She's the Liar

by Alison Cherry

  “We are going to eat so many cookies tonight,” Lydia gushes. She has a bright spot of pink on each cheek, and her eyes are all lit up.

  I nod hard. “We’ll put in double chocolate chips.”

  “Triple chocolate chips.”

  “Why even make the cookies at all? Let’s just eat the chocolate chips.”

  Lydia laughs, and I start to say something else when I spot Sydney in the crowd of girls pushing through the main door. She was so sure I couldn’t be in the play, and now she’s going to see that I was right all along. Maybe now she’ll finally respect me. My parents are always telling me I should try to cut Sydney some slack, that sometimes she has a hard time “directing her feelings appropriately,” which means she takes things out on people who don’t deserve it. It’s not always easy for me to forgive her, but if she apologizes and says she supports me, I can totally do it this time. I’m ready.

  “Hang on a second,” I say to Lydia.

  Syd hasn’t noticed me yet; she’s focused on the list. I move toward the wall so I’ll have a clear view of her when she first sees my name. I can’t wait to see the surprise that transforms her face.

  People have spotted Sydney now and they shift out of the way like she’s a celebrity. A bunch of girls say hi, but Syd just gives a few curt nods and doesn’t answer anyone.

  “Did Sydney audition for the play?” someone whispers behind me.

  “No,” someone else says. “We would’ve seen her.”

  “Maybe she had a private audition with Ms. Gutierrez?”

  “How could she be in the play with all her Committee stuff, though?”

  “Well, if she didn’t audition, then why is she here?”

  “Shh, she’ll hear you talking about her!”

  Syd has reached the list now, and her eyes skim down the paper. I see the moment she gets to my name, but the expression that crosses her face isn’t the one I expected. Her lips part and her eyebrows fly up and her forehead crinkles, and for a moment she looks almost … afraid. But that doesn’t make any sense.

  The look is fleeting, like a cloud passing over the sun. And then my sister’s mask of calm indifference falls right back into place, and I wonder if I saw what I think I saw at all.

  “Syd,” I say quietly, and even though we’re in a noisy lobby, she looks straight at me. Our eyes lock for the space of one, two, three heartbeats, and the unreadable expression on her face doesn’t change at all.

  She shakes her head, the tiniest movement. She reaches up and rubs her left eye under her glasses.

  And then, without saying one word to me, she turns around and pushes through the crowd. No Congratulations. No You were right. I see a flash of her ponytail as the door slams behind her, and she’s gone.

  I try to make myself believe that Syd’s attitude doesn’t matter. I’m proud of myself, and when I call Mom and Dad to tell them the good news, they’re proud of me too. When Christina gets home, I tell her too, and she announces that she made the tennis team, and we throw our arms around each other and jump up and down and scream. It doesn’t make the little pebble of hurt in my chest melt away, but it makes it easier to deal with.

  I introduce Lydia and Christina that night at dinner. I wonder if Christina will be overwhelmed by Lydia’s bouncy enthusiasm, but she seems to like her right away. Lydia tells long, roundabout stories that make Christina laugh, which is good, because it means I can tune out a little bit. My sister is sitting two tables away, right in my sight line, surrounded by a group of popular eighth graders who keep laughing uproariously at her jokes. It’s hard to stop picturing that blank, cold look on her face, to stop replaying in my mind the way the door slammed behind her. Everyone treats her like royalty around here; why can’t she be happy that I got one thing I want too? Does she think I’m trying to steal her spotlight? Can’t she see that I just want my own for a change?

  A wave of tiredness washes over me, making my limbs and eyelids feel heavy. Part of me wants to ask Christina and Lydia if we can do cookies tomorrow instead. But I obviously can’t back out of my very first hangout with my new friends. I want so badly for them to like me, and if I botch this chance, I have no idea if I’ll get another one.

  When Lydia hops out of her chair and asks if we’re ready to go, I shoot her a bright smile and tell her I am so ready.

