Liam sits back down, muttering, “Fine,” but then the doorbell rings another time.
I exchange a glance with Liam. How are we supposed to eat dinner if the doorbell keeps ringing and Dad won’t let anyone answer it? Between the phone, the doorbell, and the obvious tension between my parents, I’ve pretty much lost my appetite anyway.
Then I see movement in the corner of my eye. It looks like there is something — or someone — outside the kitchen window.
I scream.
“What on earth?” Mom exclaims.
“There’s someone outside! I saw them!” I shout.
“That does it,” Dad says. He runs out to the garage and comes back a few minutes later with Liam’s baseball bat. Striding over to the back door, he flings it open, turns on the outside light, and starts shouting at the camera crew to get off his property right now or he will call the police.
“And if I see you step foot on my property again, I’ll do more than make a phone call,” he says, waving the baseball bat around menacingly.
He looks and sounds crazy, not like my normal, level-headed teddy bear of a dad.
After he slams the kitchen door shut and locks it, he closes the blinds in the kitchen.
“Go shut the curtains in the front of the house,” he orders. “Keep the lights off while you do it.”
I creep into the living room, feeling like I’m in some action movie and our house is surrounded by bad guys. There is a little bit of light from the street, but in the shadows I scrape my ankle against the corner of an end table, deep enough to draw blood.
When I get to the window, I peer out before pulling the curtain cord.
What I see turns my stomach. It is unreal. It is the kind of thing that happens to other people, not people like us.
There is a cluster of TV trucks lining the street between our house and the Kelleys’. Reporters and camera people and guys with lights, blocking the sidewalk and our driveways. Some of our neighbors across the street are on their front porches, watching the commotion.
I yank the cord, shutting them all out, and stumble my way through the darkness back to the light of the hallway.
“Did you see what’s out front?” Liam asks as he emerges from the dining room.
I nod slowly, waiting for him to say something about how it’s all my fault, but he doesn’t. He’s pale under his freckles. He looks as scared as I feel.
“The neighbors are going to love us,” Dad mutters as he sits back down at the kitchen table. “And I’m not talking about the Kelleys.”
“You’re always so worried about what everyone is going to think, Sean,” Mom says.
Dad glares at her.
“Maybe if you and Bree had worried about that a little more, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” he snaps.
I stare down at my plate, feeling like the worst daughter in the world. It’s one thing disappointing Mom. I’m used to doing that. But Dad …
Suddenly, my parents’ cell phones start buzzing.
“They must have decided to try our work numbers,” Mom says.
“Great,” Dad says sarcastically. “This is going to do wonders for business. People are already making comments when they come into the store to buy parts.”
“Don’t start, Sean,” Mom warns him.
“What do you mean ‘Don’t start,’ Mary Jo? I didn’t start this. I didn’t even know about this until the police showed up,” Dad says, his voice rising with the anger he’s obviously been keeping under all that quiet. “Bree started this. And when you discovered what she was doing, instead of giving her consequences, you didn’t just encourage her, you took part in it yourself.”
“Oh, so it’s all my fault, is it?” Mom shouts at him. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“What I’m saying is, that because the two of you didn’t think, the legal consequences are just the beginning. I’m worried about the business. You know how long and hard I’ve worked to build Connors Plumbing Supplies into what it is, and I don’t want to see it go down the tubes because of pure stupidity. And how do you expect to pay the bills if the business falls apart?”
My stupidity.
I stare down at my plate, fighting tears as Mom argues back.
“Your business! What about my business? You’re not the only one paying bills around here, Sean.”
Dad slams his fist on the table so hard the plates jump. My father has never, ever done anything violent like that before, and it even shocks Mom into silence. It freaks me out so much my hands are trembling. Liam looks from my father to my mother, wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t know who they are anymore.
“Let’s just eat,” Dad says, his voice gruff but quieter now.
We eat the rest of dinner in uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of the outside world trying desperately to get in.
Liam and I are doing the dishes after dinner while Mom and Dad watch the news in the living room. My brother is still giving me the silent treatment, like he’s been doing ever since the cops came, only speaking to me when absolutely necessary.
All of a sudden we hear Dad exclaim a slew of curse words, and Mom shout, “Turn it up!”
Liam and I exchange a brief “What was that?” glance, then race into the living room to see what’s going on.
Their eyes are glued to the TV. To the evening news. The national news. The news that they show on TVs all across the United States of America.
The box in the upper left-hand corner of the screen next to the newscaster’s head has a picture of Mom — the one that’s on all those awful bus shelter ads around town that make Liam and me cringe every time we see them — and underneath it, in big horror-movie-style letters, the caption “Monster Mom.”
“I’m going to sue the pants off them,” Mom fumes. “They can’t slander me like that.”
I listen close to hear what they’ll say about me. If Mom is a monster, and I’m her daughter, what does that make me? Monster Spawn?
There’s a shot of the outside of our house and of the high school. It’s hard to hear everything the newscaster is saying over Mom’s ranting and Dad telling her to calm down. Something, something, “cyberbullying tag team shocked the community.” Then there’s Mr. Kelley in his pj’s again, the same footage from the local news, something about “outraged father” blah blah blah “cited for disorderly conduct.”
When the news announcer moves on to the next story, Dad picks up the remote and turns off the TV.
“Hand me the phone, Sean,” Mom says. “I need to call a lawyer. They can’t do this to me. It’s libel. They’re going to ruin my business.”
Only Liam is brave — or stupid — enough to point out the obvious.
“It’s not libel if you actually did it, Mom.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion in 3 … 2 … 1 …
“What, now my own kid is turning on me? Get out of here!” Mom shouts.
Dad gives us a look that says we’d be better off upstairs. So we go.
“Thanks a lot, Bree,” Liam says. “School’s going to suck even more now.”
“It’s not like you did anything.”
“Duh! I know that!” he says. “That’s what sucks. I did nothing, but I’m still lumped with you and Monster Mom.”
He stalks the rest of the way up the stairs and slams his bedroom door. Normally, my parents would have yelled about that, but Mom’s too busy threatening to sue the TV, and Dad’s too busy trying to calm her down.
Thanks a lot, bro. Way to make me feel like a total leper. I know Liam is mad at me. I know he thinks what I did was wrong. But it’s hard enough knowing that the rest of the world is going to think I’m a monster without my own brother hating me.