When everyone is gone, I lock the door, sit back down in my chair, and breathe deeply, reminding myself that every meeting won’t be like this one. I will have total control over my Committee again. I really don’t want to use the dirt I have on Abby, but I have more on her than I have on anyone else. If I just threaten to use it, things can go back to the way they used to be.
Capriana would never sit around and hope things worked themselves out, and I can’t afford to do that either.
I go to the dining hall just long enough to make a sandwich, then eat it at my favorite desk in the library as I plan my next move. When I see girls leaving dinner and streaming back to their dorms, I pack up my stuff and head over to Stronger Hall. Abby opens the door as soon as I knock, a big smile on her face and light in her eyes, but her expression flattens when she sees me. “Oh,” she says. “I thought you were Lydia.”
“Well, I’m not,” I say, and then I curse myself for sounding so defensive.
“Do you need something?” Abby asks.
Her door is still mostly closed, so I can’t see into her room. “Is your roommate here?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She opens the door wide enough for me to glimpse a girl with curly black hair sitting at her desk, then swings it shut again.
I don’t really want to have this conversation in the middle of the hallway, but it’s pretty empty right now; if I keep my voice low, it should be fine. “Come out here,” I say.
My sister slips out the door, then closes it and leans against it, crossing her arms over her chest. Her face looks guarded, but her socks have pink whales on them, which pretty much counteracts the expression. “What’s up?” she says. “I only have a minute.”
“You need to stop pushing the Committee about the play,” I say. “We’ve voted on it, it’s over, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Period. Okay?”
Abby’s eyes narrow, and her chin lifts in that defiant tilt I’m starting to hate. “And what happens if I don’t?”
I don’t want to do this, but she’s basically forcing me. “Listen, you’ve been doing really well here. You’ve been trying all kinds of new stuff and making lots of friends, and now you’re becoming a leader. It’s obvious everyone likes the new you. But I wonder how much they would respect you if they knew what you were like a few months ago? Those new friends of yours might be interested in what happened at our old school.”
I expect Abby’s eyes to widen like Angelina’s did when I cornered her. I expect her to agree to do whatever I ask, like everyone else always does. But my sister’s face doesn’t change at all. “Are you seriously doing this right now?” she says. “Because it’s not going to work.”
Nobody’s ever brushed me off like this before, and it takes effort not to show surprise. “I just think we could work together in a way that’s beneficial to both of us,” I say.
My sister sighs; it’s almost as if she’s bored with this conversation. “I don’t have time for this,” she says. “I have a history project due tomorrow. I need to go now.”
She turns and puts her hand on the doorknob, and a flash of panic zips through me, which makes me furious. She’s the one who should be afraid, not me.
“I’m not sure you understand what I’m telling you,” I say. “If you don’t back off—”
“No, I get what you’re saying,” Abby says. She’s halfway into the room already. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll see you first period. Bye, Syd.”
The door closes behind her, and I hear the lock click into place. There’s a burst of giggles from the other end of the hall, and even though those girls are much too far away to have heard us talking, I can’t help feeling like it’s directed at me.
I’ve had so many conversations like this since I joined the Committee, and not a single one of them has left me this unsettled.
Abby clearly understands what I was trying to tell her. I just get the sense that she doesn’t care.
It’s very disconcerting to go into the next morning’s Committee meeting with no idea what to expect. Now that Abby’s had a whole night to think about her options, it’s possible this will be the day she finally stops baiting me and starts following the rules. Or it could be the day I have to expose her for who she really is—or who she used to be, anyway—and bring everything she’s built here at Brookside crashing to the ground. Considering the effort I’ve put into protecting her, it seems ridiculous that I’d be the one to unmask her.
Everything in me hopes I don’t have to do it.
Abby arrives at the meeting a minute before the bell, hair in a neat side-braid, face completely untroubled. She says good morning to everyone and sits down directly across from me, which is not a good sign. But I force myself to look authoritative as I pull the small stack of pending petitions out of my backpack and slap them down on the table.
“Good morning,” I say. “If everyone’s ready, I’d like to start reviewing these petitions from—”
“I move that we discuss Grace’s petition to reinstate the play,” Abby says.
I swallow hard. I thought we’d dip our toes into this slowly; Grace’s petition is at the bottom of the pile for a reason. I look my sister in the eyes, and she stares right back at me. I wish I hadn’t taught her to embody a version of herself who isn’t afraid.
Finally I say, “All right. Do you have something you’d like to say?”
Abby stands up, and even though that’s not how we usually do things here, I have to admit that it lends her an extra air of authority. “There’s not much to say about this that I didn’t say yesterday,” she says. “We don’t need an outside director, so that argument for canceling the play doesn’t hold up. It’s true that the play is expensive, and of course other activities deserve funding too. But the budget indicates that all the money from the play and a portion of dance team and the soccer team has been given to Astronomy Club to fund their trip to Cape Canaveral, which is totally ridiculous. A trip like that benefits only a few people and hurts the rest of the Brookside community, unlike the play, which exists to entertain everyone. If Astronomy Club wants to take such an expensive trip, they should raise the money themselves.”
