The Best Friend

by Melody Carlson

  Lishia felt bad now. “That was an act . . . one that I’m sorry about.”

  “Well, maybe you can pull it off again.”

  They talked for about an hour, putting together a plan for confronting Brandon, and by the time Gillian took Lishia home, Lishia felt like they were almost friends. Almost. But once Gillian found out how much deeper Lishia was into this thing, any hopes of friendship would evaporate.

  Lishia tossed and turned all night long, and even when she did manage to fall asleep, she was awakened by a nightmare—a nightmare where she’d been naked and cold and running for her life with bleeding feet. Finally, at around seven in the morning, she gave up on the possibility of sleeping. Maybe this was part of the price one paid for living a big fat lie.

  Pacing back and forth in her room, she wondered about her fate. She knew that her life was about to start unraveling. Maybe it had already begun when she’d made her partial confession to Gillian last night. Lishia knew she needed help—serious help. She went over to the Bible on her nightstand, where it had sat untouched for weeks. She traced the lines of a cross through the film of dust on the cover, then decided to open it. The Bible opened to the Gospel of Matthew, and her eyes fell to a verse she had highlighted in pink—probably last summer.

  Don’t store up treasures on earth! Moths and rust can destroy them, and thieves can break in and steal them. Instead, store up your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy them, and thieves cannot break in and steal them. Your heart will always be where your treasure is. (Matt. 6:19–21)

  She read the words several times, trying to let them sink in. She had previously thought these verses were about money and how she shouldn’t put her trust in material things. But suddenly she understood the words differently. As if a lightbulb had gone on inside her head, she knew that Jesus was talking about how she needed to treasure the things of God—to place them over everything else. And she knew she had stopped doing that. Feeling hungry for more, she read on through the next several verses.

  Your eyes are like a window for your body. When they are good, you have all the light you need. But when your eyes are bad, everything is dark. If the light inside you is dark, you surely are in the dark. You cannot be the slave of two masters! You will like one more than the other or be more loyal to one than the other. (Matt. 6:22–24)

  That was exactly how she felt! Like her eyes had been full of darkness and everything inside of her was black and moldy and sick and nasty. She set her Bible on her bed and actually got down on her knees, like she used to do as a little girl. Then she bowed her head and confessed what she’d been doing. “I am truly, truly sorry,” she said with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please forgive me. I don’t want to serve two masters anymore. I know I was serving Riley, trying to make her happy, but all it brought me was trouble—and heartache and messes. From now on, I only want to serve you, God.”

  She prayed for a while, pouring out all the sadness and frustrations and fears that had been eating at her the past few weeks. Finally she had no more words, so she said amen and stood, and although her knees felt sore, her spirit felt lighter than ever. She knew that no matter what kind of fallout was coming her way, she could handle it. With God by her side, she would get through it. But the next thing she had to do—and it wouldn’t be easy—was to confess to her parents.

  She found them having coffee in the breakfast nook. Dad had the newspaper spread in front of him, and Mom was reading Christmas cards. “Do you guys have a minute?” she asked in a voice that sounded small and frightened—almost as if she were a six-year-old.

  They both looked up with curious expressions that quickly changed to concerned. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked gently.

  “I have something to tell you,” Lishia began, “and it’s not going to be easy.”

  Dad set the paper aside. “Go ahead.”

  She began to pour out the whole horrible story, confessing how Riley had connived to get Lishia onto the squad and how Lishia hadn’t realized it from the beginning, but when she did know, she still went along with it. She told about how most of the cheerleaders broke the conduct code and even about how she tried a drink last week and how badly it turned out. She knew her parents were shocked to hear all this, but she continued talking, pouring it all out until there was nothing left to say.

  “Wow . . .” Dad let out a long sigh.

  “Yeah . . .” Mom nodded. “Ditto.”

  “I know you’re both disappointed in me,” Lishia said.

