Backlash (18 page)

Still, Christian’s not going to know if I lie — at least not till we actually meet. So whatever, I figure.

This girl Ashley. We’re on the squad together. She’s awesome.

I really need to get going on my math homework, but I see he’s typing.

What were you like in middle school?

Is he serious? Didn’t I just say I had all this work to do and I don’t have time to chat? Besides, if there’s anything in the world I’d rather do less than math homework, it’s talk about middle school.

I really have to do homework
, I type.

Come on, baby, please? Tell me a little something and then you can go. I really want to get to know you better.

I want to go, but I can’t. Maybe if I tell him something, he’ll finally ask me to the dance. But … middle school? Ugh.

I don’t really like to think about middle school, much less talk about it.

Why not?

Oh you know. Bad hair. Bad clothes. Whatever. I’ve moved on.

What about friends?

That’s the part I want to talk about the least. He’s picking a scab on a wound that’s only recently healed — if it even has healed all the way. Why the sudden inquisition?

In middle school, I was best friends with this girl, Bree.

There, satisfied?

What happened?

I’ll tell him this one last thing, and then I’m signing off to do my homework.

I don’t know. She just kind of dumped me when we got to high school. Like all of a sudden she didn’t want to know me anymore. And now …

I hesitate, wondering if I should tell him about Bree. She’s one of his Facebook friends. I wonder how well they know each other.

Now what? Go on, tell me …

Now she’s acting like a total brat. Like, when I made cheerleading and she didn’t, she gave me a death glare. Seriously, if looks could kill, I’d be dead.

Why can’t she just be happy for me?

After all this time, I’m —

I pause in the middle of typing this last thought because I was about to write
getting my life together
, but that would tell him that my life in middle school had fallen apart, and I don’t want him to know that. I’m trying to figure out what to say instead, when he types, Well, I guess you better go do your homework. Later.

And he goes offline.

What?!

He could see I was in the middle of typing something to him. And he didn’t sign off with anything like
Love you
, not even
Later, baby
. Just
Later
like I’d said something to offend him.

I have to catch up on my homework and get my cheerleading outfit in the wash, not spend the rest of the night worrying about why he quit our chat so suddenly and went offline.

Like I’m actually going to be able to do
that
easily now.

W
HEN
I log out of Christian DeWitt’s profile, I’m fuming.

So I’m “being a total brat,” am I? Maybe Lara Kelley should look in the mirror!
I’m
not the one who was a total porker in middle school.
I’m
not the one who was so psycho I had to see a shrink. And to top it all off, Lara expects me to be
happy
for her?
WOW.
That girl is
totally delusional
.

I print the chat out and put it in my backpack to show to Marci tomorrow in school. I’m going to talk it through with her, but I’m pretty sure I already know what I’m going to do. It’s time to bring this prank to an end and finally give Lara the lesson she deserves.

I’m tired of chatting with that girl every night. That’s why I stopped being friends with her in the first place — because I was sick of listening to her whine about her miserable life.

Another reason I’m ready to end this is because now that Mom knows she keeps making all these little suggestions about how I can flirt with Lara better, which is weird and freaks me out on too many levels to count. Last night after I broke off the chat with Lara, she came into my room and wanted me to start it up again so she could be Christian for a while and “have a little fun.”

I was like, “Are you
insane
?”

Mom got mad and told me to show her some respect, which just pissed me off even more. Seriously — this was my thing and now Mom’s trying to take it over. Story of my life.

Sighing, I look out the bedroom window and notice a light flickering in the window of the old tree fort.
Who would be in there
? I haven’t been up there in, like, forever. It reminds me too much of Lara. I wonder if all those posters of bands we liked in middle school are still on the walls, and if the book of secret passwords and rules we used to keep Liam and Sydney out is still hidden under the remnant of carpet that Mom got from one of her clients after they moved into their new house.

I just hope it’s not some crazy axe murderer or a stinky hobo or something living up there. That would suck. I better make sure to close my curtains from now on. I don’t want to give some random tree-fort freak an eyeful.

The next morning before school, I pull Marci aside and show her the chat convo printout. Jenny tries to horn in on our conversation, but Marci says, “Do you mind? This is private,” and Jenny huffs away. I can’t help feeling good about that. Jenny’s always trying to make out like Marci’s
her
best friend and I’m this unwanted cling-on.

