She's the Liar

by Alison Cherry

  I wrap my arms tight around myself; it’s not cold in the library, but I feel weirdly shivery. “The board could remove me,” I say. “Or the administration could. They probably will. I bet Vice Principal Rosenberg knows everything by now. About the, um … the way I manipulated people.”

  “It doesn’t seem like she’d remove you without letting the students vote on it, though. Maybe all you have to do is apologize and say you’ll run things more fairly, and people will forgive you.”

  I shake my head. “Nobody’s going to forgive me.”

  “You’re a good leader,” Abby insists. “I’ve seen you at Petition Day. And people obviously like you or they wouldn’t have elected you.”

  “They didn’t elect me because they like me,” I say. “I gamed the system.” I’ve always been proud of how I pulled it off, but now my voice comes out sounding bitter.

  “Oh.” Abby blinks at me for a second, but then she rallies. “Well, I bet your friends would help you run a campaign, like Grace did for me. You know, help people see that you’re truly sorry for what you did?”

  I snort. “What friends?”

  “You have tons of friends. Every time I see you in the dining hall, you’re sitting at tables full of people who are laughing at your jokes.”

  “People only laugh at my jokes because they’re afraid of me. Everyone’s afraid of me. Or they were before today, anyway.”

  Abby looks confused. “Why? You’re not that scary.”

  “Because I wanted them to be. Because I’m in charge of whether they get the things they want. If you want money for your club or an off-campus pass, are you seriously going to tell the president of the Committee that she can’t sit with you? But if I don’t have the Committee, then I don’t have … Well. Anything.”

  My sister blinks at me. “Oh,” she says.

  “Or, um. Anyone.” I swallow hard. “I know you can’t understand this because everyone loves you, but I don’t have friends. Not any.”

  “I do understand,” Abby says quietly. “I haven’t either the last couple of years.”

  We’re both quiet for a minute. It’s starting to rain, and we look out the window at the bright umbrellas bobbing across the hazy gray-green of the quad. Finally I say, “That’s why I canceled the play, you know.”

  Abby turns to look at me again, and there’s a little crease between her eyebrows that makes her look exactly like our mom. “Because … people were afraid of you?”

  “Because I wanted you to have friends.”

  “What does that have to do with the play?”

  “I was trying to protect you,” I say. “You were doing so well here, and you were hanging out with all these new people, and … I didn’t want you in another situation where everything could fall apart. I didn’t want you to get teased again.”

  “You canceled the play because you wanted to protect me?”

  It sounds ridiculous when she puts it that way, but I nod. “I tried to stop you from auditioning, but you wouldn’t listen. So … I don’t know. I wanted Brookside to be different for you. I wanted you to have lots of opportunities to make up for all the ones you’ve missed.”

  Understanding dawns on my sister’s face. “That’s why you helped me with the debate even though you didn’t want me to win.” I nod. “Syd, that’s …” She swallows hard. “I thought you just didn’t want me to be happy. Because you were jealous or something.”

  “No, I … No. I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to protect you. I had to do something before you failed again.”

  “But that’s what I still don’t get,” Abby says. “The audition went well, and then the debate was good too—you saw. I didn’t need protecting. And even after that, you still tried to keep the play from happening.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I really am. I wanted to give it back. But it would’ve made me look weak if I’d backed down.” I pick at my nail. “Plus, it was really expensive.”

  “But you still gave seven thousand dollars to Astronomy Club. I had to fight to get you to give three hundred dollars to Art Club. Are you even in Astronomy Club?”

  I shake my head, and horrifyingly another tear sneaks out from under my glasses.

  Abby’s face softens. “Why not? You love astronomy. Remember how obsessed you were with the Mars rover? And how excited you were when Dad took you to see that meteor shower?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “They wouldn’t want me. Especially now that I have to cancel their trip. They’re going to hate me.”

  “I’m sure they’ll understand,” Abby says. “If you’re really worried, tell them it’s Vice Principal Rosenberg’s fault. Is the girl who runs it really mean or something?”

