Double or Nothing Read online

  “I-I…” I stammer. I don’t know what she knows.

  Aggie holds up my phone. “You’re way overdrawn in all your accounts. And all these gambling apps and profiles…” She trails off. “I was worried you were on drugs, Ester. And so was Dillon.”

  I bristle at the mention of his name. “What do you mean?”

  She cocks her head at me. “Come on, Ester. We talked, and we both agree something is off.”

  Wait, what? “You mean you talked to my boyfriend about me?!” I yell. A few people at the picnic area glance over.

  “Calm down.”

  “No! What right do you have to go through my phone? To violate my privacy like that? And to talk to my boyfriend behind my back? I mean, I knew you were jealous, Agatha, but I didn’t think you were desperate.”

  My words hang in the air between us. Half of me wishes I could undo them, when I note the flash of hurt that crosses her face. The other half of me relishes this. Why does she get to judge me? Why is she trying to ruin the only good thing I have in my life?

  Aggie narrows her eyes at me, equally pissed. “I’m telling.”

  “Go ahead, Agatha. Tattle to Mom and Dad. Then you can be the better twin. It’s the only thing you have going for you anyway.”

  Aggie’s lip trembles. She doesn’t say anything for several moments. Then she sniffs, straightening up. “No. You can figure this out on your own. I’m done.”

  By the time we get there, we’re both like statues. Mom and Dad notice immediately that something is wrong.

  “What happened?” Mom asks as she answers the door. The smell of her cooking wafts out. I fight not to cry.

  “Nothing,” Aggie mutters.

  “Just tired,” I say. That part is true. I feel like I could sleep for a decade. Maybe forever.

  “Come in, come in,” Dad says, ushering us through the door. “We have lots of food. Get you fattened up again,” he says, pinching my cheek. “So thin, Ester.” He looks me over with concern.

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I say.

  Aggie lets out a snort. “Yeah, right,” she mutters under her breath.

  I shoot her a deadly look.

  Mom looks back and forth between us and clucks her tongue. “I don’t like this attitude,” she says. “Go wash up, and we’ll eat.”

  Aggie and I always shared a room, and Mom and Dad have kept it the same. Whenever we come back home, it’s like no time has passed.

  I plop down onto my bed, tossing my backpack on the floor. As I lay back, I wonder if there’ll ever be a bed as comfortable as the one you grew up with.

  Aggie walks in, sits on her bed and, in her mind-reading way, says, “The thing I really miss is this bed.” She lays back too, and we stay there in silence until Dad hollers at us to come to the table.

  They have made enough food to last until the end of days. In addition to starters of salad and squid, there’s a fifty-layer lasagna, three-cheese ziti, meatballs with Italian gravy, cannelloni, spaghetti with basil, mezzaluna (little half-moon pastas stuffed with seafood), sliced beef in a gorgonzola sauce, and a ton of homemade bread. Not to mention the spread of desserts and cheeses that Mom has set out on the sideboard.

  We dig in, eating slowly so as not to fill up too fast, pausing to murmur our gratitude at the delicious feast. When we’re done, Dad makes us espresso, and we chat about things going on in the neighborhood.

  Free from the immediate threat of the gangsters and the police, I feel a bit more relaxed. Everything is kind of okay until Mom pulls out the cards.

  “Who’s up for a game of cribbage?” she asks. “Winners get the last piece of pie, losers do the dishes!”

  Family game night is a tradition in our home. But just looking at the cards sends me into a cold sweat.

  Aggie looks at me sharply. “Es?” she asks. “You okay?”

  I feel like I’m in a fishbowl. Everyone is staring at me, and they seem both too close to me and miles away. I can’t breathe.

  “Ester?” Dad asks, frowning.

  I push away from the table, stumbling backward, and almost fall.

  “Honey!” Mom steps toward me, but I hold my arms out.

  “Don’t,” I say, my voice strangled. “I don’t feel well.”

  Mom and Dad exchange a look. They’re going to find out.

