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It takes me a moment to process what my friends are saying. They’re right, everyone knows who Penelope is, because she likes it that way. I doubt there’s a soul in this school who isn’t aware of the fortune she’s expected to inherit or the terms of the inheritance. So how is it possible that both twins really do go to school here, and no one seems to know?
My friends continue to bicker about who has classes with Penelope and who doesn’t, but I let their voices become background noise. Am I really the only one who knows about Izabella? And if I am, how is it possible that both girls have been here the entire time and no one has noticed that they’re twins?
My mind is buzzing with questions as the lunchroom door opens and Penelope glides into the room. As usual, she’s accompanied by her group of minions—a mixture of girls who cling to Penelope like just associating with a future billionaire will elevate their status, and the guys who are so desperate to fuck her, they’re prepared to follow her virgin ass around just in case she decides she wants to ride their dicks more than she wants the billions that are dependent on her virginity.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I scan the room for Izabella, but I already know she’s not here. The entire senior class has lunch together, and I know I’ve never seen them both in here at the same time, so where does Izabella eat?
I spend the rest of the period going through the motions. I eat my lunch and chat about the weekend sailing plans with Davis, Kip, and Thorn, but I’m only half paying attention. More often than I’m willing to admit, I find myself staring at Penelope and trying to figure out if that’s who I’m looking at. Could it actually be Izabella? From a distance, in their school uniform, I doubt I could tell them apart.
The thought that I might have spoken to Izabella more than once and assumed she was her sister is unsettling. How many others at this school have unknowingly spoken to both sisters and never been corrected? Why would they keep Izabella a secret?
I don’t know why I care so much. The Rhodes family are leeches, and I have no interest in allowing them to suck me dry. But no matter how much I try to forget the look in Izabella’s desperate eyes, I can’t. When the final bell rings, I gather my things, but don’t rush to get to my car. Instead, I position myself on the school steps and settle in to watch.
Pick up at GAA is a mixture of kids driving supercars and drivers collecting their teenage wards in blacked-out town cars. When I spot the same driver who drove Izabella and me back to her house yesterday, I step forward, watching as he parks at the bottom of the school steps, climbs out, and opens the rear door.
Just like I expected, Penelope is sashaying through the crowd of kids, like she’s walking a runway at fashion week, determined to make a grand exit.
Taking another step forward, I try to see if Izabella’s in the back of the car, but the seat is empty. Once Penelope has climbed in, the driver closes the door, gets back into the car and pulls away, blending onto the street and disappearing from view.
Narrowing my eyes, I search for another car, wondering if Penelope is enough of a diva to insist she can’t share a ride with her sister, but one by one, the rest of the students leave. Twenty minutes later, the lot is almost empty and there’s no sign of Izabella.
For a second, I wonder if maybe she didn’t come to school today. Then a familiar town car slows to a stop at the curb, and the Rhodeses’ driver steps out. Blinking, I glance around me, wondering if Izabella has been waiting this whole time and I just haven’t noticed, but I’m the only person here.
Suddenly, a flash of blonde appears to my right, and Izabella Rhodes scurries out from the side of the building, heading quickly toward the car and driver.
I know I should leave her alone. I know that nothing good can come from me getting any more involved with the Rhodes family, but my feet move before I can convince myself to stay put. Something about the other Rhodes twin calls to me. Maybe it’s the novelty or the intrigue that’s surrounding her, or maybe it’s that even though she looks just like Penelope, she’s nothing like her that has me falling into step beside her. “Hello, Izabella.”
She doesn’t lift her head as she speaks, her hair shielding her face. “Hello, Gulliver.”
“How is it possible that no one knows you exist?” I ask bluntly, not bothering with any expected social niceties.
Her feet stop moving, and she lifts her head to look up at me. For the first time, I realize what’s different about her. Her eyes are a weird violet color, bright and mesmerizing and utterly unique. “Your eyes,” I whisper.
Heat colors her cheeks, and she looks away. Something tightens in my chest, and reaching out, I hook my thumb under her chin and force her head to lift. “Why don’t I know you?” I ask.
“Because I’m not going to inherit billions of dollars,” she says succinctly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
An incredulous sound falls from my lips, and throwing my head back, I laugh. Blunt as it was, what she said is ridiculous but so painfully honest and true. When the last chuckle falls away, I stare at the girl in front of me. Dressed in the same uniform her sister wears, her hair styled the way Penelope’s always is, her makeup heavy but flawless—it really is uncanny how identical they are. But in spite of their similarities, one glance at Izabella’s eyes and I wonder how I ever mistook her for her sister.
“I should go,” she whispers, twisting her head to smile sweetly at her driver, who glares at me, his body leaning forward, ready to protect her.
Dropping my hand, I clear my throat. “Goodbye, Izabella.”
“Goodbye, Gulliver.”
Thoughts of Izabella plague me for the rest of the night, and when my dad gets home, I can’t help but bring it up. “How long have you known the Rhodeses?” I ask.
Dad pauses for a minute, his expression pensive. “I’ve known Barnaby since school, but we lost touch after GAA. He was still an acquaintance, of course. We ran in the same social circles, but I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. I suppose we became reacquainted when you and Penelope started at Green Acres together.”
“So that’s why I’d never met Penelope before high school?”
“She didn’t go to Haversham?” he asks, obviously not aware.
“No, she was homeschooled.”
He nods, like this makes sense. “Yes, I think I remember Trudy mentioning that they used to travel a lot with Barnaby’s business, although I’m not sure why; everyone knows that Barnaby’s role is more of a title than anything else.”
“So, no more kids, just Penelope?” I ask, even though at this point I’m pretty much convinced that Izabella is not public knowledge. I wonder if it’s always been that way, if they’ve always hidden her, or if it’s just been since the inheritance was revealed.
