In the morning, I stop at Kristy's locker. She doesn't see me approach because she's busy attempting to shove four textbooks into an already crammed locker. Her locker smells like moldy gym socks. I wait patiently on the other side of the locker door until she slams it shut. Her eyes widen when she sees me.

"I wanted to tell you," I say, as calm as possible, "that I broke up with Wes. There's no need to involve the authorities or tell your mom or anything. It's over."

Kristy opens her mouth, likely to say something nasty and judgmental, but I don't give her the opportunity. I walk away at a hurried pace, leaving her at her locker, open-mouthed.

Sally White brushes passed me in the hallway. "Whoa, Starshine, you look like a re-animated corpse," she comments.

"Shut up," I snap and continue on without a second glance.

I thought I would feel better this morning. I feel only worse. And it shows in my reflection. I am worn out and worn down. I should feel better knowing I've ended things with Wes. Now Kristy won't tell and Elizabeth won't tell and I'll continue with my life. Wes will never know. Maybe not, at least.

I am no better than yesterday. I am full of regrets and second guesses. I've made mistakes, heaped them atop one another and buried myself beneath. Mistakes and lies, that's what my life has come to. That is the sum of who I am.

I attempt to throw myself into my studies, but it isn't easy. I'm simply not that interested anymore. In anything. Three and a half more weeks until Christmas vacation. Three and a half very long weeks.

I was going to spend Christmas with Wes in Miami.

I guess I knew I'd never go.

I drive home alone again after school. I don't even wait for anybody. I grab my books and barrel right out of the building. No one wants to be with me anyway.

"Are you sick?" Mrs. Bryar asks when I enter the living room. She's on her knees, kneeling beside the coffee table, wiping it with a pink dust cloth.

"No. I'm not sick."

"You don't look well."

I shrug. I know.

"I'd like to speak to you about something," Mrs. Bryar says, setting down the dust cloth and standing up. "I realize I should speak to your parents, but your mother never takes my phone calls and your father isn't very…helpful."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm concerned about Maria. When she came home from school, she asked if she could come live with me."

"She…what?"

Mrs. Bryar adjusts her glasses. "She said she saw some movie where a little girl divorced her parents and went to live with the housekeeper. She would like to do the same," Mrs. Bryar tells me. "Of course, I told her that wasn't possible. She started to cry and said Mrs. Papadakis and Mrs. Brewer told her the same thing." Mrs. Bryar pauses a moment and regards me. "Is there something going on here?"

I stare at Mrs. Bryar, my head swimming. Maria wants to move out? First Tiffany, now Maria? "No, there's nothing going on," I say, quietly. "Tiffany and Maria are fighting, that's all."

"That's all?"

"Yes, of course that's all!" I snap, then immediately regret my tone. But I don't apologize. Instead, I turn and run up the stairs.

Maria's bedroom door is shut, like it always is these days. I knock softly, then enter without waiting for a response. Maria's on the bed, laying face down on her pillow, quietly sobbing. She doesn't indicate that she's heard me enter.

"I spoke to Mrs. Bryar," I tell Maria, lowering onto her bed. I set my hand on her back. "I don't want you to move out," I say, gently.

Maria turns her head, so I see her face. It's red and puffy, blotted with tears. "What do you care?" she asks, nastily. "You and Tiffany can have as much sex as you want when I'm gone. You won't have to worry about fixing me dinner or helping me with my homework. And you won't have to worry about making up big fat lies to tell me!"

"I'm sorry, Maria. I never wanted you to know. You're too young to understand. I fell in love with the wrong person and I lied to him. And Tiffany…Tiffany's confused." I pet Maria's back, soothingly. "I want to make it up to you. I want to be a good sister again."

Maria glares at me. "You're a terrible sister! I hate you! Get out of my room!" Maria buries her face back in the pillow and resumes sobbing.

I close my eyes tight and pat her back one last time. "I'm sorry," I say, then rise and leave the room, shutting the door behind me.

Tiffany's bedroom door is locked, but I don't think she's in there.

I enter my own bedroom and begin removing my uniform. While unbuttoning my blouse, I pause beside the desk and check the answering machine. Only one new message. I press play, then cross the room to put away my shoes. The message is from Wes, but I already knew that. He wants to talk things out, he wants me to reconsider. I fill with doubt. His voice sounds so pleading, so insistent. He wants me.

I turn off the answering machine.

After pulling on jeans and a thin sweater, I walk back downstairs. Mrs. Bryar's still in the living room, only now she's cleaning the glass on the entertainment center. She doesn't acknowledge me when I enter.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," I tell her.

