“Did your mother know about this?” Detective Souther asks.
It’s one thing to admit to them that it was me. I can’t tell them that Mom did it, too. But to cover for her means lying. I stare down at my hands and say nothing.
Hang up, Mom. Hang up and come back. I need you more than your clients do right now.
I glance toward the door. My mother is still on the phone. She’s telling the clients if they’re really worried about the five grand, to split the difference but go up to $2,575, because that sounds better to the seller. “It’s all mind games,” she says.
“Breanna? Did your mom know about the fake profile?” the detective repeats.
I look back at the policemen and decide that if she’s leaving me here by myself, I get to make my own decisions. And I decide to keep on telling the truth.
“Yes. She did,” I say in a low voice so Mom doesn’t hear.
“You’re doing the right thing by telling us the truth,” Detective Souther reassures me.
“My mom’s going to be really mad at me,” I say quietly, wiping away tears with my sleeve as I throw another nervous glance toward the door.
“Just how involved was your mother?” Officer Timm asks.
Come on, move over. I want to be Christian for a while … Oh, come on, Bree. It’s just a little fun.
“I … she …”
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Mom’s in the hallway talking about how if only they had those tax breaks.
That’s when I crack.
“She p-pretended to be Christian a few times,” I admit. “So did Marci. My friend … Marci Liptak.”
It looks like this was something they didn’t know, because they look at each other, and Officer Timm, who doesn’t have as good of a poker face as the detective, seems shocked and even … angry.
“What made you do it?” Detective Souther asks.
“Do what?” Mom says sharply, walking into the room. “Made her do what?”
“Breanna told us the truth, Mrs. Connors. That she created the Christian DeWitt profile, and that both you and she — and another teenager named Marci Liptak — engaged Lara Kelley in conversation as DeWitt.”
My mother turns to me, her face already flushing red with fury.
“Can’t I trust you to do anything right, Breanna?” Mom says in a voice as cold as her anger is hot, completely unmoved by my tears.
I’m used to disappointing my mother. It feels like I’ve done it all my life. And I realize in that moment that maybe I am as stupid as she always tells me. Because deep down, I’d had this small shred of hope, some sick deluded fantasy, that she’d say I did the right thing by telling the truth.
I’M IN my bedroom doing my homework with the headphones on when I get a text from Spencer.
Dude, why’s there a cop car outside your house? Saw it when I was walking the dog.
Wait, what? I text back.
I take off my headphones and look out the bedroom window. Sure enough, there’s a Lake Hills police car parked on the street in front of our house.
IDK. Gonna go check it out.
As I get to the bottom of the stairs, I hear Mom say, “Can’t I trust you to do anything right, Breanna?”
When Mom yells, you know she’s mad, but when she speaks in that cold, quiet voice, you know she’s really mad. Like “stay out of her way if you know what’s good for you” mad.
And then I hear Bree sobbing, so I detour to the kitchen. As much as I want to know what this is all about, going into the living room doesn’t seem like a smart move right about now.
Instead, I call Dad.
“Where are you?” I ask him. “Are you on the way home?”
“Uh-huh. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Do we need milk?”
“No,” I say. “The police are here talking to Mom and Bree.”
“WHAT?” Dad exclaims. “What about?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him.
He curses. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Hurry,” I urge him before hanging up.
My phone buzzes. Another text from Spencer.
So? What’s going on?
I ignore it, waiting for Dad to get home. And then I hear Bree come out of the living room bawling, and her footsteps as she runs up the stairs to her room.
Figuring it’s the quickest way to find out what’s going on, I head back upstairs and knock on her door.
“Go away!” she cries.
But I don’t. I slip into her room, closing the door behind me.
She’s curled up on her bed, with her knees up to her chest, clutching Bertie, her worn, old teddy bear.
“I t-told you to g-go away,” she hiccups between sobs.
My sister and I aren’t super close like some siblings, but it’s clear something pretty bad has just gone down.
“What happened?” I ask. “Why are the police here?”
My questions just make her start crying harder again. I don’t know what to do. Bree’s totally freaking out about whatever happened in the living room, and I have no idea what it is.
I sit down on the bed and squeeze her ankle.
“It’ll be okay,” I say, even though I have no idea if that’s true. It’s just what people always say when someone is freaking out to make them stop.
“No it w-won’t,” she says. “N-nothing is g-going to be o-okay.”
“What’s this all about?”
“M-Mom’s right. I am s-stupid. B-But I had to t-tell them the t-truth.”
“The truth about what?”
“About L-Lara.”
Lara? What could the police have to do with Bree and Lara? I mean, they were friends and they aren’t now, but that’s not a crime. That’s just girls, from what I can tell.
And then I remember the night Lara was taken away in the ambulance …
“Is this about that picture you posted? The one the night Lara tried to kill herself?”
Bree uncovers her face and gives me a look like I’m the stupid one. She swallows, like she’s trying to get a grip, and says, “No, Liam. It’s not about that. The reason the police are here … the reason why everything isn’t going to be okay is because … I’m the reason that Lara tried to kill herself.”
I stare at her, trying to understand what she means. How can my sister be the reason Lara tried to kill herself?
“What are you talking about? She did that because she was upset about that jerk Christian guy.”
“I’m ‘that jerk Christian guy.’ He never existed. He was fake, right from the beginning.”
The horror of what Bree’s just said crawls over me like I’ve just stepped onto a nest of fire ants. I stand up and back away from her bed, my breath catching in my chest.
“You mean … that awful guy … who wrote all that stuff about Lara … was you?”
My sister nods slowly, staring back at me with eyes red from weeping, her face stained with tears.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask just above a whisper. “Why would you do that?”
Bree doesn’t answer. She just puts her head down and starts crying again.
I realize that I’ve grown up with Bree and I have no idea who she really is. Because the sister I thought I had wouldn’t do something that sick to anyone, especially someone who used to be her best friend.
I leave Bree to her crying and head for my room. And then I’m hit with a wave of nausea that sends me toward the bathroom instead. Because I’ve just imagined Sydney’s reaction when she hears about what my sister did.