  “I can’t believe you’d do something like that,” Mom said sadly. “It doesn’t seem like you.”

  Lishia shrugged. “I guess everyone has the potential to turn into a jerk.”

  “My question is . . . ” Dad removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What do you plan to do about this?”

  “I’ll tell Mrs. Glassman the truth . . . and take the consequences.”

  “When?” Mom asked.

  Lishia slumped down into a chair and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “School isn’t back in session until January,” Mom said.

  “I know.”

  “I have another question,” Dad said. “What about this boy, the one you think may have slipped a mickey into your drink? What about the consequences for him?”

  “Good question,” Mom said.

  Lishia explained about how she and Gillian would confront him together. “That is, if Gillian’s drug test shows that she was given something.”

  “I find it hard to believe Gillian is even speaking to you.” Mom looked doubtful. “Considering everything.”

  Lishia confessed that Gillian didn’t know the whole story yet.

  “Yet?” Dad frowned.

  “I’ll tell her . . . eventually.” Lishia closed her eyes and groaned. “I don’t have it all figured out yet.” A lump was growing in her throat as she felt Mom’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Well, it’s a lot to figure out,” Mom said in a choked voice.

  Lishia opened her eyes and looked at Mom. She couldn’t believe that Mom had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you like this. And I feel rotten that I dumped it all on you a few days before Christmas too. I’m so sorry.”

  Mom nodded. “It’s a lot to take in, Lish. And I have to admit I’m experiencing a lot of different emotions right now.”

  “Me too,” Dad added.

  “I feel angry and hurt,” Mom confessed. “And disappointed and embarrassed.” She shook her head. “And then there’s your grandmother and the family . . . and I sent out that Christmas letter, bragging to everyone about how you were a cheerleader now. Oh, Lishia, I can’t believe you did this to us.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Now Lishia was crying again.

  “Look,” Dad said firmly, “the important thing is that you’re telling the truth now, Lishia. Somehow we’ll all get through this.”

  They talked about it some more. Naturally, her parents had more questions, more concerns . . . and finally, after it seemed they were all equally frustrated, Dad suggested they pray about it together. Lishia felt relieved when they all bowed their heads and Dad said a brief but sincere prayer.

  “We’ll survive this, Lishia,” he assured her when they were done. “It’s not fun and it’s not pretty, but we will all learn and grow from it in the end.”

  Lishia thanked them. “I’m lucky to have such great parents,” she said.

  “Blessed,” Mom corrected. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

  She smiled at them both. “Okay, blessed then. I am blessed.”

  She knew that was true. And she knew she’d taken some good steps today. But she knew the hardest part was still ahead of her. The only thing that would get her through it would be to hold tightly to God’s hand. This time she was not going to let go!

  eighteen

  That night, Lishia went to youth group. It was the first time she’d been in weeks, and the reception she received was different, perhaps even a litt
le chilly in places. She sensed that some of her friends (like Janelle, Chelsea, and Megan) were questioning her presence there, maybe even judging her because they knew what she’d gotten herself into last weekend—and as far as they knew, she was still living a big fat lie. Other old friends were treating her as if she were really special, as if her new status as a cheerleader had elevated her in their eyes. In a way, that seemed even worse than the way Janelle, Chelsea, and Megan were acting. But she didn’t hold it against them. After all, not long ago, she’d been just as shallow.

  She waited nervously until the time for personal sharing came—then she took in a deep breath and raised her hand up high.

  “Hey, Lishia,” Raymond said in a warm tone. “Great to have you back again. And congrats on being a cheerleader now. I was at the game last night, and you looked great—too bad the basketball team’s not doing better. Anyway, we’re all proud of you. Now what did you want to say?”

  She cleared her throat and stood. “I just wanted to make a confession.” She could hear the nervous tremor in her voice. “Believe me, it’s not an easy one to make. But I know that since you are my brothers and sisters in Christ, you will understand . . . and you will forgive me. Anyway, I want to confess to everyone that I have been a great big fraud—a complete phony—and I haven’t liked myself at all.” The room got so silent she could hear the clock on the back wall ticking.

