I froze.
Ollie lifted a hand to my face and stroked my cheek with his thumb. "What's up?"
Be normal, be normal, be normal ...
"Nothing," I said, holding his palm to my lips. I sat very still, searching for any more disturbance, anything inside me that felt wrong. Dread crept across my skin, and my heart pounded painfully, but there was nothing more. Had I imagined it?
Ollie said, "Haven't you got a class? Not cutting, are you, Teva Webb?"
I forced the words out of my dry throat. "Yeah. Art. I should go. Haven't you got a class?"
Too late, I remembered he had English and he'd think I was nagging him. Again. He shrugged and said, "Nah."
He sat up and stretched, leaving a cold emptiness on my lap. "Go on, then. You better head off."
Reluctantly, I got to my feet, searching again for the crawling feeling under my skin. Was it her? The new Teva? Had Fifteen felt me stir like that under her skin? I couldn't find anything in her memories, but if she'd tried to forget it, I wouldn't find anything, would I? If only I could ask her. If only she didn't hate me quite so much. She could tell me if it was normal.
I laughed—a single, ugly bark of a laugh. Normal? Nothing about me was normal. I was a freak. Mom was right.
"What?" Ollie said, puzzled. "Why are you laughing?"
I plunged into the lie bank for a reason. "I was just thinking about staying with you, maybe not going to art?"
He tipped his head on one side and said, "Yeah, that is so funny."
I hovered, not sure what to do, then he pulled me onto his lap, laughing. He kissed my forehead, saying, "Your face, you're hilarious. Go on, get to art, Picasso. I'll see you at lunch."
As I walked to the art block, I tried to hold on to a trace of Ollie's warmth, but I was shivering. I wanted a shower. I wanted to scrub away the feeling of ... invasion. I shuddered. It was stupid going to art. I needed to get on with the blog, I needed to do something practical, to find help before it was too late. I pulled my phone out to text Mads.
I had ten missed calls from Mom. Ten? Assuming it was actually her. I pressed the number to ring back.
"Mom? What's up?"
"It's not Mom, it's me."
"That narrows it down to one of several. Which me?"
"The coolest one."
Thirteen. Why she thought she was the coolest I had no idea; but there you go, she did.
"Where's Mom?"
"She's a tiny bit busy. Fifteen has gone mental again. She's shut herself in her room. Mom is going nuts. Can you come home and talk to her?"
"I've got art."
"Well, that's nice for you, isn't it?"
I didn't answer.
She said, "Please come. Mom's threatening to get a ladder. She says we'll have to break in through the window."
My 250-pound mother trying to clamber up to Fifteen's bedroom window was not a comfortable image.
"Can't you do it?" I said.
"Er, no. After the tree incident we're banned from using a ladder, remember?"
I did remember. Mom kept the ladder locked in the shed after Thirteen had nearly broken her neck. I chewed my lip, thinking for a minute. If I helped Fifteen, maybe I could get on her good side? Maybe she'd tell me what she felt before our separation? Maybe.
"All right, I'll come. I'll be there as soon as I can."
I texted Mads and Ollie that Mom needed me at home and left school through reception, signing out for medical reasons. Well, it was sort of true. Mads would be annoyed about me missing another fashion show meeting, but this was more important.
I punched in the security code, squeezing through the gates as soon as the gap was big enough. Twelve and Thirteen were chasing each other around the big oak tree in our front garden.
"Hey, you two, what's going on? Where's Mom? Why isn't she out here?"
"We thought it would be better if you helped," Twelve said, swinging her arms around in a way that was meant to look cute and innocent and told me right away she was hiding something.
I shook my head and said, "All right. What happened? The truth, please."
"She asked for it," Thirteen said.
"Oh for god's sake. What happened? Twelve?"
I stared hard at her. She was hopeless at keeping secrets and definitely my best bet. "Come on, spill."
"It wasn't me!" She nodded toward Thirteen. "She told Fifteen that you and that boy were doing it."
"You did what? That's not even true!"
I glared at Thirteen, who said, "She's so annoying, droning on and on about how we'll never understand love. I understand love. I've kissed a boy. She thinks she knows everything."
I shook my head. Thirteen had literally kissed one boy, once, at the seventh-grade Christmas party, and a cold, slimy experience that had been.
"What?" Thirteen said, her voice tight. "She's so annoying. It's not my fault."
"Does Mom even know she's upset? Does she know anything at all about this?"
They shook their heads. Twelve said, "She's been writing all day."
"And you two geniuses thought I'd be the best one to sort this out? Me. The one Fifteen hates the most. Well done. Great work."
I headed to the shed for the ladder. I made sure the others weren't watching while I dug the key out from behind a loose plank under the window ledge (I'd watched Mom hide it one day) and propped the door open with a brick.
I put the ladder up against the window, thinking, If I fall off and die, please make Fifteen feel guilty for the rest of her miserable life.
