Turning, I allowed the hotel door to shut behind me and faced my former friend. “Hello, and yes I own makeup.”
Of note, Gabby’s real name was Lyndsay. Gabby was a nickname she’d earned because she talked too much and had no filter, always saying whatever popped into her head. This worked for her because her parents were massively wealthy movie stars and had no problem bailing her out of whatever trouble she—and her mouth—found herself in.
Ignoring my greeting, she set a bag on the bed. “I bet it’s the wrong kind of makeup. Whatever. There’s a Sephora on the way to your house, we’ll go there. Lisa said you don’t know how to do your eyes, so they can teach you there. Lisa never shows her face without mascara and liner, so make sure you do that every day. And here”—she gestured to the bag—“I brought some of Lisa’s clothes from the last time she spent the night at my house. We got soooo drunk. And it was tequila drunk, not vodka tonic drunk, you know what I mean?” Gabby laughed and gave me a commiserating look.
I didn’t know what she meant, but I could extrapolate. Regardless, I did not return her look.
Her amusement vanished.
“Anyway.” She paired the single word with an eyebrow lift, a sure sign of exasperation. “This should have everything you need for now. Feel free to thank me at any point here.”
No thanks was forthcoming, but she already knew that.
I hadn’t returned to my hotel in Los Angeles last night. There was no point in packing clothes before leaving via LAX. Other than underwear and socks, I was supposed to wear Lisa’s clothes anyway.
Everything I needed was in my backpack—my laptop, my research notes, my journal—so I sent a text to Gabby and hopped on the next plane to Chicago. We touched down just after 1:00 AM and I spent the night at the Westin near O’Hare, wearing the same clothes to sleep that I’d worn to the dentist.
There’s something liberating about sleeping in clothes instead of pajamas, I’d mused the next morning as I brushed my teeth with supplies hastily purchased from the lobby store. The thought felt rebellious, so I pushed it aside and waited for Gabby to show up.
Which brings us to now.
Am I really doing this?
Not for the first or the thousandth time since hanging up with Lisa yesterday, I took stock of this messy mess and how I’d arrived at this moment, peaking inside a bag brought by Gabby. Speaking of the Gabster, she was staring at my profile as I peered in the bag.
Abruptly, apropos of nothing, she said, “You’re boring.”
My eyes lifted to hers. “Okay.”
“You look boring, I mean. Like, I know you and Lisa are supposed to be identical, but if you were in a club you’d be invisible. You’d be wallpaper. Doesn’t that bother you?” Though the words might’ve been interpreted as harsh, the question sounded honestly curious.
Nevertheless, it aggravated me. This was my chance to find out why Lisa had been arrested and Gabby was already getting under my skin before I could ask any questions.
“No,” I answered, just as honestly, withholding all emotion from my voice and expression.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to be noticed? Be . . . interesting?”
“Not really.” I turned my attention back to the clothes and spotted a black lace bra tucked to one side.
. . . Am I really doing this?
“How is it possible you are still such a Mary Sue?” She poked my shoulder. “Haven’t you heard? Nowadays, being nice is unlikable. It’s all about the rebel. You should do something unexpected, mean, selfish, and don’t apologize for it. Be bad for once and tell everyone to fuck off.”
I sent her a quick glare. “I just ditched a PhD program interview. I’m about to lie and impersonate my twin sister for several days so my parents won’t disown her. Maybe save that question for later, when it might be more accurate.”
“Well, you kind of owe her, don’t you?”
“Owe her? Owe her for what?”
“For getting her sent off to boarding school? For ratting us out to your nanny? Ring any bells?”
I was so proud of myself for not punching her in the face, and even more proud for keeping my voice level and calm. “We both know Lisa wasn’t sent to boarding school because I told our nanny that you had taken whiskey from the cabinet.”
“Oh? Really? That’s not how I remember it.”
“Yes. Really. The only reason Leo and I stayed with Mom and Dad was because of his music and my research.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night.” Gabby studied her nails. “And you know what I mean about being a Mary Sue. Helping Lisa is just part of the same saintly shit, different day.”
Why was she giving me grief about being helpful? Oh. That’s right. Because she’s unhinged.
“While you’re standing here telling me to be bad, Lisa is in jail. Aren’t you at all concerned about her?” As much as I despised interacting with Gabby these days, we were both here for one reason: to help Lisa because we loved and cared about her.
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m concerned about her. I’m terrified for her, okay? And I’m doing everything I can to get her out and save her ass, including putting up with you.”
“Putting up with me?” Arg! She was so irritating, all my questions fled my brain.
“You heard me.” Talking to her was like arguing with a flat-earther. Ignorance plus arrogance is why we can’t have nice things!
Best just to get straight to the point. “Why was Lisa arrested?”
Gabby’s flippancy morphed into a severe scowl. “Does it matter? She needs your help. What? Now you don’t want to help her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then help her, and put on these clothes, and stop making this about you.”
“I just want to know why—”
“Classic Mary Sue behavior. Even when you’re being bad, you’re still looking for a way to be the do-gooder center of attention. Where is the fun in always being the good one when it means you have no friends? Why must you ruin fun for everyone else?”
“Oh, you know, I think the fun is in not being arrested for doing something stupid and selfishly forcing your sister to clean up your giant mess.” Despite my best efforts, a hint of bitterness entered my voice, and that flustered me.
Rattled by my uncontrollable, unexpected, and uncharacteristic show of feelings, I cleared my throat and dropped my eyes. Apparently, my ability to speak truth without emotion was on the fritz. Best not to speak to her at all. Pulling out the black bra and shirt Gabby had brought, I held the top up to me. Scowling, I wondered where the other half was, it seemed to be missing the section that covered the stomach.
Gabby snorted and rolled her eyes. “None of Lisa’s clothes are boring. You’re going to be noticed.”
Reaching for a bunched-up pile of black leather in the bottom of the bag and realizing it was pants, I heaved a sigh. “Whether or not I’m boring is irrelevant. Whether or not I’m likable or nice or good or a Mary Sue is irrelevant. The fact is, I am boring and unlikable by your standards. That’s never going to change because I don’t subscribe to your standards. So, moving on, is there anything else I can wear other than these two items?”
Gabby turned her grumpy expression to the scrap of the shirt, black lace bra, and the black leather pants. “What’s wrong with these?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled, resigned, and scooped them up before turning for the bathroom. “I’ll go change.”
“Too bad you can’t actually change,” she called after me. “Too bad putting on Lisa’s clothes doesn’t also give you some of her badass mojo and rebel spirit.”
Unable to help myself, I mumbled, “You belong on Venus, Gabby.”
“You mean, because it’s, like, the planet of love?” she asked with fake sweetness.
“No. Because it’s, like, our solar system's analog to hell.” And with that, I closed the door to the bathroom and changed. Into my sister.
2
Introduction to One-Dimensional Kinematics