“Wow,” Marci says after she reads the chat. “I can’t believe you didn’t let her have it then and there.”

“Well, they say revenge is a dish best served cold, right?” I tell her.

“So are you going to dump her tonight?” Marci asks.

“After school,” I say. “I’m going to do it publicly. On her Facebook wall. So everyone can see.”

“I can’t
wait
,” Marci says, grinning. “It’s going to be
epic
.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” I remind her.

“Top secret,” she says, pretending to button her lips shut. “My lips are sealed. Text me when it’s done, promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

As I walk to the cafeteria at lunchtime, I pass Lara in the hallway. She’s wearing her cheerleading uniform and she’s with Ashley, her new BFF, and some other cheerleaders. She doesn’t even acknowledge I’m alive.

I don’t care. Because I know what’s going to happen to her later today, and she doesn’t. So let her giggle with Ashley and the rest of her stupid cheerleader friends, all their ponytails bobbing as they laugh with their matching purple-and-gold ribbons, like a bunch of horses’ butts on a merry-go-round.

My classes after lunch drag even more than usual. Now that I’ve made the decision to break up with Lara — or that
Christian
is going to break up with her — I want to get it over with. Not just think about it, do it. Everything has been leading up to this; the fake account, the fake flirting, it’s all been a setup for what’s going to go down later on today.

Deep down, I wonder if Lara has any clue that Christian isn’t who he says he is. Deep down, I wonder if she has any idea that
he
is really
me
.

No way. I’ve covered my tracks pretty well. The only people who know are Marci and Mom. Marci is totally for it, and strangely, so is Mom. It’s all good.

As anxious as I was to get it over with all afternoon in school, when I get home, I find myself hesitating. Once I do it, I can’t go back to pretending I’m him anymore. Once I do it, I lose that power. This will really be the end.

So I make myself a snack — Nutella on toast with a glass of milk — and watch a few episodes of a reality show about crazy stage moms.

“Why do you even watch that show?” Liam asks, coming into the family room chomping on an apple. “Those people are seriously messed up.”

In my head I hear Mom urging me to log back in to chat with Lara so she can pretend to be Christian again.

“Ya think? They’re no more screwed up than our parents. Trust me.”

Liam stares at me, goggle-eyed, his mouth hanging open, filled with unchewed apple. It’s gross, like looking at a train wreck in a tunnel.

“No way Mom and Dad are like those crazies,” he says.

“Can you at least finish chewing before you talk so I don’t have to look at your food debris?”

He swallows.

“Okay, fine, but I’m serious. I wouldn’t want to be one of those stage kids. No way.”

I would. Even with an ambitious, pressuring stage mom. ’Cause I already have a pressuring mom, but at least then she’d be pressuring me to do what
I
want, instead of what she wants me to do.

Too bad, Mom. I failed, too. Guess we’re both losers, huh?

I wonder if my failure is going to give me “grit” so I’ll be more like Mom. But is that what I really want? Dad’s the one who’s always understood me more. Or at least he’s the one who tries.

I switch off the TV and get up off the sofa. “Don’t worry,” I tell Liam. “You’re not talented enough to be onstage anyway.”

He nabs the sofa and the remote and turns on some geeky science show that’s just an excuse to blow things up and call it an “experiment.” I’ve caught a few episodes when I haven’t had anything better to do, and the explosions are pretty cool, especially in slow motion.

Showtime,
I figure, as I walk up the stairs. Time for Christian to teach Lara a lesson. Time for the final curtain in the Christian and Lara Show.

I log into Facebook as Christian and go to Lara’s wall. I type, look it over once, and add one more thing. My finger hesitates over the mouse button for a moment. I take a deep breath, and click Post.

Then I log out, log back in as myself, and wait for the fun to start.

I
F YOU
hold the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet toward the bathroom mirror there are hundreds of versions of you, like clones created in a secret lab by white-coated scientists. The first time I did it I thought it was so cool — an infinite tunnel of possible Laras. But now my hand trembles on the mirror as I watch a tear ice its way down all of my cheeks. I guess you could say each one of those faces is either the Lara that I once was, that I am now, or that I would be in the future, if I had one.