She's the Liar

by Alison Cherry

  My carefully calibrated, totally unfair budget is about to land in Vice Principal Rosenberg’s hands.

  The rest of the day goes by in a haze. I don’t remember sitting through my classes, doing my homework, or eating dinner, though I’m pretty sure my body goes through the motions. I get in bed at the regular time, put on my headphones, and watch Mars rover videos I’ve seen a million times to lull me to sleep. But long after Olivia and Hannah have gone quiet in their bedroom, I’m still awake.

  I still haven’t slept by the time they get up and leave for field hockey practice in the morning.

  Lying here and stewing in anxiety isn’t doing me any good, so I put on my uniform and my Capriana boots and head across the quad to the Student Center an hour early. I’m vaguely hungry, but I can’t face the dining hall, so I figure I’ll get some peanut butter crackers from the vending machine. Once I’m standing in front of the glowing glass, though, the thought of eating makes me nauseated. I slink into the Student Government Office instead, lock the door behind me, and lie down under the table, my backpack tucked under my head. Decades of students have stuck chewed gum and scratched their initials on the underside, and in one corner, someone has written NOPE in blue Sharpie. I don’t know who that girl was, but I know exactly how she felt.

  When the ten-minute bell rings, I get up, smooth my skirt, and unlock the door. I sit down at the head of the table in my special chair, hands folded in front of me, and wait. I’ve gotten good at swallowing my emotions down, and I won’t give anyone the satisfaction of letting them show today.

  The rest of the Committee trickles in, and everyone says hi to me like usual, but today nobody looks directly at me. I’m used to people avoiding my gaze because they’re scared, but this feels like they’re looking away from a wounded animal out of pity. It’s the same exact way Josh and Dev and Antonia looked at me when they kicked me out of the D&D group.

  Vice Principal Rosenberg breezes in as the bell rings, dressed in a red pantsuit and smiling her face off. Even the way her gray-blond ponytail swings is enthusiastic. She sits down across the table from me, looking totally at home already. “Good morning, young women!” she says. “I’m so delighted to do my sworn duty and take part in your democratic process today. This is just like Congress—did you know that when there’s a tied vote in the Senate, the Vice President is called upon to break it?”

  Lily nods. “We learned about that in social studies.”

  “Well, then, I’m glad our faculty is doing such a great job of educating young minds.” Vice Principal Rosenberg beams at us. “So! What am I voting on today? Who would like to present the facts?” She looks at me, but when Abby leaps to her feet instead, she literally claps with delight. “One of our new members taking such initiative already! Well done, Abbi. Lay it all out for me.”

  Abby pulls Grace’s petition and a printed copy of the budget out of her backpack and slides them across the table. I expect her to launch into the same speech she gave the Committee yesterday about how I try to manipulate people with information, but instead she sticks to the facts about how the Committee canceled the play and gave the money to another club in a way she feels is unfair. When she points out the part of the spreadsheet where Astronomy Club’s budget is listed, the shock and dismay that crosses our vice principal’s face makes my stomach twist into a knot. I’m suddenly glad I wasn’t able to eat.

  “Seven thousand dollars?” Vice Principal Rosenberg asks. “Is this a typo?”

  “No,” Abby says.

  “What can this possibly be for?”

  Abby looks at me, and I clear my throat and sit up as straight as I can. “Astronomy Club petitioned to take a trip to Cape Canaveral to see a rocket launch,” I say. “It’s a really cool educational opportunity. They found someone willing to give them a private tour of mission control. So the budget covers the fee for that, plane tickets, rental cars, food, and lodgings for six girls and two chaperones for three days and two nights—”

  “Plus, we bought them a new telescope,” Gianna chimes in. “That was a different petition.”

  “It was a great tool for learning,” I say. “When else are those girls going to see the rings of Saturn? When are they going to see a rocket launch in person? A lot of them are interested in going into STEM fields, and we can help them pursue those dreams.” I picture Jenna as a grown-up, sitting in front of an array of consoles and helping to land the first humans on Mars. As she skillfully navigates the astronauts down through the red dust, maybe she’ll think about the girl who gave her the start she needed way back in eighth grade.

