The Third Twin (35 page)

“Quite the haul,” Dad says, nodding to the gifts. There are two identical-looking piles, one for me and one for Ava.

“It is,” I answer, wondering if there’s anything in there I actually need.

“I brought you something,” he says, handing me an Andy Bar.

“Ha, ha,” I say, taking it from him.

He looks down at the Cal Dad T-shirt he’s wearing. “And thanks again for my gift.”

I give him a hug, knowing how painful it is for him to be wearing Cal blue and gold instead of Stanford Cardinal red. “It’s the least I can do. You’re paying for it.”

“Just keep that in mind,” he says with a grin. “Eyes on the prize.”

He’s also wearing the Long Beach State hat Ava got him after accepting their offer. We’ll still be hours away from each other, but I’m not so worried about that anymore—being apart might do us both some good. As long as it’s not that far apart.

“Did you see this?” Dad asks, holding out a big square envelope.

“I did,” I say. I look at him sideways. “It’s from Elena.” She’s had a constant pinched, worried look ever since Cecilia
was arrested. As much wrong as Cecilia did, she is still Elena’s sister, and Elena owed her a lot. Dad still hasn’t come to terms with Elena and her choices. I’ve been to see her in Oceanside a few times, but I try not to mention her in front of Dad because he doesn’t like it. Ava still refuses to go over there at all.

“Did you see what it is?” Dad asks.

“Yeah,” I say cautiously. “I opened it earlier.” I should have put them away. They’re only going to get him annoyed again, just when we were having such a good day.

“Can I look?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. “Ava got the same thing.”

Dad slides the photos out of the envelope and spreads them on the table without a word. They’re a document of our first six months—pictures of the three of us in matching tiny, frilly dresses, lined up in a row on couch cushions and propped up on our stomachs with little bows attached to our heads with stretchy bands. My favorite is a picture of all three of us in one crib, so tangled together that it’s hard to tell where one baby ends and the other begins. I want to frame that one for my dorm, but I don’t want to get Dad upset.

To my surprise, that’s the one he picks up first, stroking the paper as if the image were real. “You were such beautiful babies,” he says softly. Then he looks up at me. I know he’s noticed the fact that I’m making more of an effort with how I look. Nothing approaching Alicia-style, just some mascara and lip gloss, but it’s a start. “Still are.”

I put my arm around his neck. “Thanks, Dad.”

At the sound of the word “Dad,” tears fill his eyes, but he wipes them away angrily. Ms. Alvarez—excuse me, Elisa—comes over and puts one arm around his waist.

“I think we’re going to head inside,” she says, looking up at him with adoration. I always thought it would be weird seeing him with a woman, but so far it’s not bad. “It’s getting a little chilly out here.” Which it isn’t—it’s still almost eighty degrees, despite the fact that the sun set an hour ago.

Dad smiles at her and then looks down at all of our friends out by the pool. “You should see if anyone needs anything.”

I know this is his way of giving me permission to go and have fun. “You sure you’re okay?” I ask.

He gives me a weak smile. “I’m perfect. Now go.”

I walk down the stone steps away from the patio and watch everyone splashing in the pool as the DJ that Dad hired switches songs on the PA. As the first guitar notes come through the speakers, the song reminds me of one Eli used to play, and I’m hit with a wave of regret. It’s like that part of my life was severed the night Eli died. I saw Linzey and Melissa at Cecilia’s hearing a few weeks ago. Linzey gave me a sad smile, but we didn’t speak to each other. I can’t blame them. If it wasn’t for Alicia, Eli would still be alive right now. Everyone tells me that I’m not responsible, that the way Cecilia’s mind twisted logic isn’t our fault, but in quiet moments I still see Eli lying beside the van, and I can’t help but feel responsible.

“Hey!” Rubi says, tugging on my arm. “Tell your boyfriend to give up his half of the court—some of the rest of us want to play.”

I grin at her and pull myself out of the dark place my mind likes to wander to. “You know I can’t make Zane do anything.”

“Well, come make out with him or something,” she says, dragging me in the direction of the tennis court. “Slater challenged me to a match, and we need a diversionary tactic.”

I watch through the fence as Zane swings a racket with one hand and sloshes the liquid out of a red plastic cup with the other. Slater’s on the other side playing just about as well, his flip-flops hindering any chance at returning the ball.

Zane breaks into a smile when he sees me, and waves the racket, just as a line drive of Slater’s hits him squarely in the head. “Hey!” he yells over the net.

“Match point!” Rubi screams, and jumps over the net to take the racket.