  “No,” I say. “Jenna’s so nice. She’s the first person who ever talked to me at Brookside.”

  Abby smiles. “See? You do have a friend!”

  “She’s not my friend. We’ve never even hung out.”

  “Okay, but you could, right? If you like her?”

  “I don’t know.” I sniffle hard and dig through my bag until I find a balled-up dining hall napkin to wipe my nose. “What if she’s only nice to me because I run Petition Day? And she knows I can get stuff for her club? That’s why everyone else is nice to me.”

  “But you said she talked to you on your first day. And you didn’t have any power then.”

  “Yeah, but I was so awkward with her. And it’s not like she ever tried very hard to be my friend.”

  “I mean, if you were trying to scare everyone all the time, maybe you weren’t super friendly either?”

  I want to argue with Abby, but she’s actually not wrong.

  The five-minute bell rings, and my sister stands up. “Anyway, I bet she’d let you join her club. You should talk to her. Do you want me to go with you? After class this afternoon?”

  I can’t remember the last time someone offered to help me. I can’t remember the last time I asked.

  I nod. And then I burst into tears again.

  “Oh no, it’s okay,” Abby says, and then she launches herself forward and hugs me. She’s standing and I’m sitting, so it’s mostly just an awkward tangle of limbs, and the buttons on the sleeve of her blazer catch on my hair, but it’s kind of nice anyway. I don’t think we’ve hugged since I left for Brookside at the beginning of last year.

  “Why are you crying now?” she says. “It’s going to work out. I promise.”

  “I don’t even …” I bury my face in the shoulder of her blazer. “I’m just so hungry.”

  She laughs and lets go of me. “Well, that’s easy to fix. Come on, I bet Ms. Stamos will write us a pass, and we’ll go get you a bagel. Sesame, toasted, not too much cream cheese. Okay?”

  I nod. A bagel sounds like the most glorious thing in the world right now.

  The second-best thing is that my sister remembers exactly what kind of bagels I like. I’ve kept her at a distance for so long, but she never stopped paying attention.

  Abby picks up her bag and heads toward the door, assuming I’ll follow, but I just sit there staring at her. It’s so hard to believe how different she is now than she was on the drive up to Brookside a month ago. It seems impossible that this strong, confident version of my sister has been hiding inside her all this time.

  Abby looks back over her shoulder and sees me staring. “Are you coming? Why are you looking at me weird?”

  I wish I could tell her how proud of her I am, how much I appreciate what she’s doing for me. But I’ve never been great at that kind of thing, so I just say, “I really like your hair like that.”

  She smiles with all her teeth. “Thank you,” she says.

  I think maybe she knows what I mean.

  Vice Principal Rosenberg calls me into her office at lunch. I perch on the very edge of the hard wooden chair across from her desk, heart pounding in my ears, as she breaks the news that because I irresponsibly allocated funds, canceled student activities without permission, and bullied my fellow Committee
members, I am no longer allowed to serve as eighth-grade representative. Once the school board decides on the best way for the Committee to function in the future, Lily will take over as president, and a special election will be held for a new eighth grader to replace me. After just six short weeks, every ounce of power I’ve earned is slipping right through my fingers.

  “I met with the remaining Committee members this morning,” Vice Principal Rosenberg continues. “I asked for their help working out an appropriate punishment for you. Ordinarily you’d be suspended for mishandling school funds and manipulating students, but the other girls said they’re willing to let you off without suspension if you spend the rest of this year doing community service for the clubs whose budgets you tried to cut. You’d be painting flats for the fall and spring plays, washing uniforms for our athletes after their meets and practices, and doing whatever other grunt work they decide to give you. Does that sound fair?”

  Letting Grace and Charlotte and Macy boss me around for the rest of eighth grade sounds pretty awful, especially when I’m used to being the one in control. Things won’t even get better once the school year is over; when Mom and Dad find out about what’s been going on, they’ll ground me for the entire summer. But if I’m honest with myself, I’m probably getting off easy. At least when I apply to high schools, my record will be clean.

