Until Lara started having problems in middle school, and eventually they started hating on each other instead.
Even after Lara and Bree stopped being friends, Liam and I still hung out. But then once we got to middle school, he started acting all weird, like I’d suddenly developed a highly contagious disease. It’s only recently we’ve started talking again. Still, it’s kind of out of the blue for him to text me.
It’s only because he asks about me, not just about Lara, that I decide to text him back. Because he cares about how I’m doing, too.
At least someone does.
Lara awake. Mom’s talking to the police. Me = wanna go home.
Wow. Glad she’s okay. Hope u can go home soon. Do you know what made her do it?
Did u see her FB page? What that guy Christian wrote?
No. Hold on.
I flip through the pages of a two-month-old People magazine while waiting for him to look up Lara’s page. I skip anything that has to do with real-life stories. The Kelley family has its own People drama going on, thanks. I’ll stick to deciding who wears it better in the Fashion Faceoff.
My phone buzzes.
I can’t BELIEVE it … Man, people are sick. I’m so sorry.
It’s not your fault.
Well … I’m REALLY sorry for that pic Bree posted on her FB page. I swear. I’m embarrassed we’re related right now.
Picture Bree posted? What picture?
I go to Facebook on my phone and look up Bree’s page. When I do, I want to throw up. Or throw the phone away, or, better yet, at someone, namely Bree Connors.
Bree posted a picture of my unconscious sister being wheeled toward the ambulance. As if that weren’t bad enough, it has seventy-seven likes and, although there are some expressions of concern and sympathy, some of the comments underneath are so awful, so cruel, that they make me hate Bree, hate Liam, hate everyone in the entire world.
Syd?
I switch off my phone. I don’t care if he’s sorry. I can’t text with him right now. I want to shut off the entire disgusting, mean, insane world.
And as I think that, I suddenly understand what might have made Lara do it.
It’s not easy being Lara’s sister. If she weren’t my sister, I probably wouldn’t be her friend. But she is my sister. And nobody, nobody, sister or no sister, deserves what I just saw on that page.
MY PICTURE of Lara has 104 likes and 15 shares by the time Mom gets home. That’s the most I’ve ever gotten on any picture or status update, ever. Wonder if I should Instagram it? #Call911
“Tell me everything,” Mom says, putting a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter.
“How could you stop and wheel a cart around the supermarket like nothing happened?” I ask her. “Aren’t you at all … you know, freaked out by this?”
Mom has her hand in the bag, starting to unload it, and she stops and gives me an exasperated look.
“I assume you want dinner, Breanna. And if that’s the case, then someone, namely me, had to get food to make it with.” She takes out a package of chicken. “Unless you have a better idea.”
Which of course, I don’t, and Mom knows that when I blush and say nothing.
“Just tell me what happened,” she says.
“We heard sirens. Like, when I called you. The police car came first. Then the ambulance. All the neighbors were outside the Kelleys’ house watching. Then the medics wheeled Lara out on a stretcher, put her in the ambulance, and drove away with lights and sirens. She tried to … kill herself.”
“Yeah, and Bree took a picture of her and posted it on Facebook.”
My brother is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, narrow-eyed, cell phone in hand.
“You what?”
When I see my mom’s expression it’s like when you’re at the beach and you see that really huge wave coming toward you, and you don’t know if you should try to ride it or dive under, and if you hesitate too long, you get nailed by it. I wait a second too long to answer and Mom goes nuclear.
“Breanna Marie Connors, what part of ‘hang tight and stay inside’ didn’t you understand? I told you to stay in the house and make sure Liam did, too. Simple instructions. Not rocket science.”
It’s so unfair. Liam was the one who disobeyed Mom first, but I get the grief. And she makes out like I’m stupid, as usual.
“Liam wouldn’t listen! I told him you said to stay in, and he completely ignored me and walked straight out the door! He’s the one who went out first.”
“Is that true?” Mom turns to Liam, who’s still leaning against the doorjamb.
He glares back at her defiantly. “Yeah. They’re our friends, right? I thought they might need help. Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do?”
Mom’s lips purse, and I know he’s got her there. Sure, Lara and I have drifted apart, but at least on the surface my parents and the Kelleys are still friendly.
“Helping doesn’t mean taking pictures and posting them on Facebook,” Mom snaps.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Liam says, not hiding his disgust with me. He nods in my direction. “That’s Miss ‘I’ll Do Anything No Matter How Sick to Get Likes on Facebook.’ ”
Mom takes off her suit jacket, slowly and deliberately, and I feel acid in the back of my throat, because I know I’m about to be hit by another wave of her anger any moment.
“Liam, I need to speak to your sister privately,” she says.
Here it comes.
“Wait … before I go, I wanted to tell you … I texted Syd, and Lara’s awake,” Liam says.
I feel tears well up, but this time they’re ones of relief. “That’s … so great to hear,” I say. “Thanks for letting me know, Li.”
“Yes, it is,” Mom agrees, looking at me from the corner of her eye.
“Mrs. Kelley is talking to the police,” Liam adds, like it’s just some random factoid that’s he’s just happening to mention.
That is so NOT great news.
“What do you mean, the police?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Liam looks at me like I’m some kind of an idiot.
“The police always ask questions in the event of a suicide attempt, Bree,” Mom says, giving me a hush-up look.
“Syd says it’s because of some guy named Christian. Did you see what he wrote on her wall?”
The sound that comes from the back of my throat escapes despite my attempt to stifle it.
“Don’t tell me you’re friends with that guy, Bree,” Liam says. “What a jerk!”
“Christian who?” Mom asks. Her voice is calm, almost nonchalant. Like she’s never heard of anyone named Christian, ever.
“Christian DeWitt. He wrote all this sick stuff on Lara’s page, Mom,” Liam replies.
My eyes are trained on the point where the wooden table leg meets the floor. It’s where food and dust bunnies collect if you don’t clean the floor enough, which sometimes Mom doesn’t because she’s too busy at work, so she makes me do it. Once, I did a halfhearted job of sweeping and mopping the kitchen floor, and that’s the first place she checked because she knew I’d do a lousy job because “that’s the kind of kid you are.” As in I’m not a “go-getter who makes her own luck” like she is, so I’m “never going to get anywhere in this world.” She knew all that because of two missed Cheerios and a small dust bunny.