“What are you doing?” Liam asks, grabbing my arm and staring at me, horrified. “That’s sick!”
“Shut up!”
He doesn’t. “Bree, what’s the matter with you? You better not post that!”
I shake him off and snap more pictures as they slide the stretcher into the ambulance and slam the doors shut. I have to send this to Marci right away, otherwise she’s not going to believe me when I tell her. This is just so … crazy.
Mrs. Kelley sobs her way over to her car and gets in, obviously planning to follow after the ambulance with Sydney.
Then the siren starts up with a near-deafening whoop. Liam puts his fingers in his ears, and I take some video of the ambulance driving away, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
“Bree, stop it!” Liam shouts over the siren noise. “What is your problem?”
“What’s your problem?” I shout back. “Just go inside and mind your own business.”
“You kids with your smartphones and your Facebooks and what’s it called … YouTubes,” Mrs. Gorski complains, shaking her head as she turns back to her house once the siren noise fades down the street. “No trees fall in your forest unless you’ve put it online. Everyone has to know everyone’s business.”
I think the woman is starting to lose it. What is she talking about? And seriously, Mrs. Gorski wouldn’t know minding her own business if it stood in front of her and did a kick line like the Rockettes at Radio City.
When I finish taking the video of the ambulance, I head back home. Everything is posted on Facebook before I even walk back in the front door of our house. Now everybody knows.
LARA’S STILL unconscious. What happens if she doesn’t wake up? What happens if she does and she’s, like, a vegetable or something? The doctors say they can’t give us a prognosis. They say we have to wait and see, something that none of us are that good at doing.
Dad ended up meeting us at the ER. They kept us out of the room while they intubated Lara, which means sticking a tube into her windpipe, and while they inserted a urinary catheter, which sounds totally gross. They took blood and some of her urine (out of that catheter thing) so they could do tests. The ER doctors gave her something called activated charcoal through another tube they’d stuck down her throat into her stomach. It’s supposed to help eliminate the drugs she took from her system.
Since they allowed us back into the room, we’ve been doing what they told us to: talking to her in case she hears us, watching the machines that are tracking her vitals, listening to the slowed beeps of her heart, and most of all, sitting here waiting, hoping and praying that she’ll pull through. But the one question we keep asking one another and ourselves in between prayers and hopes is why? Why now?
Mom sits on one side of Lara, Dad on the other, each of them holding one of her limp hands. Mom alternates between crying, praying, and begging Lara to wake up and come back to us. Dad is a silent, angry rock. He doesn’t understand.
“Why would she do this when things were going so much better for her?” he asked Mom right after he got there.
Mom just shook her head and cried harder. Dad comforted her, but he’s been asking the doctors and the nurses and the janitor and anyone who walks by the same hurt, angry question.
I can’t blame him, because I don’t get it, either. Back when she was in middle school and everyone was making fun of her for being fat, Mom arranged for Lara to see a nutritionist so she could lose weight. We all ended up having to change the way we ate — which meant no more cookies for me, even though I wasn’t overweight. How was that fair? Lara and Dad went to the gym together on the weekends, and then he’d take her for low-fat frozen yogurt at Yoglicious. It was their “special time.”
And now Lara had just made varsity cheerleading. All she could talk about was her new friend Ashley from cheerleading and how great it was to hang out with her and the rest of the girls from the team.
So why, Lara? I didn’t get frozen yogurt treats or “special time” with Dad. But am I the one lying unconscious in an ER bed, freaking out my entire family?
Our Lara vigil is interrupted when a policeman comes into the little room.
“Sorry to intrude, but we need to ask you some questions,” he says. “Maybe we should step outside?”
Mom glances at Dad. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave Lara’s side for a second, like her presence alone is what’s going to keep my sister alive, more than all the beeping machines. He nods toward the door, and reluctantly she lets go of Lara’s hand, kissing it before she lays it back on the bed.