  “Yeah, that’s probably fair,” I say. My left eye is so dry it’s stinging, and I rub it under my glasses. “Um, I know it’s probably too late for this, but … I wanted to say I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone. Things just got a little out of control.”

  Vice Principal Rosenberg looks at me over her glasses, one eyebrow raised. “‘A little out of control’ seems like a bit of an understatement, but I’m glad to hear you say that. I think it would hold more weight if you apologized to the rest of the Committee, though.”

  I nod. “I’ll tell them.” That’ll be hard, but it’s the right thing to do, especially when they’ve been lenient with me.

  Vice Principal Rosenberg and I sit in silence for a minute, and I know I should feel devastated. I’ve lost absolutely everything I’ve been working for. But weirdly enough, the feeling that settles over me is mostly one of calm. For the first time since I got to Brookside, I have nothing to hide. For the last year, I’ve constantly felt as if I were juggling twenty plates. Part of me wishes I hadn’t dropped them all, of course. But now that they’re in shards at my feet, another part of me is relieved that they’re gone. I’m being offered an unexpected opportunity to start over.

  “Do you have any questions?” Vice Principal Rosenberg asks.

  I shake my head. Everything seems pretty clear right now.

  “Then I think that’s all for the moment,” she says. “I’ll talk to the heads of the clubs you’ll be serving, and we’ll work out a schedule for you. Until then, you’re free to go.”

  And when I stand up to leave, I actually do feel free.

  When I arrive to meet Abby after her last class, she’s sitting on the steps outside and talking to a girl with a heart-shaped face and curly hair. As I approach, she says something that makes the other girl laugh, and they lean together like they’ve known each other for years and not just a few weeks. “Hey!” she calls when she spots me. “Syd, come meet my roommate. This is Christina. And this is my big sister.”

  “Hi,” I say. When Abby stares at me like I’m supposed to do something else, I add, “Nice to meet you. I’m Sydney.”

  “I, um … I know who you are,” Christina says. Her voice is breathy, and her cheeks flush the second the words are out of her mouth. “I mean … Nice to meet you too?” Her eyes dart back to Abby. “I, um, I have tennis. I gotta go. See you at dinner?”

  “See you,” Abby says, and Christina bolts. Abby doesn’t seem to think it’s weird, though, so maybe it’s not because of me. “Ready for our secret mission?”

  I’m not ready at all. Since this morning, every time I’ve thought about talking to Jenna, my heart has done this weird spinning-leaping thing, like it’s trying to twist free and escape. And since I’ve been thinking about it approximately every six seconds, I’m exhausted with the effort of holding myself together. What if she’s furious that we have to cancel the trip and throws me out of her room? What if she just doesn’t want me in her club? What if she slams the door in my face before I can say anything at all? What if she’s perfectly nice about the whole thing but I act so awkward or standoffish or overeager that I still manage to ruin everything anyway?

  I tell myself I have nothing else to lose. The worst thing that can possibly happen is that I’m not friends with Jenna when the conversation ends, and since I’m not friends with her now, I won’t be any worse off. But right now I can cling to a shred of possibility that if I get my act together, she might really like me. Once I confront the problem head-on and know the outcome, that fragile slip of hope will disappear.

  “Sydney?” Abby says.

  My sister will be with me the whole time. She’s great at making friends. Even if I’m a disaster, maybe Abby will say the right thing and save me. It’s weird to be able to count on her for something like this.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m ready.”

  We walk across campus toward Jenna’s dorm. Abby doesn’t speak; it’s almost like she can tell I’m practicing what to say in my head and doesn’t want to interrupt. We unconsciously time our steps to each other’s, and it reminds me of the way we used to link arms and try to skip when we were little kids. We could never get the rhythm right; Abby was always headed up to the top of her bounce as I was coming down, and it meant neither of us got to go as high. It’s not like I’d ever skip in public, but I bet we could do it correctly now if we tried, each of us pulling the other one higher.

