sean snaps a few close-ups of my face. I take off my shoes and consider wading into the water until I realize it’s too chilly. He takes a few photos of my toes before I put my shoes back on. I drop into the sand and laugh as Sean click, click, clicks from every angle, eventually having to use a flash when the fall day grows dark.

I feel silly at first, but Sean’s encouraging words put me at ease. I’ve never had an interest in modeling—or the size-zero frame that goes with it—but with Sean peering out from behind the camera, it feels much more intimate than just taking pretty pictures.

It feels more like making out.

I roll to my side in the sand, head propped on my hand. Sean’s on his stomach next to me, camera pointed at my face.

“Are you glad you came over today?” I ask softly. The waves crash.

“More than glad,” Sean says from behind the camera. “Thankful.” Click.

“Truly?” I ask. “Because you did hide for two hours.”

“I just needed to think about everything,” he says. “To let it sink in.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll probably do that when I try to go to sleep tonight. It was a pretty big deal for me.”

“I know it was,” he says. “Are you glad you did it?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

“Good,” he says, putting the camera back up to his face. “I do have one question, though.”

My heart skips; it’s the tone of his voice.

Click.

“You said Betsey does evening stuff,” he says.

“Yes,” I answer, half smiling.

Click.

“Football games are in the evening.”

“Oh, really?” I feign surprise.

Click.

“There’s one game in particular I’m curious about,” Sean says, still from behind the camera.

“It was me,” I whisper just before the waves crash.

Sean lowers the camera and pulls the lens cap out of his pocket. He snaps it on and sets the camera aside. Then he scoots over to me. With his face two inches from mine, he whispers:

“Prove it.”

And I do.

fourteen

The next day after school, I’m driving down the road when Mom’s driving up. When we pass each other, I see that she’s wearing her scrubs, so she must be going to work. I get a flash of nervous excitement, wondering if I should take the opportunity to check out her secret office during the day. I make a split decision to do it; I pull over and turn around.

Mom’s so far ahead of me I can’t see her, but then halfway down the hill, I notice her turning in the opposite direction of work.

“Here we go again,” I mutter to myself. “Where are you going this time?”

I follow, realizing after a few minutes that we’re tracing the path back to the office.

“You’re going to be late for work!” I say aloud, annoyed at her. The cell rings; it’s Home.

“You’re late,” Betsey says.

“I know, sorry,” I say. “I’m following Mom.”

“Really?” Bet asks, her voice going up a little. “To the hospital?”

“No, I saw her leaving and was going to take the chance when she’s at work to check out that office, but she’s driving there instead. In fact, wait, hold on a sec.” I put down the phone so I can use two hands to pull into a space. “Okay, I’m back. I had to park. She’s going in now.”

I watch and tell Betsey as Mom pulls keys from her purse and unlocks the door. She goes in, and I wait.

“What’s happening now?” Bet asks five minutes later, after growing tired of hearing about how cute Sean was in class today.

“Still nothing,” I say.

“What, she’s just hanging out in there?”

“I guess,” I say, sighing.

“Well, come back,” she says. “I’m going to be late for class.”

“Fine,” I say, shaking my head. We hang up, and I’m about to turn the key in the ignition when I decide to go try to look inside. If Mom catches me, she’ll be mad, but no madder than she is already.

I hop out and jog across the street, then hug the side of the building. When I’m in front, I get such a surge of nervousness that I consider turning back, but something keeps me going forward. I walk in my mom’s footsteps up the stairs and cup my hands so I can peer in the window next to the front door. Part of me thinks she’s going to be standing there, staring out. Thankfully, she’s not.