Backlash (3 page)

“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 drinking 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.

No way I could let people believe that, because I want to have a girlfriend
someday
. I guess I could have lied and said I did kiss her, but that didn’t seem right, either.