  Aggie clears her throat. “There’s something going around on campus,” she says.

  Mom titters and frets.

  “It’s not serious,” Aggie says, coming over to me. “She’s just tired.”

  “Oh, baby,” Mom says. “Go ahead and get some sleep.”

  “I’ll come with and get you settled,” says Aggie.

  I nod, understanding that my sister has saved me. Again.

  We both go upstairs to our room, and I lie down. The room is spinning. Maybe I really am sick.

  Aggie shuts the door and kneels down next to me.

  I can’t look at her eyes. It hurts too much. “Please,” I whisper. “Don’t.”

  “Es, look at you,” she says. “You’re skin and bones. You look like a zombie. When is the last time you slept the whole night? I should really take you to the hospital.”

  “No! You can’t,” I protest. “They’ll find me there.”

  Aggie looks confused. “Who? Who will find you? Essie, you’re scaring me.”

  I try to wave her off, but she grabs my hand.

  “Ester Tomasi, tell me what is wrong—right now.”

  “I can’t, Aggie.”

  “Es. I’m invoking Twin Truth™.”

  “No. That doesn’t work. We’re not kids anymore. This is serious.”

  Aggie sighs. “Then let’s be serious.” She looks at me, right into me. “Essie, you’re my other half. You can tell me anything.”

  “I can’t.” I finally look up into her eyes, at the same shade of brown as mine. But hers are so much softer. Sometime I feel like a photocopy of a person. She’s the original, and I pale in comparison.

  “Why not?” she asks.

  “Because”—I let out a sob—“you won’t love me anymore when you find out.”

  She recoils as if I’ve struck her but then gets up onto the bed and lies alongside me, wrapping her arms all the way around me.

  “That would never happen,” she says. Her voice is quiet, certain. “There is a zero percent probability that that could ever occur.”

  She holds me as I cry.

  I tell her my story, at first downplaying how much I owe, then coming clean.

  If I thought I was low before, this is lower.

  “I love you,” she says when I’m finished. “And I’ll help you.”

  “But Mom and Dad…”

  “They don’t have to know just yet. I have a plan.”

  “What?”

  “We’ll sell the car first. Then I’ll see how much money I can take out of my savings account.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “But,” she says, “I pay for everything directly now, understand?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I think that’s for the best.”

  “And Ester, once this is over, you’re going to tell Mom and Dad about your problem yourself. Okay?”

  I sniff. “Okay.”

  We lie there like that for a long time. And for the first time in a long time, I actually feel safe. Maybe everything will work out all right after all. I drift off to sleep and dream about cards and numbers and Aggie’s worried eyes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When I wake up, Aggie is gone. I stumble downstairs and fling open the front door. The car is gone too. I hope she’s gone to get us some breakfast donuts.

  “Morning, honey,” Mom calls from the kitchen. “Feeling better?”

  “Sort of,” I say as I wander in, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I’m still so tired, but the scent of Mom’s homemade cinnamon waffles perks me up.

  Dad shuffles in, wearing his ancient slippers. “Waffles!” he exclaims. “Whoa,” he says when he sees me. “You look like you could
use some.” He sits down at the kitchen island and pulls out a stool for me.

  I slide in next to him. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Eat,” he says, loading up a plate with waffles and placing it in front of me “Eat.”

  My stomach growls. I take a bite and look up to see both of my parents watching me.

  “Well?” Mom says, a cautious smile on her face. I know what she’s expecting me to say.

  I break into a grin. “These waffles are so good you could get your own cooking show!”

  “Better than that Martha Stewart?” Dad asks.

  “Martha Stewart wishes she could make a waffle this good,” I declare.

  They both laugh. It’s the same joke we’ve been making for years.

  “Hey, where’s Aggie?” I ask. “These are her favorite.”

  “Oh, I know.” Mom sighs. “I sent some along with her for the drive back.”

  I nearly choke on the chunk of waffle in my throat.

  “Back?” I ask. My voice is at least an octave higher.