Until this moment, I had no idea it was possible to be so proud of someone and so furious with her at the same time.
And then Abby continues, “Last night I talked to Charlotte, who runs the dance team, and Macy, the captain of the soccer team. Charlotte told me that Sydney hates her because she beat her in a science trivia competition last year—it’s been nearly impossible for her to get petitions approved, as I’m sure you all know. Macy told me that she got the single room Syd wanted in the housing lottery, which means Sydney has to live with two girls she doesn’t like. And she clearly has a personal grudge against me because she wants to be the only successful Carrington at Brookside. It killed her when I got a role in the play, which showed her I could be successful too. And now here I am on the Committee, showing her up again. So of course she doesn’t want to give me or my friends what we want.”
All that pride melts away like a candle held up to a blowtorch. I can feel my cheeks going pink, and I desperately struggle for control; I’m pretty sure I’ve never blushed in front of my Committee before, and this is not the time to start.
“So in conclusion,” Abby says, “I don’t think the decision to cancel the play has anything to do with money or fairness. I think you all know that. But now that I’m on the Committee, we’re actually going to do something about it. I’m going to keep bringing this up every day until the play gets reinstated. I don’t care if I drive you all crazy.”
My sister sits down, and the rest of the Committee blinks at her in shock.
“Abby,” I say, as calm and quiet as I can manage, “do you remember what I said last night?”
She holds my gaze steadily. “You mean when you threatened to blackmail me?”
Nobody has ever outright accused me of blackmail before. I have no idea what to do, so I just say, “Um.”
“See, it’s funny,” Abby says. “Up until last week, that really would’ve scared me. The old me would’ve been totally terrified that if anyone knew my secrets, nobody would like me. But then you told me that I had to own my failures and my successes, because they’re all parts of me. You told me it’s obvious everyone likes who I am now. And you know what? I think that’s actually true.”
“You really don’t want to—” I start, but my sister turns to the rest of the Committee and talks right over me.
“Sydney warned me last night that if I didn’t stop fighting for the play, she’d tell everyone about something embarrassing that happened at our old school. But the thing is, I don’t care anymore if you guys know what happened. It’s over, and embarrassing stuff in our pasts doesn’t have to affect us forever, right?”
For years, I’ve wished Abby could move past what happened at the talent show, that she could find a way to not let it affect her. And now that she’s finally doing it, all I want is for her to turn back into the scared little girl she used to be. I cross my arms tight over my stomach, afraid I might be sick if I don’t physically hold myself together.
“Here’s what happened,” Abby says. “In third grade, I entered the school talent show. I was going to sing ‘Castle on a Cloud’ from Les Mis—I was so obsessed with that song. So I got up onstage in front of the entire school, and my music started, and I just … couldn’t make myself sing. I was totally frozen. And then I looked out at the audience, and I saw hundreds of kids staring at me, and I totally freaked out and started crying. It was super embarrassing. My nose was dripping all over the place, and a teacher had to come get me off the stage. After that, kids started teasing me and making these stupid ‘boo-hoo’ noises whenever I got up in front of the class, and it got to the point where I wouldn’t give presentations or even raise my hand because I was scared of how people would react. I even stopped going on class trips and stuff because I was afraid of being teased. I missed out on so much.
“But here’s the thing: When I came to Brookside, none of those people were around anymore, and nobody here knew me, and I decided things were going to be different—or that I was going to be different, I guess. And then … I just was. That scared girl isn’t who I am anymore. Am I still embarrassed about what happened? Yeah. Of course. It’s always going to be embarrassing to think about. But it’s not going to stop me from doing anything else I want to do. I bet you guys don’t respect me less because you know that story, right?”
Angelina’s looking up at my sister, wide-eyed with awe. She shakes her head.
“Definitely not,” Lily agrees. “At least you got up there and tried. I once signed up for the talent show at my old school, but I changed my mind five minutes before and hid in the bathroom for like an hour.”
Abby smiles. “Thanks, you guys. It’s kind of a relief to tell that story, honestly.”
I’ve lost every ounce of control I had over my sister.
“I’ve only been on this Committee for two days, and I don’t know what happened before I got here,” Abby continues. “But I have this feeling that Sydney knows some embarrassing stuff about the rest of you too. I bet she’s tried to make you think she’s protecting you by keeping those things secret. But she’s not. She’s just controlling you. Think of what it would feel like to not be afraid of her. You could actually say what you think, vote how you want. That’s why you ran for the Committee, right?”
She pauses to let that sink in, meeting each girl’s eyes in turn. Some of them look down at the table.
Some of them don’t.
“Abby, please …” I say, but she ignores me.
“I move that we vote on Grace’s petition to reinstate the play,” she says again, and I get that swooping feeling in my chest that happens when you miss a step on a staircase and your body’s positive, just for a second, that it’s going to plummet into oblivion.
“Fine,” I say, forcing my voice not to tremble. Even if Abby’s motivational speech has gotten through to the other girls, I tell myself there’s no way they’ll change their minds about voting against me. Angelina’s too scared, and the other girls will need to weigh their options very carefully. The fact that we’re all in this together means they won’t be able to wriggle out from under my influence as easily as Abby.