"It's all right."

"Maria's still crying. I think it's best to leave her alone for a little while."

"Yes, that's probably best," Mrs. Bryar replies, then turns to look at me. "Is there something going on?" she asks.

"Of course not," I say, breezily. "Just the usual stuff. I have everything under control."

Mrs. Bryar looks doubtful, but returns to her cleaning.

Outside a car horn blasts. It sounds like it's coming from our driveway. I hurry into the foyer and peek out a window. I see part of Lindsey's car. What's she doing here? I slip out the front door and approach the car. The passenger side window rolls down and Lindsey sticks her head out. Sally White's in the driver's seat.

"Guess who just got her learner's permit?" Sally says when I lean into the open window.

"Lindsey, why is Sally driving your car?"

"I'm giving her a lesson."

"Your grandparents will kill you if they find out. "

"You are such a mother," Sally tells me. "Besides, it's Wednesday. Granny's at AA and Gramps has a class. Right, Lindsey?"

Lindsey's mouth puckers. "Right," she says.

"You know," I say to Sally, "if you only have a learner's permit, you're supposed to drive with an adult."

"Maybe we could call your boyfriend then."

I suck in my breath and scowl at her.

"We're only circling the neighborhood. Get in the car. Let me dazzle you with my driving skills."

I hesitate. "Oh…all right…hang on…" I run back into the house and grab my bag, then tell Mrs. Bryar I'm going out for a while. When I return to the driveway, Lindsey gets out of the car and moves her seat, so I can squeeze into the back. "Since when do you two hang out?" I ask as Sally flies out of the driveway.

"Ever since I ordered Lindsey to move over and let me drive her car."

I roll my eyes. Honestly, Lindsey has no control when it comes to Sally White.

I lean forward, so I'm between their seats. "Have you spoken to Kristy?" I ask Lindsey.

"Well, yeah. I saw her a couple times today. Then in economics, we worked all period on our project. Why?"

I'm surprised Kristy hasn't run her mouth off about me to Lindsey. She certainly got to Abby quick enough. "I broke up with my boyfriend," I tell Lindsey.

Lindsey whirls around. "You did?" she exclaims. "The older man? Why?"

I hesitate. It's safe to tell Lindsey. And she can hear the truth from me, instead of a skewed truth from Kristy. "Well…I wasn't completely honest with you. I mean, there are a couple things I left out," I say, then explain about the lies I told Wes and how Kristy and Elizabeth have both threatened to expose me.

"Why does Kristy care?" Lindsey wants to know when I finish.

I nod. "I agree. It's none of her business. She's so judgmental." I knew I could count on Lindsey to see my side.

"I still think you're delusional," Sally says, turning her head to look at me. "And that – "

"Sally, watch out!" I shriek, as Sally runs a stop sign.

Sally slams on the brakes and we screech to a halt in the middle of the intersection nearly plowing into the side of a white Corvette. The redhead behind the wheel throws up her hands and leans on the horn. She shouts something we can't hear. Sally gives her the finger and continues across the intersection.

Lindsey's jaw has dropped open.

"See, I knew it was a bad idea to let Sally drive your car," I point out. "She's a horrible driver!"

Lindsey's face has gone white and I assume from fear until she speaks. "Do you know who that was?" she squeaks. "That was Grace Blume! She's in my youth group at First Methodist! Oh, no!" Lindsey turns around in her seat to look at me, her eyes panicked. "Do you think she saw me? Grace and Mari control the seating arrangements! They'll make me sit in the back with Alexander Kurtzman next to the trash can!"

"Oh, who cares what some Methodist in a Corvette thinks?" demands Sally, barely pausing at the next stop sign. "And I thought you were Jewish."

"Sadie's Jewish, George is a Methodist. They make me attend both services."

"Religious fanatics. That explains so much about you, Lindsey."

"They aren't fanatics! They simply feel that religion provides a moral foundation that secular society does not," Lindsey tells her, irritably. "Now, back to Shannon. I don't understand why you broke up with him. Kristy isn't going to call the cops. And if she hasn't tattled to her mom and stepdad by now, she's not going to. You should be enjoying yourself while you still can. If you're really in love, it shouldn't matter that you lied about your age. Not if he really loves you."

I rest my chin on the back of her seat. "You think so?" I ask. I've wondered the same myself. Would it matter to him? I can never decide.

"Yes, I think so."