  “Yep,” Dad says absently, opening his paper. He’s the only person I know who still reads a newspaper cover to cover. “Work called her in. Something about a broken espresso machine.”

  Mom clucks her tongue. “I don’t know why she takes that job so seriously. It’s just a coffee shop. And she’s going to be a lawyer someday!”

  “Now, honey,” Dad says, giving Mom a charming smile. “Our girl has a good work ethic. Knows the value of an honest dollar. Isn’t that right, Ester?”

  I nod. “Yeah,” I manage, but it stings. Agatha is the honest one. And I’m not. “But couldn’t she have waited for me?”

  “Oh, she didn’t want to wake you since you weren’t feeling well,” says Mom.

  “We’ll give you a ride back tomorrow,” Dad says. “Give us a chance to come check up on you both.” He winks at me.

  Goddamn you, Agatha. This better not be part of her grand plan. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick. I push my plate away.

  “Ester, if you’re done, maybe you should go back to bed,” Mom says. “You look a little green.”

  “Yeah, honey, get some rest,” Dad says. “Mom will bring you some of her special soup later, won’t you, hon?”

  Mom smiles. “You bet I will.”

  “And it will certainly be better than Martha What’s-her-name’s.” Dad flashes Mom another cheeky grin. Mom bats her eyelashes.

  I almost barf from the cuteness.

  Not really. If I manage to get through the next few days alive, and if I ever get old and get married, I hope I have something special like my parents have. Gross as it is sometimes, these two are totally Goals.

  “On that note,” I say, “I’m going back to bed.”

  I head upstairs and snuggle up in my bed. Before I go to sleep, I send Aggie some texts:

  Where are you really?

  Is everything ok?

  I’m worried.

  She doesn’t respond, and the texts don’t look like they’ve been read yet.

  I dial Dillon’s number, but there’s no answer. It goes to voice mail. I realize I have no idea what he’s doing for reading break. In fact, I haven’t asked him much about his family. I hate leaving voice mails, but I want him to know that I do actually care.

  “Hey you,” I say, trying to make my voice sound light. “Um, just wanted to say hi and see how your break is going. I should have brought you with me, because there’s so many leftovers, we could probably survive the apocalypse. Anyway. I was just missing you. And I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. For being weird. I know you talked to Aggie. And I know you were worried. But it’s okay. I’m okay. That’s all. I’m coming back tomorrow. Okay, bye.”

  I hang up, feeling all kinds of nervous and awkward. I can’t wait to see him again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The drive home is agony. Dad yammers on about how inferior the newfangled electric cars are to the regular kind and Mom insists on listening to a podcast about murderers. Right now I can’t stomach stories of violent criminals hunting people down. It’s too real. I put in my earbuds.

  I text Aggie again. No response. I’m starting to get worried. Dillon got back to me right away with an adorable selfie of him lying in bed with rumpled hair and no shirt. The caption made my heart pound: Wish you were here.

  When we get to the dorm, Mom and Dad insist on coming up to my room with me. I’m stalling, trying to find a way to tell them I had to sell my stuff, including my Machine. It turns out that this is the least of my worries. As we approach my doorway, I see that Detective Crowley is waiting for me.

  “Hello, Ester. We need to talk.”

  “A friend of yours?” Mom asks.

  In this light, the detective looks a lot older than she did the night we talked in her car. More like a cop. To hit that home, she flashes her badge right in my parents’ faces.

  I feel a surge of hot panic.

  “What’s going on?” Dad asks. Then his face begins to crack. “Oh god! Agatha!”

  Detective Crowley puts up her hands. “Agatha is fine, Mr. Tomasi. She is safe. She is not hurt. But we have a problem.”

  “What problem?” Dad demands.

  Mom lets out a sigh that sounds more like a whimper. I have never hated myself more.

  “Let’s go inside and talk,” says Detective Crowley. “If that’s okay with Ester.”

  Everyone turns and looks at me.

