Huh. Katie’s smarter than I thought. “How about this,” I say. “When you want something, fill out a form and slip it under my door. I’m in Bryant, room 309. I’ll authorize it myself. Nobody else has to know.”
“Yeah, all right.” Katie bites her thumbnail, considering. “Can you get me a mini fridge in my dorm room?”
“Absolutely.”
A smile creeps over her face, and she leans forward. “I’m not allowed to have soda at home, but my big sister said she’d order some cases of Cherry Coke for me online. She’s in college.”
“I can definitely make sure your Cherry Coke is cold,” I say, though I can’t imagine why anyone would want to drink that of all things. “Now, I want you to think very carefully about Angelina. Tell me anything at all that you think might be embarrassing—there’s no wrong answer here. You can take as much time as you need.”
“I don’t need time,” Katie says, eager now. “So, okay. Angelina and I were in the same youth group last year, and there was this boy, Brad? He was in seventh grade, and Angelina was totally in love with him. She wrote him this suuuuuper long letter, like six pages of gushing about his favorite TV show and his favorite sports teams and how cute his dog was and how much she liked his shoes. And this girl Gabby was going through Angelina’s bag looking for lip gloss or something, and she found the letter and took photos of it, and by the next day everyone in the entire youth group had seen it. Angelina was so embarrassed that she stopped coming to youth group for a month. She tried to pretend she had the stomach flu, but some of the other girls said she was still going to school, and nobody gets the stomach flu for a month.”
Wow—I didn’t expect anything this good. “Gabby sent it to everyone?” I ask, trying not to betray my excitement.
Katie nods. “She loved drama. She was always telling people stuff other people had said about them and trying to get them to fight.”
“Do you still have the photos?”
“Maybe.” Katie pulls out her phone—the case has an anime character on the back—and spends a while tapping and scrolling. Finally she says, “Oh, here,” and my heart leaps. I reach for the phone, but she doesn’t hand it over. “You promise I’m not going to get in trouble? Nobody will know I gave this to you?”
“I promise,” I say. “It’ll never come back to you. Just think of all those cold Cherry Cokes.”
She lets go.
I skim the letter, which is exactly as Katie described, then send it to myself and delete the message from Katie’s phone. I’ll print a few hard copies when I get to my room and hide them in the air vent so there won’t be any evidence in my email. “Thank you,” I say as I hand back her phone. “You’ve been a really huge help. I’ll expect to see that fridge request form under my door soon, okay?”
Katie tucks her phone into the pocket of her oversized hoodie—it’s a lot like the ones Abby used to wear. “So … that’s it?” she asks.
“That’s it. You’re free to go.”
“I … Great, um, okay.” Katie stands uncertainly. “Bye, I guess?”
“Have a great night.” She turns to go, and I say, “Oh, and Katie? Obviously our deal is off if you tell anyone about this conversation. And I will know if you do.”
“Right, yeah,” she says, and then she’s gone. The way she skitters out of the Student Center reminds me of a frightened squirrel darting up a tree.
I take my phone into the Student Government Office, the place I feel safest, and lock the door behind me. I take my place in my special chair, and I read the letter twice. Angelina spends an entire paragraph on how “adorable” it is that Brad’s hair and his dog are the same color, and she says that her heart “glows like a star” when she knows she and Brad are home watching Hungry for Brains at the same time. Katie was right about how much Angelina mentions Brad’s shoes; those must’ve been some seriously amazing sneakers.
The whole thing is a total train wreck, which means it’s a gold mine for me.
The next morning, I get to breakfast super early and wait in an inconspicuous corner by the entrance until Angelina arrives with three friends. I silently follow them across the dining hall and into the serving area, knowing it won’t be long before she’s alone. Most girls go for the eggs and bacon and French toast, which are in chafing dishes along the left wall, but I’ve noticed that Angelina is one of the few people who actually likes eating oatmeal for breakfast. As soon as she approaches the vat near the salad bar, I sidle up next to her. “Hi, Angelina,” I say.