  We find Amelia when we get back to Stronger Hall, and she unlocks the kitchen and helps us find the ingredients we need. As Christina and I mix butter and sugar, spraying chunks of it everywhere with the handheld beaters, Lydia crams a handful of chocolate chips into her mouth, puts on some superfast music, and starts dancing. We crack up as we watch her shake her butt and wave her hands. Little sparks of nervousness swim through my blood at the thought of dancing with her, but I know Abbi is the kind of friend who would abandon the mixing bowl and join in. So I force myself to put down the beaters and shuffle out into the middle of the kitchen, and when Lydia grabs my hand and spins me around, I’m instantly glad I did. Even Christina starts dancing after a minute, bumping my hip with hers, and then we’re all laughing, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt as much a part of something as I do right at that moment. I’m so glad I didn’t ask for a rain check.

  Another girl sticks her head in the door. She’s got long black hair, and she’s wearing pink pajama pants printed with ice-cream cones. I stop dancing right away; I’m ready for Lydia and Christina to see me acting goofy, but it’s different with total strangers.

  “Hey,” the girl says. I think she’s going to ask us to quiet down, but instead she asks, “Which one of you is Abbi?”

  “Me,” I say, and my heart starts hammering. Am I in trouble or something?

  “You’re Sydney Carrington’s sister, right?”

  I nod, and she pulls a pale pink form out of the pocket of her pants. “Do you think you could take this to Petition Day for me tomorrow?”

  I wipe my hands on a towel to get rid of the excess sugar and take the form. ROOM RESERVATION REQUEST: SATOMI YAMAMOTO, it says across the top. Satomi has written a long explanation about how Robotics Club needs to reserve an entire building because vibrations from people walking around will somehow mess up the data they need to collect. “Don’t you have to present this to the Committee yourself?” I ask.

  “No, I checked the box for a proxy, see?”

  “What’s a proxy?” Old Abby never would’ve asked for an explanation of a word she didn’t know, but asking now feels necessary, not embarrassing.

  “It’s someone who does something in someone else’s place,” Satomi says.

  I hold the form out to her. “Sorry, but I’m not going to Petition Day tomorrow. Can one of your friends take it for you if you can’t go?”

  “Oh, it’s not that I can’t go,” she says. “It’s that Sydney doesn’t like me. I beat her in a debate in history class last year, and since then she’s … Well, she’s your sister, so I don’t want to say anything bad about her, but you know how she is. And people are saying all the other Committee members do whatever she wants, so I doubt she’d approve my petition. But she’ll say yes if you ask, right?”

  I’m still trying to process this when another girl comes in, this one with red glasses and long blond bangs that are falling in her eyes. She’s holding a yellow form. “Is this her?” she asks. When Satomi nods, she says, “Hi, I’m Bridget. Art Club really needs new acrylic paints—I heard you can get them for us?”

  I didn’t tell anyone that my sister is the president of the Committee, but it seems like the news has spread like wildfire anyway. “How do you guys even know Sydney’s my sister?” I ask.

  “Grace told us,” Bridget says just as a third girl arrives, wearing a gigantic purple sweatshirt that almost reaches her knees. In her hand is a matching purple form.

  “Are you Abbi?” she asks.

  “This is Nadiya,” Satomi says. “Can she get in on this too? As long as you’re already going to Petition Day for us?”

  I haven’t actually sai
d I’ll go for them, but all three of them are staring at me now, and I can feel Christina and Lydia looking at me from behind; I’m skewered by their gazes like a chunk of meat on a shish kebab. Old Abby would’ve panicked to have so many people looking at her at once. But Abbi is capable and competent and happy to help people who need it. They’re right—it was super easy for me to get my request approved last Petition Day, and I could probably do it again. Today has shown me what it’s like to have two new friends, and it’s pretty much the best thing ever; what if I could have five new friends? Getting these girls what they want will definitely make them like me, and it’ll only take me a few minutes.

  “So, you’ll help us, right?” Bridget asks me.

  I put on my brightest Abbi smile, give my braid a confident flip, and hold out my hand to collect their forms. “Of course I’ll help,” I say. “You can totally count on me.”