  “I want to admit that I got on the cheerleading squad through false means and say that I plan to confess this to everyone as soon as I can. I expect to be suspended from the squad and maybe even from school . . . and, well, it’s all going to be very humiliating.” She paused to steady herself, seeing the stunned expressions on the faces, some of which seemed truly empathetic.

  “But I don’t care that I’m going to look like a fool,” she continued, “because today I decided it was time to get honest with myself and with God. I’ve confessed my sins and repented. And now I want to be honest with everyone else as well—even though it’s not easy.” She sat down, and leaning forward with her eyes on her lap, she tried not to cry.

  “Well, that is very interesting,” Raymond said from up front, “because it just so happens to go right along with tonight’s message—which is about being transparent with God and your friends. So I really appreciate you sharing like you did just now, Lishia. And you can be sure that I—and hopefully everyone else—will really be praying for you in the coming week. Now is there anyone else who would like to share?”

  To Lishia’s surprise, one after another began to stand up and spill out some pretty hard stories. It was like she’d opened the door, and now everyone started to confess various parts of their lives where they felt like they’d been phonies and frauds and hypocrites. It was all rather eye-opening and amazing.

  “I hope everyone will respect and appreciate that there is an unspoken understanding that we are like a family and this is a place of trust. We’ve had plenty of talks about gossiping, and I sure don’t want to hear about anyone here violating that trust.” Heads nodded, and Raymond began his message, which he said he would keep short since he felt their personal testimonies were even more valuable than his sermon.

  “Now I want us to break up into small groups,” he told them after he finished, “and I want us to really pray for each other. I have a feeling this is God’s way of giving each and every one of us a special Christmas present this year. What could be better than a clean slate and a fresh spiritual beginning? I hope you’ll all participate and receive this gift!”

  Lishia ended up in a group with Megan and Chelsea and Grayson. They all shared a little more, and she was touched by their sincerity as they prayed for each other. It really seemed that they sincerely cared about each other. She was also relieved to remember that no one would be in school next week, so the chances of rumors spreading (like to Riley) before she could come clean with Mrs. Glassman and Gillian seemed fairly remote. Even so, she was prepared for the worst just in case that happened.

  On Monday morning, Lishia and Mom worked together to track down Mrs. Glassman’s home phone number, and Lishia called, asking for the chance to speak to her in person. “I’m sorry to disturb you during Christmas break,” she said, “but what I have to say is pretty urgent.” When Mrs. Glassman balked at Lishia’s invitation to meet for coffee, Mom stepped in.

  “I’m sorry too,” Mom told her. “I’m a teacher like you, and I wouldn’t enjoy hearing from one of my students, but Lishia is telling the truth when she says it’s rather urgent.”

  Fortunately, this seemed to carry some weight, and about an hour later the three of them met at Starbucks and Lishia unloaded the whole sordid tale—and Mrs. Glassman took furious notes. Lishia’s plan had been to tell her story without using specific names or implicating anyone else. It was her confession to make, and she didn’t want to come across as a tattletale.

  “I know this will mean I’m suspended,” she said finally. “And I understand that. Mostly I’m really, really sorry for the trouble this will cause you as well as the squad.”

  Mrs. Glassman looked partly stunned and partly irritated. “I’m sorry too, Lishia. But this opens up a whole new can of worms. Now, like it or not, you are going to have to tell me who else was involved in this scam. I need to know who tampered with the votes. Otherwise, I will be forced to take the whole thing to the administration for even further disciplinary actions—and eventually the name or names will come out. Do you understand me?”

  Lishia looked at Mom.

  “I think she’s right,” Mom told her. “You’ve put Mrs. Glassman in an awkward position. It seems like it’s your responsibility to be forthcoming with all the information.”

  “But I didn’t want to rat anyone out,” Lishia explained.

