Backlash

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!

Now I really wish she’d grounded me instead. It’s always like this with Mom. I can’t have anything for myself without her ruining it. I’m glad I didn’t make the stupid cheerleading team. It’s worth it just to spite her.

“It’s about time someone took those Kelleys down a peg or two. I’m proud of you, Bree.”

I’ve tried so hard and for so long to get my mom to say those words. But now that she does, they leave me feeling hollow.

SYDNEY KELLEY and I haven’t sat on the bus together for a long time, but after she climbed up and hung out with me in the tree fort last week, something’s shifted. Today she gets on the bus before me, then slides over and smiles when I get on, inviting me to sit next to her.

I hesitate for a second or two, wondering about what Spencer and the rest of the guys are going to say. But then I remember how good it felt to chill with Syd again, and I sit down next to her, our shoulders touching as the bus lurches forward onto the next stop.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

“Okay,” she says. “Lara’s still being a

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Bree is, too,” I tell her. “But let’s not talk about our stupid sisters, okay?”

“Good thinking,” Syd says. She pulls some papers out of her backpack. “Hey, can you run some lines with me? Beauty and the Beast auditions are on Friday after school, and I’m trying out for Belle.”

“Sure,” I say, hoping I don’t get carsick. I mean, we’re on a bus, so maybe it’ll be different.

“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by singing anything,” Syd says.

“I don’t care if you sing, as long as you don’t expect me to,” I tell her.

She laughs and seems to shift a little closer to me. Our knees touch, and she doesn’t move hers away.

“You read the Beast. Start here,” Syd says, pointing with her finger.

“Okay. Here goes,” I say, clearing the morning frogginess out of my throat.

“Belle? Are you happy here with me?”

“Yes,” Syd answers tentatively.

“What is it?” I read.

Syd looks at me with wide, sad eyes. I feel queasy. I think it’s just because I’m reading on the bus.

“If only I could see my father again, just for a moment. I miss him so much.”

“There is a way,” I read. I pretend to hand her a magic mirror. “This mirror will show you anything, anything you wish to see.”

“I’d like to see my father, please,” Syd says.

According to the script, this magic mirror shows Belle’s dad stumbling around in the woods, lost, sick, and in pretty bad shape.

“Papa. Oh no. He’s sick, he may be dying. And he’s all alone.”

Syd’s good at this acting thing. I turn to look at her, because she sounds like she’s starting to cry. But she smiles at me, so I carry on reading.

“Then … then you must go to him,” I say.

I feel sorry for the Beast dude. He obviously likes this Belle chick, but he’s going to have to let her go.

“What did you say?”

“I release you. You are no longer my prisoner.”

I wonder — if I had a girl I liked as my prisoner and I thought maybe she was starting to like me back, would I let her go? I mean, I know it would be the right thing to do, but if I were some Beast guy living all alone in the middle of the woods, would I still care about doing the right thing? Who would be there to know if I did the wrong thing except for me?

“You mean … I’m free?”

Syd sounds so amazed that you’d think I was really keeping her prisoner.

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank you,” she says. And then she tells the pretend magic mirror, “Hold on, Papa. I’m on my way.”

“Take it with you so you’ll always have a way to look back and remember me,” I read. I’m really feeling this dude’s pain now. I don’t want her to go.

“Thank you for understanding how much he needs me,” Syd says, and the warmth and gratitude in her eyes is so genuine I almost feel like she’s going to lean forward and kiss me.

“Did I get all the lines right?” she asks.

“What? Oh yeah,” I say, half disappointed that she doesn’t, even though I’d really catch crap for that. But it would be worth it.

“You make a pretty good Beast,” Syd says. “If you could carry a tune, I’d tell you to try out.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen. No way, no how,” I assure her. “The only place I sing is in the shower.”

“Coward,” she says. “I’ve heard you sing before — when we were younger. You weren’t that bad.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my voice has changed since then.”

“Yeah, it’s not as high and squeaky,” Syd says, but she’s gri

“My voice was never squeaky,” I tell her.

She starts making squeaky mouse noises, and so I tickle her side, in the place I remember from when we were little that she’s really ticklish, and then she’s laughing and gasping. “Stop! Truce!”

So I do.

“Seriously, do you think I’ve got a chance?” she asks. “I want the part of Belle so badly. I’ve been practicing for over a month.”

“I’m no expert, but I think you’re great,” I tell her, and I mean it.

“It’s hard, because Maddie and Cara are trying out, too, and they’re my best friends. I want the part, but I’ll feel bad if they’re upset that they don’t get it.”

I like that about Syd. She’s ambitious, like Mom, but she’s not just out for herself.

“Well, you know what they say … all’s fair in love and theater.”

She laughs. “I don’t think that’s exactly what they say, but theater can feel like war sometimes.”

The bus pulls up in front of school.

“Well, good luck with the auditions,” I tell her.

“Break a leg,” she says. “That’s what you say in theater.”

“Break a leg, then. Break both of them.”

“No, don’t say that!” Syd giggles as she follows me off the bus. “Breaking both legs wouldn’t be so great!”

“Definitely only break one, then.”

The last thing I want is to wish bad luck on Sydney, just when we’re starting to hang out again.

WHEN MR. JONES asked for my math homework and I didn’t have it, I wanted to sink through the floor, because I’m not the kind of student who does that. Honestly, I’m not. I always do my homework.

Except last night I didn’t, because how could I possibly think about logarithms after Christian said he loved me? It wasn’t a long, romantic protestation of love — just a simple Love you right as he was signing off. But still — he said it. The L word.

I tried to concentrate on my homework, I really did. But it was impossible. It’s the first time anyone has said Love you to me other than my parents or my grandparents. The first time a guy has said it to me. That’s a pretty memorable moment, right? I printed out the chat convo and put it in the carved wooden box Grandma and Grandpa brought back from their trip to Canada. The memory box, where I keep my treasures — things that remind me of important events or special moments that make me happy. There aren’t many things inside it.

I bet Christian isn’t letting his grades slip. He’s super smart, as well as hot. He’s taking four AP classes this year. I can’t even imagine. I don’t want him to think I’m not smart enough for him. It’s bad enough wondering if I’m pretty enough every time I look at his profile picture.