There are two chairs outside the room. Mom sits in one but Dad wants to stand, so I take the other.
“I’m sorry to have to bother you at a time like this,” the police officer says. “I’m Officer Timm. This is Officer Hall,” he says, pointing to the policewoman, who I recognize from the house.
“Why are you here?” Dad asks. “Can’t you see our daughter is …”
Dad trails off, because he can’t say the words.
“Just the usual follow-up questions in this kind of situation,” Officer Hall says in a calm but firm voice.
Mom looks to where Lara is lying on the bed, pale and still.
“Had your daughter appeared depressed recently?” Officer Timm asks.
“No, she was doing really well,” Dad says. “That’s why I can’t understand … why she would …”
“She made the cheerleading squad,” Mom adds. “She was making new friends.”
“Did you notice any changes recently in her behavior, or her grades?” Officer Timm asks.
“No,” Mom says. “If anything, she seemed happier than usual. Not depressed.”
“Has Lara had any history of mental illness?” the policeman asks.
There’s that slight hesitation. My parents don’t look at each other. They don’t need to. They’ve already got this.
“She got a little down in middle school. Some of the other girls were teasing her about her weight,” Dad says.
“But she’s fine now,” Mom assures them.
We’re in the emergency room and Lara is unconscious on a bed, attached to beeping machines while the police are interviewing us. Mom might not be aware of the irony, but Officer Timm exchanges a sideways look with Officer Hall.
They’re doing it again. My parents are pretending that we’re this perfect family with two perfect parents and two perfect daughters. Problems? Not us Kelleys! We’re totally electable.
I can’t help the loud, exasperated sigh that escapes my lips.
“Sydney, why don’t you and I take a walk to stretch our legs while Officer Timm speaks with your parents?” Officer Hall says. “I bet it’s tough for you to sit for so long.”
“Okay. Sure.”
I’m grateful for the chance to get away from the constant beeping of the monitors, from Lara’s still, pale face, from my parents, who keep pretending everything is just awesome, despite all the evidence that it isn’t. Do they really think they’re fooling anyone beside themselves?
As we walk down the hallway, Officer Hall’s thick rubber-soled shoes make annoying squeaky noises on the vinyl floor tiles with every step she takes.
“Guess I wouldn’t be able to sneak up on a suspect in this place, would I?” she says, giving me a rueful smile.
I wonder if she could read the annoyance on my face or if the sound bugs her, too.
“No. You’d squeak up on a suspect.”
She laughs. “Can I treat you to a bottle of something?” she says, gesturing to the vending machine a little ways down the hall.
“Sure.”
I can’t decide between vitaminwater (Mom would approve) or Gatorade (might keep me going for what is obviously going to be a long night). Since I’m mad at Mom, I pick the Gatorade. Officer Hall gets herself a Diet Coke, and we find a couple of chairs in one of the small family waiting rooms located off this hallway in strategic locations.
The Gatorade is cold, sweet, and refreshing. After taking
a long swig, I already feel a little better. Or maybe it’s just the relief of having a few minutes away from my parents and the desperate, beeping Lara Watch.
“So I’m getting the impression things weren’t as rosy with your sister as your parents were making them out to be,” Officer Hall says, putting her soda can down on the table between out-of-date copies of People magazine and Car and Driver. “Am I right?”
“Yeah. My parents are pretending that everything was fine, because that’s what they always do, but she was a total mess.”
“Do you mind if I take some notes?” Officer Hall asks.
“No. I mean, I guess it’s fine.”
“When you say ‘a total mess,’ in what way?”
I pick at the label of the Gatorade.
“Well … Lara used to be kind of … She wasn’t always as … thin … as she is now. And in middle school, the other girls gave her a really hard time. Like, instead of Lara, they called her Lardo and Lardosaurus. You know, stuff like that.”
Officer Hall frowns, her lips a thin, grim line.
“Yes, I do know, unfortunately. And how did Lara take that?”