My new Committee member jumps—she clearly didn’t hear me approach—and oatmeal sloshes over the rim of the ladle and splats against the floor. “You scared me,” she says.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say, even though I did. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the election. Oh, and to give you this.”
I carefully angle my body so nobody else can see what I’m doing, then remove a piece of paper from the inside pocket of my blazer and slide it onto her tray. Angelina unfolds it, and I watch her eyes widen as she registers her fifth-grade self’s handwriting. “What …” she sputters. “Where did this … How—”
“You don’t have to be scared,” I say in a low, soothing tone that won’t be heard over the noise of rattling dishes and laughing girls. “Nobody else has to know about this. Trust me, I’m great at keeping secrets. All I need in return is to know you’ll back me up when the Committee votes.”
“Votes on what?”
I shrug. “On everything.”
“But …” Angelina looks around wildly like someone might be able to save her, but her friends are still serving themselves, and nobody’s paying any attention to us. When she speaks again, her voice is even lower. “How did you even get this?”
I shrug. “It’s amazing what you can find on the internet, isn’t it?”
“It’s on the internet? But—”
“Don’t worry, it’s not easy to find. And nobody at Brookside would even know to search for it, right?” I toy innocently with my backpack strap. “Unless someone told them, that is.”
Angelina’s starting to look a little green. “Are you saying—”
“I’m saying I have a feeling you and I are going to work really well together.” I squeeze her shoulder, and she flinches. “Have a good breakfast, and I’ll see you at your first Committee meeting.”
I walk away, and I feel Angelina’s eyes on my back all the way across the serving area as I stick two pieces of bread into the toaster. When I check over my shoulder a minute later, she’s ripping the paper I handed her into tiny pieces, which she stuffs into her oatmeal and dumps into the trash. One of her friends approaches her and asks a question, and I hear her mutter that she’s not hungry anymore.
I take my tray into the dining hall and sit down to eat my breakfast, my heart glowing like a star.
It takes a few days for the administration to rearrange Angelina’s and Abby’s schedules, so their first meeting with us is the following Tuesday’s Petition Day. Vice Principal Rosenberg tells us that the sixth graders should spend their first day watching us debate and vote, and on Wednesday morning, once they have a sense of how the Committee works, they should be allowed to dive in as full voting members. She offers to sit in on our new members’ first meeting so she can welcome them herself, but I manage to fend her off by telling her we have a lot of work to get through.
Lily, Maya, and Gianna seem super excited when the new girls arrive—they pull out chairs for them and fall all over themselves to be welcoming. Gianna has even brought chocolate chip muffins, which I’ll admit is a nice touch, even though they’re just the normal ones from the dining hall that she’s saved from breakfast. It’s almost like the other girls think having new blood in the room is going to make things different.
“Wow, Gianna, you’re seriously an expert at getting food out of the dining hall without anyone noticing,” I say. I feel the tiniest bit bad about it, since I plan to have a muffin myself, but it’s important to remi
nd the rest of them that I haven’t forgotten their secrets.
Gianna’s face goes red. “I asked if I could take these,” she grumbles, and I know she’s gotten the message.
Angelina meets my eyes for a moment as she settles into her seat, just long enough for me to see the fear there, then drops her gaze submissively to the floor. Abby, on the other hand, looks straight at me and smiles. It’s definitely not the kind of smile that says, Thank you, big sister, for coaching me through the debate and helping me get to this point. It’s the kind that says, You thought I couldn’t do it, but I did. What’s your next move?
When everyone is seated, I clear my throat, and the other five girls go quiet. I know I should probably make a speech or something, and I expect the right words to come to me like usual. I’m always calm and articulate in Committee meetings, safe and secure in the knowledge that I control everything that happens in this room. But having Abby here makes me jumpy, and the jumpiness makes me angry, and the anger leaves my mind completely blank, which makes me even angrier.
