Backlash by Sarah Littman Read Free Book Online

Kelley.
    We talk about our fantasy football picks on the way down to the front circle.
    “See you tomorrow,” he says as we part ways for our late buses.
    “Not if I see you first,” I retort over my shoulder.
    The late bus is half-empty, as usual. The lucky ones have parents or older siblings who pick them up.
    Even if Bree had her license and use of one of the family cars, I can’t see her going out of her way to do me a favor.
    But today I don’t mind so much, because Syd is sitting on the late bus, staring out the window. I slide into the seat in front of her.
    “What’s going on?”
    “You don’t want to know,” she says. “Nothing too special.”
    But you’re pretty special …
    Stop, I tell myself. Syd needs a friend, not a creeper.
    “I just wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling like I want to punch everyone in the face.” She sighs.
    It’s so unlike Syd to say something like that that I can’t help putting my hands up to block my face, laughing as I do so.
    Syd swats my arms down playfully.
    “Not you , silly,” she says. “Just … the rest of the world.”
    “Whew!” I breathe an exaggerated sigh of relief. “You had me so scared for a moment there.”
    “Yeah, right,” Syd says. “Because I’m so tough that huge football players have been known to wet themselves when they see me walking down the hall.”
    Being able to make her laugh is even better than beating Oliver. Mom would slap me upside the head for even thinking that, but luckily for me, she can’t read my thoughts.
    “Seriously … is everything okay?” I ask. “I mean … I know that’s a stupid question but …”
    “Heh … yeah.” She looks out the window, avoiding my gaze, and her lower lip trembles. “No … everything isn’t okay. Pretty much nothing is okay, if you want to know the truth.” Her voice wobbles, like she’s about to cry.
    Crying girls freak me out, because I don’t know what to do to make them stop. Thankfully, Syd turns mad instead.
    “But of course I have to pretend like everything’s fine, because Mom’s running for reelection to city council. I’m just so mad all the time. Like, every time I stay after school for rehearsal and work on crew instead of being in the cast … I was good .”
    “I know,” I agree. “I ran lines with you.”
    “It’s not fair,” she says. Syd’s speaking quietly, so only I can hear over the noise of the bus engine, the driver’s radio, and the chatter of the other kids, but there’s so much anger in her voice I feel like it could drill a hole in the seat back between us. “I didn’t even get a chance to try out. Because Lara’s drama always messes up my life.”
    And then, as if she’s just realized what she’s said, she covers her mouth with her hand and looks at me, wide-eyed with horror.
    “You probably think I’m awful, right?”
    The fingers over her mouth muffle her words. Her other hand grips the seat back.
    I pat that hand hesitantly, gently, with my own.
    “I don’t think you’re awful, Syd. I think you’re … you know … human.”
    Her eyes get all watery, and I’m scared she’s going to start crying, but then she takes a deep breath and smiles.
    “Whew,” she says. “Human, huh? Well, that’s a relief. And all this time I’ve been worrying I was some kind of alien.”
    Who could blame me for crushing on her?

B EING BUZZED into the psych ward is like being let into prison — not that I’ve been to prison, but I’ve seen movies. I can’t believe Lara’s been in this place for two weeks.
    She’s in her room, sitting on her bed, wearing sweats — the kind with an elastic waist, because she’s not allowed the ones that tie with a string. Her skin is pale, almost gray in color, and her hair hangs limply around her face, like she hasn’t brushed it today. Like she doesn’t care about her appearance — or anything for that matter.
    My sister looks kind of like the flowers wilting in the plastic pee bottle on the dresser