“Badly. She was crying in her room a lot. And then Mom would nag her about stuff she was eating, because she thought if Lara lost weight, kids wouldn’t tease her, but then Lara would sneak food into her room, and then Mom would scream at her when she found the food. It was pretty … ugly.”
“I can imagine,” Officer Hall says, scribbling in her little notebook.
I wonder if she really can imagine what it’s like to be in your room, curled up on the bed, clutching the teddy bear you tell your friends you don’t sleep with anymore for comfort because the sound of your mom screaming and your sister sobbing scares you. Wishing that they would all just be okay, that Lara would be happy and Mom would be calm and things would be normal like they were in other people’s houses.
“Why did you become a cop?” I ask her, curious suddenly.
She puts the notebook down in her lap and fidgets with the pen. “Runs in the family,” she says. “My dad’s a cop. His dad was a cop. My older brother, too.”
“My dad’s an engineer,” I tell her. “But I don’t want to be one. No way.”
“What do you want to do?” she asks me.
“How am I supposed to know? I’m in eighth grade.”
She laughs. “Good point. Just because my future was mapped out, it doesn’t mean that everyone else’s is.” Picking up the notebook, she gets back to Lara — because it’s always really about Lara, never about me. “Tell me about the depression … When did that start?”
“I can’t remember exactly. I think it was when she was in seventh grade? She got mad at me because I asked in front of Mom and Dad why she was crying every night in her room. That’s what made my parents send her to a shrink, finally.”
“What about friends? Does Lara have many friends?”
“Some. There’s Julisa and Luis Cotto — they’re twins. And she just made the cheerleading team, and she’s been hanging out with this girl Ashley a lot.”
“Do you know Ashley’s last name?”
“Something beginning with T … Tra-something.”
“Anyone else?”
“Not that I can think of. I mean, she used to be best friends with Bree Connors, who lives next door, but they don’t hang out so much anymore.”
“Your parents said Lara was doing better. Has she ever shown any suicidal tendencies?”
Immediately, I think of all those nights listening through the wall to Lara sobbing. Hearing her long, tearful video chats with Bree, where she’d say how she couldn’t stand another day at school, how she wished she were dead. I’d be lying in bed scared that it might happen, but sometimes wondering what it would be like to be an only child. Hoping God would forgive me, because I hated myself for wondering that.
“Yeah. When she was in middle school — when things were really bad — she used to talk about stuff like that. But not recently. She’s been in a good mood lately. That’s why this is all so messed up. It doesn’t make sense.”
“A young person trying to take her own life never makes sense to me.” Officer Hall sighs, closing her notebook.
“I guess I should get back,” I say, even though the thought of going back to Lara’s bedside with my parents’ desperation and the slow beeping of the machines makes my stomach clench.
“Sure. I’ll walk with you,” Officer Hall says.
She squeaks back down the hall next to me to where Officer Timm is waiting outside Lara’s room. My parents are back in position on either side of Lara, holding her hands. There’s no obvious place for me.
“Thanks for speaking with me, Sydney,” Officer Hall says.
“Thanks for the Gatorade.”
I have to force myself to go back into the room to join the vigil. I’m too amped from the Gatorade to sit down, so I slouch in the corner, moving my weight from one foot to the other, wishing I could go home and take that shower for my audition.
Mom is reciting the Lord’s Prayer. I don’t know what to do, so I just keep thinking, Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup.
And then, almost as if she’s heard me, Lara’s eyelids start to flutter.
“Pete! I think she’s coming to!” Mom half whispers, half sobs.
“Lara … Lara, sweetheart, can you hear me? It’s Dad,” my father says, squeezing my sister’s hand so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t wake up just to tell him to stop breaking her fingers.
She groans. The machines start beeping faster.
“Syd, go get the nurse!” Dad orders.
By the time I get to the door, the nurse in panda-print scrubs is already on her way in. She races to Lara’s side, eyeing the monitors.
“Lara, open your eyes for me,” the nurse says. “Your parents are here, and your sister. They want to see you.”