  “I knew about the trip, but this is …” Vice Principal Rosenberg shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. “I thought Astronomy Club had been doing its own fundraising. And I thought the girls’ parents were chipping in. Where did all this money even come from? The play didn’t have a seven-thousand-dollar budget.”

  “Some of it came from here,” Abby says, pointing at the dance team line on the spreadsheet. “And the soccer team was supposed to get new uniforms this year, which isn’t happening now. I’m not sure where else. But I think all the clubs and teams that were unfairly robbed deserve their funding back.”

  Vice Principal Rosenberg takes off her reading glasses and rubs her eyes, then looks around the room. “You all voted for this reallocation of funds?”

  “Yes, they all did,” I say before anyone else can speak.

  “Well, not Angelina and me,” Abby says. “We weren’t elected yet.”

  Vice Principal Rosenberg sighs heavily and looks at the seventh and eighth graders. “I’m really disappointed in you all. Obviously I’m in favor of supporting girls who want to go into STEM fields, but Brookside’s arts and athletics programs are important too. No group should ever lose all their opportunities at the expense of giving something extravagant to another. I would’ve thought that was obvious.” And then she looks straight at me. “Is this why you’ve been keeping me away from meetings all this time?”

  An unexpected wave of shame sweeps over me. I’ve never known how to make my fellow students like me, but I’ve always, always been in good standing with the adults. It’s been years since I’ve heard anything but Excellent work, Sydney and What a bright future you have. I can’t even remember the last time a teacher said she was disappointed in me. I don’t think it’s ever happened before.

  “I … No,” I say, but I can feel my face turning red. I think about apologizing, but that would indicate that I think I’m wrong, and I can’t make myself do it. “We thought what we did was the best option,” I finish lamely.

  “Do the rest of you have anything you’d like to say for yourselves before I vote?” Vice Principal Rosenberg asks.

  I shake my head. Gianna and Maya do the same.

  “I regret my initial vote to cancel the play,” Lily says. “Not that it makes any difference, since I would’ve been outvoted anyway. But I realize now that what we did was wrong.”

  “Thank you, Lily,” says Vice Principal Rosenberg. “All right. I cast my vote in favor of reinstating the play. All the funds that were originally allocated to it must be returned. We extended an offer to a new drama teacher this morning, and she accepted the job, so she will take over as director, and everything will proceed as originally planned.”

  The sunniest smile I’ve ever seen breaks across my sister’s face. “Thank you,” she breathes. “Oh my god, thank you so much, seriously.”

  It was obvious this was coming, and I don’t mind so much that the play has been reinstated. My sister got what makes her happiest, and I never had to show weakness by backing down. But when I think about telling Jenna that we have to pull the funding for Astronomy Club’s trip, my heart melts like a sad scoop of ice cream someone dropped on the sidewalk. She probably won’t get angry, but she’ll be so disappointed, and that’s almost worse. I’m pretty sure she only ever talked to me because she knew I had the power to give her things she wanted. Now that I have to take them away, I wo
n’t be “the best” anymore. I won’t be anything at all. She won’t even notice I exist.

  “Okay,” I say, and my voice comes out weirdly breathy. “The, um … The motion passes.” I scramble to get my stamps and ink pad—apparently I’ve forgotten to take them out of my backpack. When I finally find the APPROVED stamp, I hold it up and reach across the table for Grace’s petition. “Can I, um …”

  But Vice Principal Rosenberg doesn’t give it to me. “Furthermore,” she says, “as your faculty advisor, I feel it’s my duty to suspend this Committee, effective immediately. I’ll bring this case to the board of directors for further review. I need you to send me documentation of all the petitions you have approved and rejected so far this school year and a copy of the budget, please.”