"We'll hold the ladder," Twelve and Thirteen said, grabbing a side each.
I climbed up carefully. "That makes me feel so much safer. Not!"
The round metal rungs bit into the underside of my Converses. I climbed nervously to the top and peered through the net curtains. I couldn't see Fifteen, but at least she wasn't dangling from a light fixture by her bathrobe belt. I shuddered at my own horrible thought and banged on the window.
"Are you okay? Can you open the door?"
No answer.
"Come on, I'm freezing to death out here."
Nothing.
I called down the ladder, "Are you sure she's in there?"
Thirteen grinned up at me, and Twelve shrugged. They didn't look that concerned, given they'd dragged me out of school.
"Have you made this up to get me to come home?"
I scanned their faces. Twelve reached an arm around the ladder and poked Thirteen in the ribs.
As Thirteen jumped back, the ladder rocked. I grabbed for the windowsill.
"Hey, careful! Will you try not to kill me, please?"
I waited for my heart to steady and took another look into the room. It was gloomy and abandoned. Posters hung off the wall; the bed was unmade. I couldn't see Fifteen anywhere.
"Okay, truth, please. Is this a prank?"
Thirteen looked at me, channeling her inner witch. I knew what she was doing. I remembered her writing it in her diary. There'd been a bit of a Stephen King phase; Twelve and Thirteen had both enjoyed imagining they were Carrie for a while. It helped them cope. Maybe that's why those two were so close. Things had been tough for them. Our skin was at its worst when they went to school. They'd been Alligator Girl, Flaky, Scabby Skin—a new name every term. They'd developed this iron "back off" look ... each pretending they were a witch who could curse anyone who annoyed them. It was pretty useful at the time. Now, not so much.
I said, "That look doesn't work on me, does it? Is she in there or not?"
Twelve said, "She's jammed the door from the inside."
I strained to see the bedroom door. Sure enough, the desk chair was tipped up under the door handle to stop it opening. Huddled next to it was a dark shape. My heart lurched. Fifteen was curled up so small I could barely see her. She looked broken.
I rested my forehead on the glass, wondering whether I should just go and get Mom and tell her what Thirteen had done. I chewed the inside of my lip. Apart from the fact that Thirteen wouldn't speak to me for a week, I didn't want to get her in trouble. I understood why she lashed out; her life was so ... dull. Who wouldn't want to spice it up a bit? It was just a shame she'd chosen Fifteen's misery as her ingredient of choice.
It wasn't hard to imagine how Fifteen was feeling. All I had to do was picture Ollie and Kristal Mitchell draped across the pool table and my heart pinched painfully. If Fifteen was picturing me and Ollie together, well, I knew what that was like. Torture.
I took a deep breath and gently tapped the glass. I waited for movement and when there wasn't any, I tried again.
Slowly, Fifteen's head came up. She seemed to look at me but it was too gloomy in there to make out her features. She stayed like that for a second or two and then her head sank back onto her knees.
I tried again, tapping the window and calling, "It's not true. They were winding you up. We haven't, I didn't ... Oh god, don't make me say this out loud."
Her head came up again. I waited but she clearly wanted more.
"All right. Look, I swear, we haven't done anything you didn't do. I swear it. I've hardly seen him on his own for ages."
I stopped, realizing that it was actually true and wondering why I hadn't really noticed until now.
"Hurry up!" Twelve shouted up the ladder at me. "My fingers are cold."
Her fingers were cold? I was the one up the ladder clinging on for dear life. I tried again. "Come on, it's freezing out here. Open the door so we can all get a cup of tea or something, okay?"
She shrugged. That was some sort of communication at least.
"Please. We can talk about it. Look, I've been thinking about things, and I think I've had an idea, something to talk about anyway. Please. Come on, open the door."
I waited. Though she didn't get up, she yanked the chair out from under the door. It tumbled to the floor.
I made my way gingerly down the ladder.
"Is she out?" said Twelve, her head on one side.
"You two put the ladder away. I need a cup of tea."
I headed for the kitchen. I could hear Mom typing away in the dining room. Fourteen was curled up in the living room watching Dr. Phil shout at a man with a tattooed face for having an affair with his wife's sister. I shivered. She didn't need crap TV; if she wanted that kind of entertainment, she only had to look at me and Fifteen.
"My Former Self Wants to Kill Me."
"My New Self Ran Away with My Boyfriend."
Maybe we should go on Dr. Phil. He might be able to untangle the ridiculous triangle of me, Fifteen, and Ollie. Or maybe not. I might not come out of that too well.
Eva was sleeping on the comfy sofa under the kitchen window. She looked so peaceful. I filled the kettle quietly and got two mugs out. If I was going to have a halfway decent conversation with Fifteen, I needed all the help I could get.
Mom came in.