She tells Mom and Dad to keep talking to Lara.
“Wake up, darling,” Mom says. “We love you.”
“Come on, honey, you can do it,” Dad urges.
“Lara! Wake up!” I shout suddenly, fed up with the waiting, with Lara, with everything and everyone. Mad that it looks like I’m going to miss auditions tomorrow because of my sister and her never-ending drama.
She groans and tosses her head back and forth on the pillow. Dad turns to me angrily and is about to open his mouth to tell me to be quiet or something, but Mom gasps because Lara’s eyes have fluttered open.
“Welcome back,” the nurse says.
“Thank goodness!” Dad says, grabbing Lara’s hand and kissing it.
Mom sobs with relief.
Lara is trying to pull at the tube in her throat.
“Leave that, honey,” the nurse says. “We have to wait for the doctor to come to make sure it’s okay to take it out.”
Lara looks scared and confused, her eyes blinking from the brightness of the lights.
“You’re at Central Hospital,” the nurse says. “You overdosed on medication.”
The nurse shines a penlight in Lara’s pupils to see if they contract. As she checks Lara’s reflexes, a doctor comes in wearing a white lab coat over his scrubs.
He talks with the nurse, looks at Lara’s chart, and then moves to near Lara’s head.
“Lara, I’m Dr. Delman. We’re going to remove the breathing tube now. I want you to exhale on the count of three. Nod if you understand what I’m saying.”
My sister’s head moves up and down slowly, her eyes blinking as if she is in pain.
“Okay, here we go, Lara. One … two … three …”
I have to turn the other way and close my eyes, because the thought of it makes me squeamish. But I can’t close my ears, and I hear Lara groan and gag, followed by Mom’s sharp intake of breath. I guess that means the tube is out, so it’s safe to look again.
“Your throat might feel a little sore for a while,” the doctor tells her. “You can try gargling with salt water or dr
inking some warm water with honey and lemon.”
Lara looks at him, her eyes wide and shadowed. I get the impression warm water with honey and lemon is the last thing on her mind. I wish I knew what was on her mind. I wish I knew what made her do this when everything seemed to be going so well for her.
Why did she have to mess up things for me when I’d been working so hard for auditions? I deserve an explanation.
But I know better than to ask. I’ll just get a lecture about how self-centered I am and how can I be thinking of myself at a time like this. Because it’s all about Lara. Just like it always is.
Turns out I don’t have to ask. My father is the one who can’t hold back from uttering the question we’re all wondering.
“Why did you do it, Lara? Why?”
The heart-rate monitor starts beeping faster. Lara closes her eyes.
My mother hisses, “Pete!” and gives Dad an angry look. Better him than me.
A tear trickles slowly from the corner of Lara’s eye, down her skim-milk-colored cheek.
When she says the word, it’s so faint we barely hear it.
“Christian.”
I CAN’T believe Bree took pictures.
Even worse, I can’t believe she posted them.
Why does she think that’s okay?
I check Sydney’s Facebook to see if she’s posted an update about Lara, but there’s nothing. Her last update is from earlier today — a selfie with her friends Cara and Maddie with the caption Break a Leg! Ready for BEAUTY AND THE BEAST auditions tomorrow!
Her bright smile is in total contrast to how pale and totally freaked out she looked as she followed her mom to the car after Lara was put in the ambulance.
I wanted to call out to her. I wanted to say … I don’t know, that I’m here. That even if we haven’t hung out for a while, even if Bree and Lara aren’t friends anymore, that I’m still here.
But my friend Spencer was standing next to me, and he’s one of the major reasons I stopped hanging out with Syd so much in the first place. He started with the “Syd and Liam sitting in a tree” stuff in fifth grade, hassling me nonstop about whether she was my girlfriend or not. By the time we got to middle school, he’d started telling the other guys I was probably gay because I spent all this time with Syd and hadn’t even tried to kiss her.
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