I take a deep breath like I taught Abby to do and pray everyone can’t read my emotions all over my face. “I’d like to welcome our new representatives and congratulate them on their wins,” I say, and then I decide that’s enough of that. There’s no reason for me to be like Vice Principal Rosenberg and make a huge deal about democracy.
“Thanks,” Abby says. “It’s so cool to be on this side of the table.” She turns to Angelina. “Isn’t it?”
Angelina glances at me for direction, and I congratulate myself on how effectively I got through to her. When I indicate that she can answer, she nods, but she doesn’t speak. Abby’s eyebrows scrunch together; she’s clearly confused about why outgoing Angelina is suddenly acting so weird and withdrawn.
“You’re gonna do great,” Maya says.
“But not today,” I clarify. “Abby and Angelina, you’ll spend this Petition Day watching and listening so you can learn how we do things around here. At our next meeting, you’ll be allowed to vote. Is that clear?”
“That’s not fair,” Abby says. “We’re Committee members now. We got elected. Shouldn’t we be allowed to—”
I ignore her. “Lily, go ahead and let the first petitioner in.”
My sister falls silent, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to stay that way for long.
The first few requests are easy—maintenance for a jammed closet door and an appeal over a library fine incurred while the student was in the infirmary. A girl who hit me in the head with a volleyball last week in PE asks for permission to throw a birthday party in her dorm’s lounge, and we deny it. The Chess Club president comes in and requests a space for their next few meetings, and we grant it. Abby and Angelina haven’t said a word, and I start to relax. I’m certainly not convinced everything is going to be fine, but it’s looking like today might be.
And then Abby’s friend Grace comes in, and my sister’s face lights up.
Grace slaps a budget request form down in front of me. “Hi,” she says. “I’m here to petition to have the fall play reinstated.”
I roll my eyes and slide the form toward her. “We’ve already voted on this. The play isn’t happening.”
“The argument you gave was that there wasn’t enough money to hire an outside director,” Grace says. I never told Grace that; Abby must’ve reported back to her. “I talked to Principal Winslow yesterday, and she said they posted the drama teacher position the day Ms. Gutierrez left. They’ve already started interviewing people, and they’ve narrowed it down to a few. So hiring an outside director won’t be necessary.”
“The money for the fall play has already been reallocated,” I say. Sometimes petitioners back off when I use big words.
Grace doesn’t even blink. “To where? That was a lot of money.”
“It’s not your concern where the money went,” I say. “We split it up between several historically underfunded clubs. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait until spring.” I press the DENIED stamp down on her petition, and it makes a satisfying thump. “Please send in the next girl.”
Abby and Grace lock eyes, and then my sister says, “I’d like to see this fall’s budget information, please.”
My heart speeds up the tiniest bit. “That’s not relevant right now,” I say. “You’re supposed to be watching and learning about Petition Day. You can look at the budget when—”
Abby cuts me off, which no one else in this room would dare to do. “Seeing the budget would help Angelina and me learn. How are we supposed to know what ‘not enough money’ looks like if we haven’t seen the numbers?”
“We’re never going to get through Petition Day if we keep stopping to explain things to you,” I say.
“Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing, though?” Lily asks. “Teaching them how the Committee works? I don’t have any problem with showing them the budget spreadsheet.”
“Me neither,” says Maya.
“I have it right here,” Gianna says, tapping her tablet. “I can send it now.”
Abby smiles at me, sweet as the chocolate chip muffin in her hand. “Looks like you’re outvoted, Syd,” she says.
“That is not how the Committee votes,” I snap, and it comes out higher and more hysterical than I intended. I have got to pull myself together.
“But this doesn’t require a vote,” says Maya. “They’re Committee members; this is Committee information. They should have access to it.”
I have never felt anything but total control here in this room, and even these tiny seeds of dissent give me vertigo, like I’m sitting on shifting sand instead of solid ground. But I tighten my grip on the reins and put my authoritative voice back on. Even if I’m feeling off-balance, I have to make everyone believe I’m doing exactly what I want.