  I blink at her. “But … we …”

  “You’re shutting down the Committee?” Maya asks. I’m sure the look of complete horror on her face mirrors mine exactly.

  “Hopefully it won’t be permanent. But as things stand, you girls are not governing the student body in a fair and unbiased manner. Some big changes clearly need to be made.”

  “But Angelina and I were just elected,” Abby says. “We’ve only been here two days. We shouldn’t be punished when we haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I’m not trying to punish you,” Vice Principal Rosenberg says. “Honestly I blame myself for what happened here. When Sydney told me this Committee should be a safe space for students to work without adult input, I bought into that. Even when students came to me to complain that things weren’t operating entirely fairly in here, I thought they were just upset that their specific petitions hadn’t been approved. I assumed you girls were mature enough to make decisions that were right for our whole community, and I clearly shouldn’t have. I know you’re trying, but you’re so young, and … Well, people need guidance as they learn to be good leaders. I should’ve been supervising you much more closely.”

  My mind is spinning now, desperately scrambling for a way I can fix this. “We can, um, put some new protocols in place,” I offer. “We could work out a system of reporting back to you. Like maybe a weekly meeting or something? You could come in every Friday, and we could tell you what we’ve been up to.” I wouldn’t have to tell her everything. And even if Abby isn’t afraid of me anymore, I could probably dig up more dirt on Lily or Angelina, something they really would be embarrassed for all their classmates to know. I wouldn’t even need to convince both of them to vote with me. A four-to-two vote is still a win.

  But Vice Principal Rosenberg says, “I think we’re going to need more accountability than that. If the board chooses to keep the Committee running at all, I think an adult needs to be present at every meeting. Maybe me, maybe someone else. There’s a lot to think about.”

  I feel like someone has stepped right on my melted-ice-cream heart with a giant, dirty boot.

  Vice Principal Rosenberg stands up. “Until further notice, I’m adding all of you to Ms. Khaled’s first-period study hall. There’s a board meeting tomorrow, and I’ll put this on the agenda.”

  Nobody speaks, and I wonder if every girl feels the same flood of despair that I’m feeling, filling up her chest and drowning her words. Finally Lily manages to say, “Okay.”

  “I’ll be in touch soon,” our vice principal says in a formal, tired voice, the complete opposite of the bouncy enthusiasm she came in with.

  And then she’s gone, and so is everything I’ve worked for since I arrived at Brookside.

  When the bell rings, I go straight to the infirmary and tell Nurse Richie I have a stomachache, and she writes me a pass to get out of classes. I head back to my room, climb into bed in my uniform, pull the covers over my head, and stay there the rest of the day. When a campus-wide email arrives stating that Petition Day is suspended until further notice and that girls should contact Vice Principal Rosenberg directly with any issues or requests, I turn off my phone and toss it onto the floor. I’m sure nobody will try to contact me. Even when I had power, nobody ever did.

  I run out of granola bars by the next morning, and hunger finally forces me out of my room. When I reach the dining hall, my mouth drops open. The walls are covered in posters as bright and glittery as the campaign posters that came down a few days ago.

  SAVE THE COMMITTEE!

  WE DESERVE A VOICE!

  GOVERNMENT BY THE STUDENTS,

  FOR THE STUDENTS!

  For the first time in a day and a half, I feel a swell of hope. People have rushed to our defense—my defense, really, since I’m the only one who has ever really made a Committee decision. Sure, my choices haven’t always been 100 percent fair, but people obviously still like being governed by me. This is proof, and the administration will have to listen. Maybe Vice Principal Rosenberg wanted to overrule us, but there’s no way she’ll overrule the entire student body. She’s too much of a sucker for democracy.

  And then I notice some of the other posters.

  PRESIDENT OR BLACKMAILER?

  DOWN WITH DICTATOR CARRINGTON!

  IMPEACH SYDNEY!

  I realize then that everyone knows everything that happened in our last few meetings. The rest of the Committee girls must’ve told their friends, who told their friends. News spreads so fast around here. Even the administration must know everything by now.

