Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(3)

“I did return your letters. How many times—”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this again. You didn’t return my letters, which is why I stopped sending them. So, again, why does it matter if I text you back?”

“Because when we do talk on the phone, it’s for less than five minutes. You think my life is boring and we have nothing in common.” I tried—and succeeded—to keep emotion out of my voice. This was my superpower, a skill I’d honed as a fifteen-year-old girl, entering a field dominated by not fifteen-year-old girls. “You were right. We have nothing in common. And now you want me to pretend to be you? It won’t work.”

For better or worse, I had more in common with my musician older brother than I did with my twin.

“Yes. It will. Like I said, Abram has only met me once, and he didn’t seem impressed, and I hardly remember it. So as long as you’re wearing my clothes and your impersonation is passable, he’ll leave you alone and we’ll be golden. I’ve already set everything up with Gabby. She’s expecting your call. She’ll meet you in Chicago, dress you to look like me before you go to the house.”

Gabby. My nostrils flexed, flared with annoyance (I hated it when they did that).

Gabby was Lisa’s best friend and used to be mine, once upon a time. The three of us had been inseparable as kids. We used to pretend we were triplets, with Gabby being our long-lost sister. Noteworthy, Gabby and Lisa had always been more interested in pretty dresses and painting their nails than I had; and I loved reading in a way they both eschewed; but our differences hadn’t seemed to matter at the time. I would paint my nails right along with them, and they indulged my love of stories by listening to me read out loud.

Things started to change around the age of nine. Gabby and Lisa’s interests moved firmly from imaginary games involving being dragon tamers—or being astronauts, or being stranded on a desert island—to imaginary games involving being famous and important in the real world, calling the games I wanted to play “baby stuff.”

But pretending within the confines of “the real world” made no sense to me. It’s like they were speaking a different language, one I couldn’t understand, and one that seemed horribly . . . well, boring.

Anyway.

Our official friendship separation (Gabby and Lisa versus Mona) could be traced to one night when we were eleven. I’d alerted our nanny that my sister and our friend had snuck some whiskey from the liquor cabinet after asking them repeatedly to put it back. Lisa had been sent to boarding school not long after, but when she was home, I’d played on my own and they’d been virtually inseparable.

Fascinatingly, eight years later, Gabby still held a grudge—let me repeat, for eight years—related to my snitching on her when we were eleven. I’d never snitched again. On anyone. For anything. Ever.

Understatement: I’d learned my lesson about snitching.

I’d tried (and failed) to get in their good graces for years after the whiskey-snitching incident until Gabby introduced Lisa to Tyler. Now Gabby’s dislike of me was entirely mutual. I didn’t know how to forgive her for introducing my twin to that scumbag.

Conclusion: At this point, I worked under the assumption that Gabby was quite possibly mentally unhinged and strongly disliked—if not outright hated—me.

But back to now and Lisa being in jail and me being shocked and awed and making my about-to-sneeze face.

Lisa continued, “When you get there, all you have to do is wear designer clothes, eyeliner, and make terrible life decisions.” She laughed, the sound both hysterical and sad. “Plus, you have to do this for me. You don’t have a choice. Unless you plan to do nothing—again—and let Mom and Dad to disown me.”

What the what?

“Doing nothing? What are you—”

“Forget it, Mona. Now isn’t the time. If you care about me at all, go to Chicago and pretend for Abram until I get there.”

“But who is Abram? Why is he at the house? Why would Mom and Dad trust him to do this? And how can I—”

“God! Look, I don’t have time to argue with you about this.” Her tone was tired, strained, frazzled. “Are you going to help me or not?”

I wanted to say, This will never work! But when I opened my mouth, no words came out.

“Call Gabby, she’s expecting your call. Go to Chicago. Get a ticket for tonight, okay? My cell phone has been mailed to Chicago and should arrive tomorrow or the next day. If Abram asks you for my phone when you get there, just tell him you left it behind and are having it mailed to you. Sit tight and let your inhibitions go—for once—until I get there.”

“Lisa—”

“Promise me, Mona. Promise me. I swear, I’ll be so good. I’ll be so fucking good. I’ll go back and finish high school, I’ll never touch drugs again, I’ll never see Tyler again, I’ll be the best sister and daughter, I’ll forgive you for everything, we’ll create a special handshake for when the next NASA thing lands on Jupiter or whatever, I will never call physics boring, and I will make this up to you. I will never, ever lie. But if you don’t do this for me, I’m dead. I’m so, so dead.” Her voice caught on the last sentence, adopting a decidedly watery edge, and that sobered me more than anything else would have.

My sister didn’t cry. Ever. What a messy mess.