“That was a setup,” Zane says with a smile as he walks over to the sidelines. He leans down and kisses me firmly on the mouth. “I got distracted.”

From this angle, I can see the pink scar that runs along his collarbone—the only physical evidence left of that horrible day in the alley. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him toward me. “You don’t know anything about distracted,” I say, kissing him back, grateful that I still have the opportunity.

“God, get a room,” Maya says, coming up behind us.

“I wish,” Zane says, nuzzling my neck so that I involuntarily yelp.

“Speaking of,” Maya says. “When do you guys leave?”

“Next week,” I say. I can hardly believe I get to spend a week alone with him in Brazil. After missing the event in Tahiti, he wasn’t sure that the ASP was going to give him another chance.

“The competition’s not until that Saturday,” Zane says. “So we have a few days to look around first.”

“I can’t believe your dad’s letting you go,” Maya says. “Pretty nice graduation present, if you ask me.”

I glance up to where the adults are still sitting around the patio table. In the wake of everything that’s happened in the past two months, it didn’t even take that much convincing. I’m actually excited about the trip and about going to Cal in the fall. Maybe I’ll go for a business degree, maybe I won’t, but at least it’s up to me to decide. “It is,” I agree.

“And all I got was a new car,” she says, shaking her head sadly.

I put my hand on the new pendant hanging around my neck. It’s a Scrabble tile with the letter
L
on it. “This is still my favorite gift,” I say, nudging Zane. “Better than diamonds and gold any day.”

“Diamonds and gold aren’t until our fiftieth anniversary,” Zane says. I laugh, but his face is dead serious.

“What are we talking about?” Rubi asks, draping one arm around my neck, her face flushed from the exercise.

“Old people,” Maya says, making a face.

“Good Lord, why?”

Slater comes over with his racket. “Anyone want a game? Just don’t play Rubi,” he says, nodding to her. “She cheats.”

“I do not!” she says, bumping him with her hip.

Zane and I exchange glances. Looks like more than friendly competition to me.

“There you are,” Ava says, walking up to us in mock frustration. She’s wearing a skirt and a bikini top both so small that there’s not much left to the imagination.

She reaches over and loops her arm through Rubi’s. “I need you for a second. Joel Macy bet me twenty bucks that we weren’t really triplets. It’s time to collect.” She looks back at me as they walk toward the pool house. “You too.”

“Go ahead,” Zane says, giving a squeeze before he drops my hand. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

I give him one last look, amazed at how much can change in such a short time.

“Wait up!” I call to Ava and Rubi as I catch up to them in the doorway.

Chatter stops and people stare as they always do when we walk into the room—the three of us together—exactly alike but so different at the same time.

“You guys know Lexi,” Ava says, nodding to me.

“And this is Rubi,” I say, grinning at the identical face next to mine.

Ava smiles, the pride in her eyes unmistakable. “Our sister.”

This is always the hardest page in the book for me to write because I’m afraid I’m going to leave out one of the many people who made my book possible.

First, there’s my agent, Sarah Davies, whose guidance took a confused jumble of words and made them into a sellable novel. Thanks to my editor, Wendy Loggia, for her unwavering enthusiasm from the very first chapter, and to the entire team at Delacorte Press and Random House Children’s Books for their support. Thanks to my writer friends: Heidi Kling, for figuring out the third twin; Robin Mellom and Eve Porinchak, for running away with me; Heather Mackey, for tacos and advice; Malinda Lo, for always thinking that I have good ideas; Daisy Whitney, for always answering frantic texts; and Cheryl Herbsman, for listening to me moan. Thank you to all the gals (and the guy) in the desert who gave me brilliant insights while we were floating in the middle of
the pool. A special shout-out goes to Erin Murphy, who suggested I turn a comedy into a thriller.

Finally, thanks to my friends and family, who don’t understand the special brand of crazy that writers share but put up with it anyway. Thank you to Commander Rocky Medeiros for advice on all things police related; any legal errors are mine alone. I’m glad he wasn’t on this case, or there would have been nothing for Lexi to do. Thank you to my good friends Karen Ryan, Barbara Stewart, Jessica Romero, and Jill Raimondi for always looking interested when I talk, and to Hayley Proctor for college advice. Thanks to my family—the Jaynes, the Robisons, and the Dorans—whose lore is always great fodder for the stories I write. Finally, thanks to Bayo, Jaron, and Taemon for their unwavering support and understanding when I talk to myself in the car. They’re the reason I can write realistic boys. And the reason I write anything at all.