Chapter 3

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I'm too tired to pretend today.

"Camila! Get down here!"An audible "ugh" escapes my lips. I know what's coming. The parade of questions.

What happened? Why weren't you watching your sister?Why didn't you wait at the hospital? I really don't want to get into it, but better get this over with.

My Dad's is leaning against the fridge, which has tilted off the ground slightly. His face is scrunched, and it looks like he's been holding his breath for the past few minutes. Mom is elbow-high in soapy dish water. They're more upset than I thought. We have a dishwasher so Mom only hand washes when she's pissed about something. Or when she's really hurt. And Dad only gets purple when Mom is hurt. Crap.

"Care to tell us what happened this morning?" Dad's voice is calm, though his stance tells me he's trying to keep his anger in. Mom slops around in the sink. "I don't know what happened," I say to the floor. "Sofia sent me this text and I didn't want to be late for class, so I thought if I sent Lauren—"

"Jauregui?" My eyes click up to see my dad's furrowed brow. "You were skipping class with her?" His confused expression slaps onto my face now. "Huh?" He rubs his hand across his forehead. "Camila, I don't like being lied to. Give it to me straight please. Don't you care at all about what you did to your sister?" "What?" My high-pitch screech was probably heard a hundred miles away. "What I did? I didn't do anything!"

"Don't lie to me!" I cower under his tone, and I know I'm about to go into hysterics. Dad, like, never yells. Mom whimpers over the sink, and my dad stops leaning against the fridge. It slams against the floor as his weight leaves it. He curls his arms around Mom's waist. I hate seeing her like this, and I know my dad hates seeing her like this, but I'm so confused I don't know what to say.

"Camila." It's Mom's shattered voice that sends the tears cascading from my eyeballs. "I trust you to look after your sister, and you let her drive your car? What were you thinking?" I feel the blood rise in my face. I'm probably as purple as my dad now. I ball my fists up and suck in a small wisp of air. Sofia! "I didn't let her," I growl through my teeth. "She stole my car and took off before I even woke up. I had to get a ride with Lauren today. You can check with her if you don't believe me."

 My parents look at each other, eyes swapping questions. After a minute or two of this silent conversation, my dad snaps the phone off the wall. I hear Laurens's house phone ring through the window. "I need to speak with Lauren, if that's okay, Mike." His voice is kind, but you can totally tell he's in a hurry. I plop down on the bar stool and wait. Even though I know there shouldn't be anything to worry about since I'm telling the truth, my heart still whacks against my breastplate.

"Lauren, this is Mr. Cabello... thank you, that's why I'm calling. Did Camila go to school with you?" My dad's eyes burn into mine as he waits for Lauren to answer. He's quiet for a while."Thank you. You've helped clear up the issue Have a good night." Dad clicks the end button and stands frozen for a minute. Both Mom and I hold our breath. Seconds later he comes and gives me a hug and my mother joins in too

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Back in my room, I yank on my baggy pajamas. I'm really in no mood to be fake or pretend. It's not like I have anyone to impress in my bedroom. And after what happened today, all I need is my X-Men book.

With flashlight in hand, I jump into the pages, wiping away stupid tears. I have no idea why I'm crying. Even though she stole my car, wrecked it, and then told my parents I was the one who did everything, I still can't help but feel guilty for leaving her in the hospital with tubes hanging out of her.

I'm a horrible sister.

I hear Laurens's window slide open, and my stomach flutters. Ugh! I hate the effect she still has on me. I whip the comforter off my head, and my hair pops with all the static. Lauren chuckles as she leans out his window. I quickly run my hand through my hair, turning red. "Your sister get home okay?"

"Yeah." I crawl off the bed, trying to look sexy about it, but I'm not sure if I pull it off. I duck out my window so I can hear her better. Our property lines are so close, if we both extended our arms, we could hold hands. "You're not in trouble are you?"

I shake my head but drop my gaze to the bushes below us.

"What's wrong, Camz?" I shake my head again, pursing my lips. No way am I confiding in her. That would send me down a very dangerous path resulting in a drop on the social ladder. "Come on. We used to talk about everything." I cringe. "I know."

"Didn't know you hated it so much." I look up at her. Her hair has fallen in front of her eyes, but I can see the hurt my words have caused behind them. I didn't hate it. Things are just," I pause, trying to find the right word. When she meets my stare, I finally find it. "Different."

She nods and chuckles. "I guess you could say that."

An awkward silence spreads between us. I blow up my cheeks but stop when I see Lauren smirk at me. But then her smile fades, and her brow furrows.

"Camila, why...?" She doesn't finish, and I don't prod. I don't want to know what's going on in her head. "Thanks for covering for me." "I just told him the truth." Lauren states."Well, thanks anyways." Awkward silence again. She run's a hand through her hair and my stomach does a pancake flip as her green eyes rest on mine. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She slams her window down and shuts the blinds. I reciprocate, nearly breaking the glass. On top of being a horrible sister, I'm a horrible neighbor. My bed looks comfortable, but I plop down on the floor. I grab the edge of the comforter and wrap it around myself.

Damn girl and all the jacked up feelings I get when I'm around her. She's a freaking loser! She wore a Stars Wars shirt today. She invited me to watch a documentary this weekend. And the worst part is: I'm jealous of her.

I can't help but feel the same things I had when we were... friends. I suppose that's the best way to describe the relationship we had. But there are reasons why we aren't that way anymore. We're just so...

Different.

But that isn't her fault. It's mine. I throw the comforter over my head and close my eyes to escape the pain growing in my chest.

I'm a horrible person. Period.

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