  “Yes,” I sigh. I guess it’s just time for this.

  We crowd inside my tiny dorm room. Both of my parents sit on my bed. They look impossibly small, and young, and I have this weird sense that I’m looking at them for the first time ever. I plunk down in my office chair. Mom and Dad are too worried to notice the missing computer.

  Detective Crowley leans against the windowsill. She peeks out between the blinds for a moment. “Look, time is of the essence,” she says. “Ester, I’m assuming your parents don’t have any idea what this is about?”

  I nod, and both of my parents swivel their heads at me.

  “Okay. I’ll get this over with. Mr. and Mrs. Tomasi, I’m very sorry to inform you that your daughter has a serious gambling problem. She is in significant debt to individuals who are involved in gang activity.”

  Mom starts crying. “But that doesn’t sound like Agatha at all.”

  Dad frowns and looks at me. He knows the truth.

  “No, Mom,” I say. “It’s me. I’m the one with the problem.” It feels like I’m carving the words out from my chest.

  “I’m sure you have questions, concerns,” Detective Crowley says to my parents. “But we need to address the fact that we arrested your other daughter today on drug-trafficking charges.”

  Now it’s my turn to be shocked. “What?”

  “Well,” Detective Crowley says, “it looks like Agatha decided to visit the club, perhaps to clear your debt.”

  Of course she did.

  “She went into the club, and our team was very concerned. You see, they thought she was you. They thought you might end up getting hurt.”

  “Oh my god, no!” Mom cries. “This isn’t happening.”

  “So when Agatha did come out, our team moved on her to take her in. For her—your—protection.” The detective looks at me. “Honestly, it almost screwed up the whole investigation. We didn’t want to go in that early and show our hand, so we waited until she came back out of the club. We thought we might find some contraband on her to make a charge, but she actually had a significant amount of illegal drugs on her person.”

  When she says this last part, we all stare at her, mouths open.

  Detective Crowley nods. “Apparently, she agreed to work for them selling narcotics and said she’d convince you to work for them too. She promised them that the pair of you could sell way more on campus to your peers than they could at the club or on the street. But, of course, her plan all along had been to come to the police. We just happened to have intercepted her. It doesn’t look good on
paper, but I think we can make a case with a judge to get it taken care of.”

  “You have to!” I shout. Detective Crowley narrows her eyes at me, and I force myself to lower my voice. “I only mean she did it for me. Agatha is pre-law. She’s squeaky clean.”

  “I know,” Detective Crowley says. “Now get your things, and let’s go.”

  “Where?” we all ask at once.

  “To make it right.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I take a minute to gather my things, avoiding my parents’ gaze. There is a knock at the door.

  “Can I get that?” I ask.

  Detective Crowley looks through the peephole. She sighs. “Just your boyfriend.”

  What a shitstorm.

  Dad clears his throat. “Make it quick, Ester.”

  As I slip out the door, Detective Crowley grabs my elbow. “I have people outside,” she warns.

  I shut the door behind me. Wow, no one trusts me. Why would they?

  Dillon is leaning against the wall, all tall, dark and sexy. I take a moment to drink him in.

  “What?” he asks. “Your face is weird.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Because after I tell you what I have to tell you, I’m pretty sure this is the last time I’ll see you. And I want to remember this.”

  “What do you mean?” He comes over to me, concern all over his beautiful face. “Did you fall in love with another gentleman caller?”

  “Stop. This is serious.”

  “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’m listening.”

  I have to be quick, so I spill it all to him in a big gush of words. He listens as I finish the whole sordid tale.

  “I understand if you want to walk away and never talk to me again,” I say at last.

  “No,” he says after a moment. “I don’t want to do that. I care about you, Essie.”

  My hand finds my lucky coin in my pocket, and I pull it out, flipping it over and over in my fingers.

  “Have you ever thought of selling that thing?” he asks. “It doesn’t seem that lucky.”

  “My grandfather gave it to me. And besides, I don’t think it’s worth much.”