  I wonder who made those signs. I wonder if it was Abby.

  Everything in me wants to turn around and run, but I forbid myself to back down at the first signs of aggression. That’s what Gianna and Maya do, and even though it’s what I want from them, it doesn’t make me respect them. So I hold my head high as I go through the serving line and pile my plate high with eggs and toast and bacon. It smells way better than usual, which I guess is what happens when you eat almost nothing for an entire day. I get my juice from the dispenser and look around for a place to sit.

  There are several spots open at the table where Dance Team Charlotte is sitting, but I have no desire to deal with her today. There’s also a spot next to Lily, whose nose is buried in her dragon book of the day, but I don’t want to face her either—for all I know, she made the posters. The Astronomy Club girls are clustered by the window, and the chair across from Jenna is empty. But if I sit there, she’ll start talking about how excited she is for the Cape Canaveral trip, and then I’ll have to tell her that the funding has been pulled, and … I can’t. I’m not ready to disappoint her like that.

  I head toward a table of seventh graders I don’t really know, and when one of them sees me coming, she widens her eyes and then looks away, just like usual. Maybe the anti-Sydney signs haven’t made any difference and I still have the status I always had. But then the girl leans over and whispers something to her friend. Both of them glance at me, glance at the signs … and laugh.

  Nobody at Brookside has ever dared to laugh at me.

  I slam my tray down on the nearest table so hard my juice tips over, splashing another girl. I don’t even pause to apologize before I’m running toward the double doors. I know it’s not dignified and that I’m probably drawing even more unwanted attention to myself, but my chest is tightening, and my face feels hot, and I can’t be in that dining hall full of judgmental eyes for one more second. This must be exactly how Abby used to feel.

  I sprint across the lawn, and I don’t stop running until I reach my safe haven, the library. When I burst through the doors, panting, Ms. Stamos looks up from her desk. “Sydney? Are you okay?”

  I nod, but I don’t stop walking until I’m at my favorite desk in the back of the room, and that’s where the tears that have been threatening for a whole day finally spill over. I don’t bother to wipe them away. I’m right by the window, and if anyone in the quad bothered to look up, they’d probably see me crying, but it doesn’t matter anymore. If everyone knows the truth about me already, what’s the point of keeping up my strong facade? My reputation is already in shambles.

  And then I hear footsteps behind me, soft on the carpet. My sis
ter’s voice says, “Syd?”

  I swipe my hands angrily over my cheeks and turn around. “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw you run out of the dining hall. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She takes a tentative step toward me, like I’m a feral cat who might bite her. “Are you? Okay?”

  Ordinarily I would tell her to leave me alone, that I don’t want to talk about it—it’s what I’ve been telling my family for years. It’s what I said in sixth grade when I overheard the other kids in my history group making fun of the enthusiastic way I raised my hand in class. It’s what I said after Josh and Dev and Antonia told me I wasn’t invited back to the D&D group, that the selfish way I was playing was ruining the game for everyone. Talking about your emotions just forces you to feel them more and makes you look weak.

  But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to put up a strong front right now.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  Abby takes that as an invitation and approaches, leaning against the side of the desk. She’s still not quite close enough to touch me. “What happened?” she asks.

  “You know what happened,” I snap. “You were there.”

  “Are you, um … Is it the posters?”

  “It’s just … everything.” A few more tears spill down my cheeks. “But yeah, the giant posters calling me a dictator and a blackmailer didn’t help. You didn’t make those, did you?”

  “No,” Abby says. “I would never. I don’t want you off the Committee. I just want things to be fair.”

  If I were her, I would definitely want me off the Committee. She’s a much better person than I am.

  “Do you know who did make them?” I ask.

  “I think it was Angelina’s friends. The ones who ran her campaign. She told them you blackmailed her, and they were pretty pissed. But nobody’s really going to impeach you, right? Is that even a thing?”