"Okay, let's leave fantasy island and reconvene in the real world," Sally announces, making a sharp turn onto Edgerstone and nearly taking out Bart Taylor as he steps off the curb. "You can't be so dynamite in bed, Starshine, that lover boy will overlook the fact that you are a liar. A liar who has put him in a really bad position. I'm sure the parents of his students will adore the knowledge that he beds high school girls. Unknowingly or not." Sally slams hard on the brakes, for no apparent reason, then switches on the windshield wipers. Again, for no apparent reason. "And you, little Miss Lemonhead," she says to Lindsey, "need to pay more attention to the sermon and less to where you're sitting. Good God, you give awful advice!"

I shift my gaze from Lindsey to Sally and back again. Sally White's not my friend. I don't even like her. Lindsey is my friend. One of my oldest, closest friends. Of course, she's also kind of unstable. She did hit Kristy with a bat that one time. I bite my lip. I don't trust myself anymore.

"And stop chewing on your hair," Sally says, sternly, yanking Lindsey's braid out of her mouth. "That's disgusting! You aren't a baby. No wonder your grandparents treat you like one."

"There's no need to be rude," I tell her. "Could you please focus on driving?"

"Don't listen to her, Shannon," Lindsey says to me, twirling her blonde braid around her hand. "She doesn't know you. You're mature. And you're in love. That's really all that matters. You shouldn't care what anyone else says. You know, when George and Sadie got married, none of their relatives came to the wedding. Everyone was up in arms because they weren't the same religion. But their families came around eventually. George and Sadie have been married for almost forty years."

"Did Granny lie about being Jewish?" Sally asks.

"No."

"Did Gramps lie about being a Methodist?"

"No."

"Were they both over eighteen?"

"Yes."

"Then how are the two situations at all related?"

"Oh, shut up, Sally," I snap. She thinks she knows everything. She knows nothing. "Can you please take me home? I'm tired of circling the neighborhood. Plus, you're the worst driver I've ever ridden with."

Sally makes a U-turn in the middle of Green House Drive and heads back in the direction of McLelland. No one says anything else. When we get back to my house, Lindsey lets me out, then has the good sense to make Sally switch her seats. I say goodbye to Lindsey, but ignore Sally, and walk back up the steps to my front door.

Mrs. Bryar has already left. Upstairs, I find Maria in her bedroom, a suitcase open on the bed, half-filled with clothes and school books. I freeze in the doorway and watch her shove in her ski parka.

"Are you running away?" I ask, my voice catching in my throat. She's leaving me, too?

"No," Maria says, coldly, not turning around. She closes the suitcase and zips it. "I'm spending the night at Lily's. I told her stepmom that Mom and Dad are out of town and that my older sisters aren't fit to care for me."

"What if I say you can't go?"

Maria lifts her suitcase off the bed and turns to me. "You're not in charge anymore, Shanny," she says. "You can't boss me around."

I stare at her, feeling like she's socked me in the stomach. I collapse sideways so that my right shoulder leans into the doorway.

Maria reaches into her pocket. "This is from Tiffany," she says, handing me a folded sheet of binder paper. "Lily's stepmom said to wait outside." Maria passes me in the doorway and disappears down the staircase without another word.

I return to my bedroom and sit down on the bed, unfolding the sheet of paper. Tiffany's written me a note. Actually, it's addressed to "The Hypocrite", which I suppose is the same as writing "To Shannon". I scan the note with my eyes. It reads: "To The Hypocrit: I am staying at Frannie's. Don't come after me! I don't want to see you're lying, judgementel face. Mom came home while you were out. She and Julian are going to Baltimore for two days to screw, although she calls it a bussiness trip. Just a FYI, like you'd notice she was gone.

I read the note three times. I can't believe its coldness. Coldness from Tiffany, coldness from Maria. I know I've disappointed them. But I'm not perfect. Everything I've done right in the past, does that count for anything? For anything at all?

I retrieve the phone from my desk and bring it over to the bed. I breathe deeply and dial.

"Hello?" answers a girl's voice.

"Hello, is Anna Stevenson there?" I ask.

"Um…let me check." I hear the phone clang onto a table. In the background, there's a distant, muffled sound of girls laughing and shouting. The girl who answered returns. "Anna isn't accepting any phone calls," she informs me. "Sorry."

"Would you tell her it's Shannon? And it's really, really important I speak to her."

"Hold on," the girl says and the phone clangs down again. When she returns she says, "Sorry. She doesn't want to speak to anyone."

"Thanks anyway," I mumble and hang up. I stare down at the phone again. I close my eyes as a couple tears leak out. I wipe them away with the back of my hand. The house is so still, so quiet. I lift the receiver and dial again.

"I've made a terrible mistake."