  “My husband is an attorney,” Mrs. Glassman told them. “If this were a legal matter, I think you would be considered an accomplice, at the very least, and if you were put on the witness stand, you would be required to tell the whole truth, Lishia. Or else face perjury charges.”

  “Just tell her,” Mom urged. “You might as well.”

  Lishia reluctantly told the complete story, including how Gillian’s drink, as well as her own, might have been spiked with an illegal drug.

  Mrs. Glassman groaned. “The plot thickens.”

  Lishia nodded.

  “So, tell me, were all the cheerleaders participating in these drinking parties?”

  “No,” Lishia said quickly. Then she listed the girls, including Amanda, who never went to those kinds of parties. “At least as far as I know. This is all pretty new to me.”

  Mrs. Glassman made note of this.

  “Riley doesn’t know that I’m confessing,” Lishia said quietly.

  Mrs. Glassman looked suspicious. “Yes, I thought you and Riley were pretty chummy.”

  “Riley was forcing Lishia to be her best friend with the threat of blackmail,” Mom said defensively.

  “Riley said she’d tell you I did the whole thing myself,” Lishia said, “when I threatened to go forward and tell you. She said she could make it look like I did it—and that it would seem I had more motive than she did.”

  “Did you?”

  Lishia shrugged. “It might seem that way, but the truth is I’ve felt trapped for weeks now. I’ve been miserable. I feel like I sold my soul to the devil.”

  “Why do you think Riley did this?” Mrs. Glassman peered intently at Lishia.

  “Because she can?” Lishia shook her head. “And because she thought she could buy my friendship, and she could control me, and she hated Gillian . . . but mostly I’m starting to think it really was because she could get away with it. Like she was on some kind of power trip. Gillian says she’s passive-aggressive, but I don’t actually know what that means.”

  Mrs. Glassman gave a half smile. “So you’re speaking to Gillian then?”

  Lishia told about their conversation on Friday. “But I didn’t tell Gillian everything then. I plan to tell her. And I�
�m pretty sure she won’t be speaking to me when she hears the whole truth.”

  “Oh, what tangled webs we weave.” Mrs. Glassman set down her pen and picked up her coffee. “Is that it, or is there something else I should know?”

  “I think that’s it.” Lishia bit her lip. “But I really am sorry.”

  “Yes . . .” Mrs. Glassman reached for her bag. “So am I.”

  On their way home from Starbucks, Lishia called Gillian’s number, trying to think of a way to begin what was going to be another tough conversation as she listened to the ringing tones.

  “Hey, Lishia,” Gillian said cheerfully. “I was just about to call you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I just spoke to my lawyer, and she got the results from the drug and alcohol tests back.”

  “And?”

  “I had high levels of GHB in my bloodstream.”

  “GHB?”

  “There’s a really long medical name for it—gamma-hydroxy-something-or-other—but its street name is Liquid Ecstasy, and it’s known as a date rape drug.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I told my lawyer that you and I planned to confront Brandon, and she would like to be there with us. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure, I guess so. But do you think Brandon will be willing to talk if she’s there?”

  “She said he might clam up but that she’ll give him some free legal advice—like how he may need to get himself a lawyer. Anyway, the upside is that this might help to clear my name. Especially if you confront him too. It would be easy to deny that he’d pulled this once, but twice . . . well, that carries some weight.”

  “Well, I’m happy to help.” Lishia knew that she would still have to come clean by confessing her own actions and that Gillian might want to sic her lawyer on her next. But at least she could help Gillian with Brandon first.

  “My lawyer can make time for us at four o’clock. Will that work for you?”

  “Sure. How do we get Brandon on board?”

  “I thought I’d leave that to you. Since you’re still a cheerleader and supposedly Riley’s best friend, you have the inside track. Maybe you could ask him to meet you or come to your house or something. Then my lawyer and I would pop in, and we’d all sit down and talk—nice and cozy.”