"Hello. I thought I heard the door." She yawned, clearly oblivious to the goings-on in the garden. Hadn't she even noticed her cell was missing?
"Where's your phone, Mom?"
"Here, love."
She held up her hand, and in it was the black brick she laughingly called her cell phone.
"I always try and have it near me when you're at school. Did you try and call me?" She checked the screen, then laid the phone on the table. "No missed calls. Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I said, confusion scratching at the corner of my mind. "I just had a couple of free periods and thought I'd work at home."
I don't know why I lied. Maybe I just didn't want her to know what the others had said to Fifteen.
She nodded toward the kettle. "I'll have one, if you're making tea."
I got a third cup out, then picked up her phone and checked it for sent messages. Nothing. The little sneaks must have deleted everything. Of course they had; I would have too. What Mom doesn't know, Mom doesn't cry over.
Mom fished for the cookie jar, popping the lid off as Eva woke up with a mewly cry. I took out a couple of Oreos and gave one to her; the other I stuffed in my mouth.
The crumbly sweetness melted over my tongue. I could feel the sugar coursing through my veins, picking me up. I got a tray out and put another couple of cookies on a plate with the tea. Mom said, "Do you really need all of those?"
I shrugged and went upstairs. I stopped outside Fifteen's door and pushed it open with my elbow.
"Go away."
"We need to talk."
"Leave me alone."
"Please?"
"Just go away."
So much for that, then. I wrinkled my nose, thinking for a second, then I slid the tea and the cookie plate through the gap of the open door and left them on the floor.
"I'll be in my room if you change your mind."
I sat on my bed and opened my laptop, fully intending to work on the vlog. But as soon as I was still, my skin crawled with the physical memory of her moving inside me. I needed a shower. I ran up to Mom's room, threw my clothes off, desperate to rid myself of the disgusting feeling of violation. I wanted to wash it all off, strip myself down to the bone, get rid of my horrible skin, my horrible thoughts ... I let the hot water cascade over me, but it wasn't enough.
My problem was inside of me, and I couldn't wash it away no matter how hard I tried. Still, I felt a tiny bit better once I was dry and in my sweats. I sat cross-legged on my bed and opened up the webcam. Fifteen sloped in. No knock, she just slouched in and leaned against my dressing table, fiddling with all my stuff. I played it carefully and waited for her to speak.
She opened a pot of blusher, sniffed it, turned her nose up, and dropped it back among the jumble of makeup and jewelry.
"I want to see Ollie."
My mouth dropped open. That was so not happening.
"You can't," I said.
"You have no right to him. None. If he knew you'd tricked him, stolen him from me ... he'd never forgive you."
Her face was hard, angular. My stomach coiled tightly. I knew she was right.
She stacked my makeup into a tottering tower and said, "I'm not going to live in this prison forever. I want my life back."
I bit the skin on my ragged thumb and said, "How? You can't. It's not safe. Mom won't let you have the gate code. What will people say? They'll think we're freaks ..." I heard myself repeating our mother's words and trailed off.
"You could give me the gate code." She raised an eyebrow at me.
We both knew there was no way I'd do that. And we both knew why.
"Mom would kill me."
"Yeah, right. Nothing to do with you keeping my life to yourself."
"It's not my fault! You took over from Fourteen."
"Fourteen didn't have Ollie."
There was nothing I could say. Not one thing that I could say that would make things better for her.
"Look, I know you don't think much of me ..."
She snorted. "You could say that."
"But we're in the same boat. My life is going to be just like yours if we don't do something."
She snarled at me.
"You are so selfish. Can you hear yourself? It's all about you, isn't it?"
She was right. We weren't in the same boat at all. Her chance to be saved had gone the moment I had freed myself from her. She was stuck. Fifteen forever.
She balanced an eye-shadow box on top of the blusher she'd been sniffing. "If you won't give me the gate code, I'll find a way out on my own."
"You're not serious? You can't go out! What would Mom say? You'll ruin everything!"
Even as I said it, I could see how selfish I was being. I wanted to fix my life, but I was giving her nothing.
Then she made me an offer.
"If you give me the gate code, I'll come with you to the medical center."
My mouth dropped open. If she came with me to a doctor, at least I'd have a chance of them believing me. With two of us telling the same story we might avoid what happened to Fourteen when she'd gone. Maybe Fourteen could come as well, three of us making our case ... But at what price?
If I gave Fifteen the gate code, that was it, she'd go straight to school and everyone would know. And what if Mom was right?
We'd be taken away, experimented on, we'd be the freak family ...
"Up to you," she said. "A life for a life. I just want to see Ollie. He's my boyfriend. If you want to put things right, give me the gate code."
I was such a coward. I couldn't face the fallout. Not yet.
I said, "I'll think about it."
She knocked the makeup tower over and stormed out. I winced, knowing she'd broken something.
