Backlash

I’M IN my bedroom doing my homework with the headphones on when I get a text from Spencer.

Dude, why’s there a cop car outside your house? Saw it when I was walking the dog.

Wait, what? I text back.

I take off my headphones and look out the bedroom window. Sure enough, there’s a Lake Hills police car parked on the street in front of our house.

IDK. Go

As I get to the bottom of the stairs, I hear Mom say, “Can’t I trust you to do anything right, Brea

When Mom yells, you know she’s mad, but when she speaks in that cold, quiet voice, you know she’s really mad. Like “stay out of her way if you know what’s good for you” mad.

And then I hear Bree sobbing, so I detour to the kitchen. As much as I want to know what this is all about, going into the living room doesn’t seem like a smart move right about now.

Instead, I call Dad.

“Where are you?” I ask him. “Are you on the way home?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Do we need milk?”

“No,” I say. “The police are here talking to Mom and Bree.”

“WHAT?” Dad exclaims. “What about?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him.

He curses. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Hurry,” I urge him before hanging up.

My phone buzzes. Another text from Spencer.

So? What’s going on?

I ignore it, waiting for Dad to get home. And then I hear Bree come out of the living room bawling, and her footsteps as she runs up the stairs to her room.

Figuring it’s the quickest way to find out what’s going on, I head back upstairs and knock on her door.

“Go away!” she cries.

But I don’t. I slip into her room, closing the door behind me.

She’s curled up on her bed, with her knees up to her chest, clutching Bertie, her worn, old teddy bear.

“I t-told you to g-go away,” she hiccups between sobs.

My sister and I aren’t super close like some siblings, but it’s clear something pretty bad has just gone down.

“What happened?” I ask. “Why are the police here?”

My questions just make her start crying harder again. I don’t know what to do. Bree’s totally freaking out about whatever happened in the living room, and I have no idea what it is.

I sit down on the bed and squeeze her ankle.

“It’ll be okay,” I say, even though I have no idea if that’s true. It’s just what people always say when someone is freaking out to make them stop.

“No it w-won’t,” she says. “N-nothing is g-going to be o-okay.”

“What’s this all about?”

“M-Mom’s right. I am s-stupid. B-But I had to t-tell them the t-truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“About L-Lara.”

Lara? What could the police have to do with Bree and Lara? I mean, they were friends and they aren’t now, but that’s not a crime. That’s just girls, from what I can tell.

And then I remember the night Lara was taken away in the ambulance …

“Is this about that picture you posted? The one the night Lara tried to kill herself?”

Bree uncovers her face and gives me a look like I’m the stupid one. She swallows, like she’s trying to get a grip, and says, “No, Liam. It’s not about that. The reason the police are here … the reason why everything isn’t going to be okay is because … I’m the reason that Lara tried to kill herself.”

I stare at her, trying to understand what she means. How can my sister be the reason Lara tried to kill herself?

“What are you talking about? She did that because she was upset about that jerk Christian guy.”

“I’m ‘that jerk Christian guy.’ He never existed. He was fake, right from the begi

The horror of what Bree’s just said crawls over me like I’ve just stepped onto a nest of fire ants. I stand up and back away from her bed, my breath catching in my chest.

“You mean … that awful guy … who wrote all that stuff about Lara … was you?”

My sister nods slowly, staring back at me with eyes red from weeping, her face stained with tears.

“What is wrong with you?” I ask just above a whisper. “Why would you do that?”

Bree doesn’t answer. She just puts her head down and starts crying again.

I realize that I’ve grown up with Bree and I have no idea who she really is. Because the sister I thought I had wouldn’t do something that sick to anyone, especially someone who used to be her best friend.

I leave Bree to her crying and head for my room. And then I’m hit with a wave of nausea that sends me toward the bathroom instead. Because I’ve just imagined Sydney’s reaction when she hears about what my sister did.

I’M BOTH excited and nervous about Luis and Julisa visiting today. Ashley and a few girls from cheerleading came by last week to drop off fashion magazines and flowers, but I was taking a nap, and to be honest I was glad Mom let me sleep, because I wasn’t ready to see them yet. But Julisa and Luis are different. I know them better.

Even so, it’s hard. Julisa bursts into tears when she sees me and hugs me so tight I think my ribs will break.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again,” she says, her tears dampening my shoulder.

“I won’t,” I tell her, hoping that I mean it.

Luis stands behind her, uncharacteristically awkward, clutching a bunch of bright yellow tulips. He smiles tentatively as I look at him over Julisa’s shoulder.

“Hey, Lara,” he says.

Julisa releases me from the bear hug, and he hands me the tulips. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now,” Luis says.

“Thanks. Tulips are my favorite,” I tell him.

“I know,” he says, looking down at the carpet.

“How do you know?” Julisa asks the question I am wondering.

Luis looks straight into my eyes. “You told us last spring. When we went to the concert in the park.”

I can’t believe he remembered. A group of us went to a free concert in the park downtown last spring. It was a beautiful su

That he cared enough to remember something so small about me makes me cry.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, worried, as tears stream down my cheeks. “I’m sorry — I thought they would make you happy.”

“Th-they d-do,” I sniff. “I j-just c-can’t believe you r-remembered.”

Luis looks totally confused. “I will never, ever understand girls,” he says with a sigh.

Julisa puts her arm around me. “Tontito, all you need to understand is that Lara likes the flowers, okay?”

“But if she likes them, why is she crying?” Luis asks, ru

The poor guy is so bewildered I can’t help giggling, despite my tears. I’d probably be confused, if I were him.

“It’s complicated,” I say, glancing at Julisa, who starts laughing, too.

Luis finally throws up his hands, says something in Spanish I don’t understand, and joins in the laughter.

I realize how happy I am to see them. And that it’s the first time I’ve really laughed like that since … since that awful night.

Later that night, I’m in bed trying to think of a third thing for my Gratitude List when the phone rings. I’d already written the first two: