Backlash (13 page)

“Wow, thanks for the pep talk, Mom,” I say, feeling a lump rise in my throat. “You always know just what to say to make me feel better.”

And I hang up on her.

Picking up the nail polish and turning my music back up to loud, I finish painting my nails bright red and start adding glitter stripes.

“Hey, can you turn that down or use headphones?” Liam says, sticking his head into my room. “I’m trying to do homework.”

“Can you do it? I don’t want to ruin my nails.”

My brother rolls his eyes and grunts but stomps into my room to reduce the volume on my Jambox. And just before he does, I hear the chorus of the song that was playing:

You said you loved me, but it was all a liiiie.

Now I’m so lonely, all I do is crrrry.

That’s when I get the idea. The genius idea of how I’m going to get my revenge on Lara for laughing at me.

The first step is to set up a new Gmail account. That takes all of, like, two minutes. Then I use the new Gmail account to open a new Facebook account. I search Google images for a really hot guy, the kind of guy I know that Lara would think is gorgeous. The kind she’d totally flip out over if he showed the faintest bit of interest in her.

This is where I have an advantage from being her former best friend. I know her taste in guys. We used to sit in the food court at the mall, rating guys on a scale of one to ten. She’d sigh every time we went into Abercrombie, because the models were so hot. Not that it did her any good. The salespeople in that store looked down their noses at her because she was overweight. She usually ended up more depressed after we went in there, and then I’d have to hear about it. It got to the point that if I wanted anything from Abercrombie, I’d make sure to go there with ABL — Anyone But Lara.

I end up picking an Abercrombie model, but just his face, because he’s got to look like he’s still in high school and there aren’t that many guys at our high school who have washboard abs like this dude. His name’s Adam Bernard, but I create a new identity for him. I search for some other pictures of him and upload them so it looks like he has a reasonable profile. On his new fake Facebook profile, I call him Christian. Christian DeWitt. He goes to East River High, which is about an hour away from here — far enough that Lara wouldn’t know him and close enough that she’d think they might have a chance of meeting someday. I give him some of the same musical and TV likes as she has and then have him friend me. I send a bunch of friend requests from him to other kids I know at our school, and then a whole bunch to freshmen and sophomores at East River High. East River is a big school and he’s supposed to be a senior there, so they might not know him, and since he’s good-looking I figure they’ll probably just friend him.

Sure enough, by the time I finish my homework, Christian already has 150 friends. That’s when I figure it’s safe for him to send the friend request to Lara.

K
ELLEY,
L
ARA.

It’s there. My name. On the list of girls who’ve made the cheerleading squad.

I’m on the team. I’m part of the group. It’s official. I’m not Lardo anymore.

I read it again to make sure I’m not seeing things and then let out a shriek of excitement.

“I can’t believe it! I made it!”

“Awesome! I had a feeling you would,” says Ashley.

I can’t believe she’s talking to me. Smiling at me.

“Welcome to the team,” she says.

Being friendly to me. This wouldn’t have happened two years ago. Maybe not even one year ago. But it’s happening now, and I almost have to pinch myself to believe it’s real. That it’s happening to me, Lara Kelley.

“I’m
so excited
,” I tell her. “But also kind of nervous, to tell you the truth,” I confess.

“Don’t worry,” Ashley says. “Everyone’s nervous at first. You’ll do great.”

She gives me a hug, and for the first time in years it feels like I’m a part of something special. I wish I could take this moment and put it in a bottle to save in my memory box so I can remember it whenever I start feeling like Lardo again.

I smile my thanks back at her.

“Hey, are you busy on Saturday?” Ashley asks. “A few of us are going to the mall.”

“Yes!” I exclaim. And then I realize that came out wrong. “I mean, no, I’m not busy, and yes, I’d love to come.”

We both laugh, and as we do, I glance over and see Bree giving me a death glare. Like, seriously, if looks could kill, I’d be pushing up daisies. I try to ignore her, but I can’t help wondering why she’s mad at me. Then I see her turn and stomp off down the hallway, looking at her phone.

“What’s up with Bree Connors?” I ask. “She just gave me a totally evil look.”

“Oh, she’s probably pissed she didn’t make the team,” Ashley says.

“Wait … she didn’t?”

I’m genuinely surprised. I’d have thought Bree would have made it before I did. She was on JV and has been doing cheerleading way longer than me.

“Nope,” Ashley says. “She’s pretty good technically, but Coach said she didn’t have a great attitude in JV. Like she was going through the motions instead of really putting her heart into it, and it showed.”

“Oh … I just …”

“Don’t let her bother you,” Ashley advises me. “Haters gonna hate.”

Ha! Don’t I know it … But for once, I’m on the inside, not on the outside, being hated on. And I’m loving the way it feels.

“Yeah. I guess so,” I say. “Well, I better run, or I’ll miss the bus.”

“I’ll Facebook you my cell,” Ashley calls down the hall after me. “So we can make plans for Saturday.”

Bree is sitting in the back of the bus, and she gives me another killer glare when I get on before turning her face away and pretending I don’t exist.

I get that she’s pissed she didn’t make the team, but what I don’t understand is why she’s so mad at me. It’s not like I’m the only one who made the team when she didn’t.

Besides, Bree of all people knows how hard things have been for me. I know we aren’t such good friends anymore — well, hardly friends at all anymore, if I’m honest — but that’s not my fault.
She’s
the one who dumped
me
, not the other way around. Still, you’d think even if she can’t bring herself to be happy for me, she could at least not be mad that my life is finally taking a turn for the better.

Whatever. Like Ashley said, “Haters gonna hate.” It’s her problem, not mine.

I get most of my homework done and then go on Facebook. I make my status
OMG!!!! I’m A CHEERLEADER!!!!! : )
Then I wonder if it’s too dorky and if I should delete it. But it gets three likes pretty much right away, so I leave it.

Dad brings home takeout from my favorite Chinese restaurant to celebrate me making the squad, although Mom makes a point of measuring my portions, because she wants “to make sure you don’t put the weight back on if you’re going to be wearing those short cheerleading skirts.”

Like I wasn’t already worried about how I was going to look in them.

“So does this mean you’ll get takeout when I get a lead part in the eighth-grade musical?” Syd asks.

“
If
you get a lead,” I say.

Syd ignores me.

“Well, does it?” she asks Dad again.

“I will buy takeout to celebrate my little Drama Queen, too,” Dad says, smiling at her.

“Good. Because Maddie and Cara and me are already planning our audition pieces,” Syd says. “I’m going to get a lead.”

“Maddie, Cara, and
I
,” Mom corrects her. At least it’s not just me she’s nitpicking tonight.

Syd gives an Oscar-worthy sigh of irritation.

“Maddie, Cara, and I,”
she repeats, in what I have to admit is a spot-on imitation of Mom. Maybe she might get a lead after all. “And when I
do
get a lead, we are
not
having Chinese. We’re going to have yummy Italian from La Dolce Nonna.”

“Well, let’s celebrate Lara’s good news while we eat her choice tonight,” Dad says.

“Then she’ll celebrate your good news while she eats your choice when the time comes,” Mom adds.

IF the time comes
, I think again but don’t say.

Right before I go upstairs after dinner, I check Facebook again. I’ve got a friend request from some guy I’ve never heard of, Christian DeWitt, who’s a senior at East River, a high school in a town an hour away from here. I have no idea why he’s friending me, and I normally wouldn’t friend someone I don’t know — my parents are real freaks about that. But he’s gorgeous. I mean, like, model hot. And he’s friends with a lot of my friends, so I figure maybe it’s okay. Even Bree’s friends with him.

Still, if my parents find out I’ve friended someone I don’t know, it’s a grounding offense. Like I said, total freaks. That’s why I’m not allowed my own laptop, and Syd and I have to share this computer in the living room, which is
so annoying
.

With Mom being on the city council, she’s all about “setting examples” of how to be the Perfect Parent. And of course she knows the police chief personally, so Syd and I always have to be a Perfect Example of everything. Nothing less than perfection will do when you’re the daughters of Councilwoman Kathy Kelley. Being fat and depressed definitely didn’t fit the profile.