Right?
“All in favor of reinstating the play?” I say.
“Aye,” Abby says loudly, like she’s trying to project to the back of a theater. She raises her hand high. Then she turns to Angelina, eyes wide and expectant.
And to my utter horror, Angelina’s hand slowly creeps into the air. “Aye,” she says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper.
I skewer her with my gaze. “Angelina,” I warn.
“Whatever she knows, it’s not a big deal,” Abby says. “You can tell us, and then she won’t have any power over you. We’re still going to like you no matter what it is.”
“No influencing the vote,” I say. That’s not an actual rule, but I’m grasping at straws. I’ve never needed it to be an actual rule before.
Angelina takes a deep breath. “I wrote this really stupid, gushy letter to a guy in my youth group last year,” she says. “This girl took a picture of it and sent it to everyone. I’m pretty sure he saw it too. I had to drop out of youth group for a while.” She tips her head toward me. “She has a copy of it somehow.”
“Oh god, I know that feeling,” Gianna says. “I wrote a letter to a boy in my class when I was in fifth grade, and he dropped it in the cafeteria, and everyone saw it. They made so much fun of me.”
“But it doesn’t matter now, right?” Abby says, her voice soothing. “Even if people find out, it’s ancient history.”
“I’m glad you told us,” Lily says to Angelina. “That was brave.”
“And now you can express your real opinions without having to worry,” says Abby.
Angelina looks up, a triumphant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, I can,” she says. And when she looks at me, her face says, I can do anything I want now. Frankly it’s kind of terrifying. I barely know Angelina; I have no idea what she’s capable of doing.
But I tell myself this is fine. If the sixth graders want to rebel, let them. We still outnumber them two to one. It’s not ideal, but every vote will still go my way.
And then Lily takes a deep breath.
“I write fan fiction about my favorite series of books and post them online,” she says. Her cheeks are bright pink, but her voice is strong and clear. “Some of them are, um … romances. With girls and dragons.”
“Wow, really?” Maya says. “That sounds awesome. I love fanfic.”
“Me too,” says Angelina.
“Sydney found my screen name and threatened to spread it around and tell everyone it’s me in the stories, that I’m in love with a fictional dragon,” Lily continues. “Which I’m obviously not. I just really, really like these books. And Brandozer is my favorite character.”
“What’s the series?” asks Abby.
“The Chronicles of Wings and Teeth,” Lily says. She digs a book out of her bag and holds it up—it’s got a giant yellow dragon plummeting through a storm on the front. “This is book eleven, but I have the others if you ever want to borrow one.”
“I’d love to,” Abby says. “Thanks. Can I read your fanfic too, after I know the characters?”
“Yeah, I guess, if you want to,” Lily says. “My stories are, um … Well, they’re actually pretty popular.”
“That’s amazing,” Abby says. “You shouldn’t ever let anyone make you feel ashamed of the stuff you love.”
Lily’s sitting up straight now, and it’s only then that I realize I’m used to seeing her hunched over. There’s something else new about her too: a flash of anger in her eyes. I really, really can’t afford for anyone else to get angry.
And then she looks right at me and says, “I vote to reinstate the play.”
My stomach feels like it has dropped out of my body
. Part of me is afraid that if I look down, it’ll be sitting there on the gray industrial carpet. I desperately want to rub my left eye—it gets super dry when I’m nervous—but I lace my fingers tightly together and force them to stay folded in my lap.
“That’s three votes for reinstating the play,” Abby says. “Anyone else in favor? Maya? Gianna? We only need one of you.”
Both girls look at me, then back down at the table, and a tiny pinprick of hope shines through the fog of fear clouding my brain. The dirt I had on Abby and Lily and Angelina was embarrassing, but nothing they’ve done is against the rules. The stuff I have on Gianna and Maya could actually get them in trouble. If they vote for the play, I can have them sent straight to Principal Winslow’s office.
“I know she has something on you,” Abby presses. “You’ll feel so much better if you get it off your chest. I promise.”
Gianna shakes her head. “I, um … I agree with Sydney’s arguments.”
“Me too,” says Maya. Neither of them sounds sincere, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t need them to be honest. I just need them to be loyal.
“Well, okay,” Abby says, though she sounds a little defeated. “All against?”
I put my hand in the air and say, “Nay,” and Gianna and Maya echo me. My stomach settles back into place.
“Okay,” Abby says. “Three for and three against. What happens now?”
“I don’t know,” Lily says. “We’ve never had this problem before.”
“I’ll look it up.” Gianna starts tapping at her tablet.
And then I realize exactly what will happen now, and it’s like someone has shot a bolt of lightning up my spine. I was so focused on maintaining control of some of my Committee that I lost sight of the big picture. Dealing with the consequences of a tie might actually be worse than a loss. I am the worst strategist of all time. If Capriana the Rogue had run her life like I’m running mine today, she would’ve ended up dead in a ditch by the end of her first campaign.
“Here it is,” Gianna says. “‘In the event of a tie, the Committee’s faculty advisor will cast the deciding vote. She should be provided with all relevant information so she can make an informed decision.’”
She's the Liar Page 12