  The basement of the Student Center is even more crowded today than it was on Tuesday—girls swarm around the table of petition forms like a bunch of bees around the last flower on earth. But today I have my paperwork done ahead of time—or Satomi’s, Bridget’s, and Nadiya’s paperwork, I guess—and I’m able to get in line as soon as I arrive. There are only two people ahead of me, so I’ll be in the Student Government Office in no time. The three girls—my three new friends?—are grouped on a couch, anxiously awaiting good news. I can’t see them from here, but I know they’re sending me luck.

  I’m not sure if I’m more or less nervous than I was the last time I stood in this line. On the one hand, everything is less scary when you’ve done it before. On Tuesday, I had no idea what to expect, and now I know exactly what I’ll see when I walk into that room. I spent lots of time practicing what I’m going to say when I present the petitions, and there’s no reason I won’t be able to perform these lines just like I performed Cinderella’s and Portia’s at my audition. Plus, I’m not asking for anything I personally want, so if my petitions aren’t approved, it won’t affect me directly.

  But on the other hand, there’s a lot more at stake now than there was at the last Petition Day. On Tuesday, the worst that could’ve happened was that I didn’t get new blinds. But this time, a few minutes inside that room could change everything for me. People all over the school are clearly talking about me, about how I have an in with the Committee—Nadiya and Bridget are seventh graders who don’t even live in my dorm, and they still knew where to find me. If I succeed today, they’ll tell their friends, and those people will tell their friends, and everyone will start sending me in to petition for them. It hasn’t even been a week since I reinvented myself, and I’m already on the brink of becoming the voice of the people. But if I fail, it’ll show everyone at Brookside that they were wrong about me, that I’m just another boring sixth grader with nothing special to offer. I might never get another chance to be popular; once people start thinking of you a certain way, it’s almost impossible to start over. If I learned anything at my old school, it’s that.

  I straighten my spine and tell myself there’s no if I succeed, only when I succeed. Everything about me is different here, and this is going to be different too. At Brookside, I’m a winner.

  The door opens, and the first girl goes into the office with her form, a blue maintenance request. She emerges a minute later with an APPROVED stamp, and the girl in front of me takes her place. She comes out looking happy too, and she holds the door for me. I lift my chin and walk into the room.

  Sydney looks surprised to see me. “Abby,” she says, and somehow I can tell she’s spelling it wrong in her head, even though she saw the i on my last petition form. “Did you not get your blinds?”

  “No, the blinds are fine,” I say. “They got replaced yesterday. Thank you.”

  “What can we help you with today?” asks the girl to Syd’s left—she’s eating cereal again, and her fingertips are dusted with cinnamon and sugar.

  I lay my three forms on the table, the corners neatly aligned—yellow, purple, pink. “I’m here as a proxy to present these petitions.”

  My sister’s eyebrows scrunch together, and she’s silent for long enough that the girl with the dragon pin says, “Sydney? That’s okay, right?”

  “I … Yeah, I guess,” Sydney says. She doesn’t seem totally on board, but I guess there’s no rule against what I’m doing because she pulls the first form toward her. “Bridget Konditori: petition for three hundred dollars for Art Club to buy acrylic paints.”

  I know most budget requests don’t get approved immediately—the Committee likes to debate them at their morning meetings, when they’re alone and have more time to talk them through. But Bridget is counting on me, and I want to try to get her this money right now. I take a deep breath and launch into the lines I’ve memorized. “Acrylic paint goes a long way, and you can get a lot for three hundred dollars,” I say. “There are a bunch of really fun things you can do with it.”

  Syd looks surprised, and I realize she’s not used to Abbi yet—the sister she knows wouldn’t talk any more than necessary. It’s weird to think that there are so many people who know my new self better than my family does.

  I keep going. “Remember that painting I made last year with the gold and blue swirls, the one that won the prize in the art fair? The one you said looked like a star exploding? That was acrylic.” If I want some respect from my sister, reminding her that there are things I’m good at can only help.

