The Originals

The Originals Page 43

“I don’t know, but we’re only about four hours away. We’ll find out soon enough.” Sean looks at me and takes my hand. “Let’s stop and eat, though, okay? I’m hungry, and you look like you could use some pancakes with whipped cream right about now.”

“I couldn’t do this without you,” I say seriously. He squeezes my hand, but keeps his eyes on the road.

“Yes, you could,” he says, “but I’m glad you don’t have to.”

When we’re closing in on Mystery, Colorado, the tracker gives us a street address, which Sean punches into his car’s GPS. Happily, I retire the clunky laptop computer to the trunk. The closer we get to the town, the more insanely nervous I feel.

“Deep breaths,” Sean says calmly. “We’re going to find them.”

“But what if we can’t get to them?” I ask.

“We will.”

I think that his confidence is borderline naïve, but it does help me mellow out a little bit. Soon enough, we’re exiting the highway and pulling into Mystery.

Sean follows the GPS directions, turning right onto what I can tell is the university campus even though there are very few students around—it is Thanksgiving, after all. I see a sprawling, frost-covered lawn with crisscrossed walkways connecting old brick three-story buildings that look like they’re part of a collection. Sean navigates around the U-shaped drive and ends up in front of a building marked Ashby Hall. According to the GPS, this is our destination. Sean pulls into a space marked VISITOR while a fresh onslaught of overzealous butterflies ravages my insides.

“They’re in this dorm?” I ask, so confused my brain might explode.

“Is there any way your mom just took them on a college tour or something?” Sean says, grasping.

“On Thanksgiving?” I ask, laughing a short, high-pitched laugh like someone on the edge of crazy might. “Without me?”

“I know, it’s a lame idea,” he says, blowing on his hands.

Like the last survivors on an alien planet, a group of students huddled together walks by the front of the car. They’re so bundled in beanie hats and big coats, you can barely see their faces. I shiver just thinking of getting out; Sean touches the dial on the heat again, but it’s already up all the way.

“It’s freaking frigid,” Sean says. “We need coats.”

“But we’re here,” I say, gesturing to the building.

“Yeah, but we’re going to stick out like a sore thumb. I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sure Ella and Betsey aren’t just waiting to greet us in the lobby. We’re going to have to look around a little. We need to seem like we belong here.”

I glance down at my light cardigan. And my flats with no socks.

“What if they go somewhere else by the time we get back?” I ask.

“Then we’ll track them again,” Sean says, smiling warmly. “Lizzie, it’s taken us an entire night to get here; what’s another half hour?” When he sees my face, he sighs. “How about if I run in and take a quick look around the lobby—just to make sure they really aren’t sitting there, waiting for us?”

“Will you?” I ask.

In response, Sean pulls his hood over his head and opens the door. The kind of cold I’ve never felt before rushes into the car and pricks my exposed skin. Sean slams the door and runs across the sidewalk to the entrance; he’s inside less than two minutes.

“There’s a guy behind a reception desk, but there’s no one else in the lobby,” he reports when he’s back in the driver’s seat. His cheeks are red from mere seconds spent in the cold. “The good news is that the guy didn’t see me; the bad news is that there’s a sign on the desk that says ‘ID REQUIRED.’ ”

“How are we going to get in?” I ask.

“I have no idea,” Sean says, “but we’ll think of something. But first… coats. We need coats.”

We drive into the main part of town and stop at a discount store that happens to be open until noon. I toss a Bramsford University sweatshirt into the cart while Sean goes to find gloves. We both pick winter coats with hoods; mine has faux-fur lining. Sean pays using a credit card.

“Your mom is going to freak out,” I say.

“No, she’s not,” he says. “I’ve talked to her twice, and she’s okay.”

“You have?” I ask. He nods.

“You were asleep,” he says. Then, “I didn’t tell her everything, but I told her a lot.”

“And she’s… okay with you just taking off?”

“Well, no, she’s pissed, but she cares more that I’m safe,” he says. “That you’re safe, too.” Sean looks at me seriously. “She wanted to call the police and let them handle it; I had to talk her out of it. But if we’re not on the way back by tomorrow…”

“I get it,” I say.

“And even then, we’ve got some explaining to do when we’re back.”

I think of Harper, and how she’s the opposite of my mom. Harper is trusting, yet concerned; my mom is overbearing and self-absorbed. All Harper does is love and care for Sean, while, apparently, my mom is basically a stalker. And maybe a kidnapper, too.

Sean and I grab breakfast sandwiches from the food stand in the discount store, then get in the car and head back to Bramsford. We look like we fit in, but jealous of Sean’s family, left alone by my own, I’ve never felt more like an outcast in my life.

twenty-seven

Sean and I park in the student lot next to the dorm this time around, thinking that emerging from the visitor section will only increase our likelihood of being stopped. It’s a good idea except that the back window of Sean’s car is very obviously missing a hot-pink student-parking sticker.

“They’re not going to tow it on Thanksgiving,” he says, locking the car. I try to burrow deeper into my hood, if that’s possible; the wind here is arctic.

“You’re mighty confident, you know that?”

He shrugs, then takes my gloved hand in his. “Remember the plans?”

“Plan A: You say that you lost your ID and hope the desk guy is feeling charitable today,” I say. “Plan B: We sneak attack up the back stairwell when he’s not looking.”

“That’s right,” he says, smiling like he’s enjoying this. “And then we walk the halls, looking for your sisters.”

Normally, the word sisters makes me cringe: It’s a bitter reminder of my life in thirds. But not today. Today, it’s real.

As it turns out, we don’t need Plan A or Plan B.

“I didn’t even notice that you left,” the desk guy says as we approach. I turn and look behind me, thinking he’s talking to someone else, but no one’s there. His eyes are on me.

Oh!

“Yep,” I say to the guy identified by his name tag as Jarrod. I smile warmly. “We went to get hot chocolate—”

“But it was closed,” Sean cuts in when he sees Jarrod’s confused expression.

“Right,” I say, wondering if I should push it by saying I left my key in the room, hoping the room number would actually be printed on a replacement key. But Sean tugs on my arm before I can say more.