  Too soon, Abby’s swiping her ID and holding the door of Jenna’s dorm for me. “Do you know which room she’s in?” she asks.

  I do know—I looked it up in the student directory once—but it seems creepy to say that, so I shake my head. “That’s okay,” Abby says, and she marches right up to a group of girls in the lobby. “Excuse me, do you know which room Jenna— What’s her last name, Syd?”

  “Jenna Aristide,” I say, and for some reason I blush.

  “Right. Do you know where she lives?”

  “I think she’s in 221,” says one of the girls.

  “Thanks,” says Abby, and when I don’t move, she tugs on my arm. “Come on!”

  I snatch my arm away. “Okay, god, I’m coming.” Then I realize I’ve used my Mean Sydney voice, the one that has always been my armor. Abby doesn’t even look surprised, which means I’ve probably used it on her a lot, and that makes me feel even worse. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m just—”

  My sister catches my left hand and gently pushes it down, and it’s only then that I realize I was rubbing my eye again. “I know you’re nervous,” she says. “But it’s okay. It’s going to go great. I’ll help you.”

  “I can do it myself,” I say.

  “I know you can. But I’m here, just in case.”

  When she heads for the stairwell, I follow.

  Part of me hopes Jenna won’t be home; maybe I won’t have to deal with this conversation yet. But when Abby raps on the door, it opens right away, and there’s Jenna with her warm, expectant smile. For a second I wonder if maybe she won’t recognize me, if I’ll have to introduce myself, but she says, “Hey, Sydney! What’s up?”

  “Hi,” I say. “Is it okay if, um … Can we talk to you about something for a second?”

  She swings the door wide. “Of course! Come on in.” Then she turns to Abby. “Hi, you’re Abbi, right? You did great at the debate.”

  “Oh my god, thanks!” My sister beams, glowing from the praise … and probably from being in Jenna’s presence. It’s impossible not to like Jenna instantly.

  Abby steps into the room, then looks up and goes, “Whoa,” so I stop lurking in the doorway and follow. There are shiny silver stars and planets and comets
hanging from fishing line all over the ceiling, some close to the plaster and others low enough to touch. They spin gently in the air from the vent and flash in the sun, sending sparks of light and arcs of shadow dancing all over the walls. They’re so cool that my mouth drops open and I stand there gaping.

  Jenna laughs. “Are they too much?” she asks. “Stella said it was okay to put them up—that’s my roommate—but I’m not sure she actually likes them.”

  “No, they’re … they’re great. I love them,” I say.

  “They’re amazing,” Abby says. “I wish I had some in my room.”

  A cluster of stars catch the light all at the same time, and a flash of recognition shoots through me. Before I can stop myself, I’m saying, “Wait. Is that Cassiopeia?”

  “Yes!” Jenna beams. “God, it took so much work to put them up in actual constellations, and you’re the first one who’s noticed.”

  “I’m not surprised she figured it out,” Abby chimes in. “Syd loves astronomy. She’s always reading books and watching videos about it.”

  I know she’s trying to help me transition into the topic at hand; she probably thinks I’ll feel better if I get it over with. But my heart was already going painfully fast, and her segue kicks it up another notch. I just need to stand here for another minute, breathing and taking stock of my surroundings and watching the reflected light of the stars move across Jenna’s face.

  But Jenna doesn’t sense my need for silence. “Oh yeah? That’s awesome. I had no idea you were into space stuff. You should come to one of our meetings sometime and look through our new telescope. It’s so amazing. I mean, I know you’re really busy with Committee stuff, but—”

  She breaks off, a horrified expression on her face. She obviously knows what happened, and I hate that she knows. It doesn’t seem like she thinks less of me, but she probably does. I don’t see how she could not. I need to say what I came to say and get out of here before I humiliate myself.

  I don’t allow myself to think about the invitation to look through the telescope. I know she’ll probably take it back in a minute.