  “I really hope you approve this one because I’m still thinking about joining Art Club,” I continue. “Bridget seems super nice, and it’s not that much money, and I think it would—”

  “Okay,” Syd says like I’m giving her a headache. “All in favor?” She puts up her hand, and all the other girls’ hands follow. Maybe she just called a vote because she wanted me to stop talking, but I don’t care—I’ve proven that I can make the people in this room listen to what I have to say. No matter what happens now, I can go back to one of the girls with a win. Bridget will be so grateful to me, and gratitude makes people love you. The success gives me more confidence, and I stand up even straighter, tilting my chin up a little more.

  Syd pulls the next paper toward her. “Nadiya Mirza: petition for more hot vegetarian entrées in the dining hall.”

  “She said she’s eaten peanut butter and jelly three nights this week,” I say.

  “I’ve eaten grilled cheese three times,” says Cereal Girl. “She’s right—so much of the hot stuff has meat in it. I guess you can always have the grill make you a veggie burger, but they’re honestly not that good.”

  The girl on her other side giggles, showing the bright pink rubber bands on her braces. “How would you even have room for a veggie burger? Aren’t you full from all that cereal?”

  “Why do you think I eat all this cereal in the first place? I’m hungry all the time! I’m not getting nearly enough calories to—”

  “Okay,” Syd says, and both of them shut up. “Gianna, I have no problem with this as long as you take point with the dining hall manager.”

  Cereal Girl nods. “Sure. I can do that. I’ll email her tonight.”

  “All right. Everyone else in favor?” The other girls say aye, and Syd presses the PENDING stamp down on the paper. I’m two for three now. Even if I can’t get the last petition approved, I’ve still done an impressive job. More people are going to be happy with me than disappointed.

  “Satomi Yamamoto: room request for Robotics Club,” Syd reads aloud from the third paper. Her nose wrinkles when she says Satomi’s name, the way it always used to when I chose something she didn’t like for family movie night. This is going to be the hardest one; Satomi specifically said that my sister didn’t like her, and I saw proof on Tuesday that Sydney has no problem denying legitimate requests to people she has grudges against.

  “She’s requesting a completely empty building for three hours for an experiment next week.” Syd reads the whole explanation about the vibrations, then replaces the paper on the desk. “W
e don’t usually let people reserve entire buildings. We don’t have the space for that.”

  “We’re the Committee,” says Cereal Girl. “Can’t we do whatever we want?”

  “Satomi Yamamoto is—” Syd starts, but I don’t wait to hear the end of her sentence.

  “I think you should approve it,” I say. “It’s only three hours, and there are probably plenty of empty buildings after classes are out for the day, right?” My sister opens her mouth to speak again, but I don’t let her get a word in. “You’re obviously not Satomi’s biggest fan, but that’s all the more reason why you should approve this right now, while you’re dealing with me. If I can’t get her the space, she’ll just come back on Tuesday and ask for it herself. I’m sure you have better things to do than sit here and consider the same petitions over and over.” The lines come out smoothly, exactly like I practiced.

  All three of the other Committee members glance at each other and nod silently, but Sydney just sits there, eyeing the DENIED stamp. I’m going to have to push harder.

  “It’s probably difficult for you to give her what she wants after she beat you in that debate last year,” I say, making my voice sympathetic. “I know how much you hate losing, and—”

  “It has nothing to do with that,” Syd snaps. “I want to make sure that—ugh, whatever. I don’t even care. All in favor?” She’s doing the eye-rubbing thing again, and I can see I’ve shaken her confidence. Good—now she knows how I felt when she said there was no way I could handle being in the play.

  The other girls look at my sister, obviously confused about what they’re supposed to do, until Sydney raises her hand. Her other hand is clenched into a fist, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who notices. “Aye,” she says.

  “Aye,” the other girls echo.

  “The motion passes.” Syd slams her APPROVED stamp down on the paper so hard the ink smears. “We’ll contact Satomi directly when we find a building Robotics Club can use.”

  Even though my sister does not look happy, my heart leaps. I did it. It’s the same feeling I had up onstage the other day, slipping seamlessly into the skin of the evil stepsister and letting her speak with my voice. I’m good at this. I’m a convincing person.