“Okay, you’re right,” I say. “Go ahead and send the budget spreadsheet to our new members, Gianna. I just didn’t want to delay our petitioners. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, Grace.”
“I don’t mind,” she says. “I’m happy to wait.”
Gianna sends the spreadsheet, and Abby immediately opens it on her phone. When I don’t object, Angelina tentatively takes out her own and does the same.
At first it’s completely silent in the room, and for the briefest moment, I’m able to make myself believe that Abby and Angelina won’t figure out where all the money for the play has gone. But it’s not like these girls can’t read a column of numbers, and after about twenty seconds, Abby’s eyes widen. “Why does Astronomy Club have a seven-thousand-dollar budget?” she says. “Aren’t there, like, two people in Astronomy Club?”
“There are six,” I say. And one of them is the coolest person in the entire school, and this is the only way she’s ever going to like me. “They petitioned to take a trip to Cape Canaveral to see the SpaceX Dragon launch. It’s an expensive trip.”
Abby’s face is dark with anger and betrayal. “You took away our play so six people could go to Texas or wherever to see a rocket?”
“Cape Canaveral is in Florida,” says Lily.
“Whatever! You know you can watch that stuff online, right?” She looks around at the rest of the Committee. “You all agreed to this? Seriously?”
My Committee exchanges glances. I can tell they’re all thinking the same thing—they did vote for this, and they’re all implicated, regardless of how they actually feel about it. They’re in too deep to dig themselves out now. Finally Maya says, “It’s not fair that the same few clubs always get the most money. The play is really expensive, and—”
My sister cuts her off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before.” She sighs. “I move that we vote on whether to cancel this ridiculous trip. And then I move that we vote on Grace’s petition to reinstate the play.”
“You’re not a voting member today,” I say. “You can’t move that we do anything.”
“Fine. I move that we vote on those things tomorrow.”
“You can’
t—” I start, but it doesn’t really matter either way. Everyone else will vote with me no matter when we do it. It’ll be good for Abby to see that she’s outnumbered.
Maybe by tomorrow I can scare my sister into submission too. She can’t change any of our rulings by herself, but I don’t want to deal with her stirring up trouble all year. I really, really hoped Abby would stay on my good side; I’ve tried my absolute hardest not to hurt her, and I don’t want to do it now. But this Committee is all I have, and if she’s going to try to ruin this for me, my first priority has to be protecting myself.
“Fine, we’ll vote tomorrow,” I say, and Abby looks up at me, surprised and a little suspicious. Lily, Gianna, and Maya look confused, but when I say, “All in favor?” and raise my hand, they put theirs up too and chorus, “Aye.”
I find a Sharpie in my bag, cross out the DENIED stamp on Grace’s petition, and stamp PENDING in the empty space beside it. It’s the first time I’ve ever reversed one of my rulings, and even though I’m positive I can put everything back to how it should be tomorrow, it still feels awful.
There are no more unusual petitions today, but I’m off my game now, and Abby keeps asking questions, so getting through everyone takes absolutely forever. By the time we’re done, the dinner bell is chiming, and I’m exhausted. I’m always tired after Petition Day, but in that good, accomplished way that comes from knowing I’ve given people exactly what they deserve. This time it’s the kind of tired that makes me want to crawl into bed at seven o’clock and sleep for the rest of the week.
The rest of the girls pack up their things and sling their backpacks over their shoulders. “You coming to dinner, Sydney?” Lily asks, like she does every single Petition Day. It’s a wonder she hasn’t given up on me.
“Maybe in a little while,” I say, though I know I can’t handle the dining hall tonight.
Everyone says goodbye except Angelina, who still seems too scared to speak to me at all. Abby catches my eye on the way out and smiles. She looks ridiculously pleased with herself.
She's the Liar Page 11