Someone to Blame

“I know you need someone to blame. But that someone is not me. And it will never be me.” Hillary pointed her finger into my face and her blush started creeping up her neck. I watched her start to sweat and knew it was her tell. I knew she was the one who had keyed my car and this reaction proved it. 

I turned around and walked toward my damaged car with a plan already formulating. Hillary and I had been best friends once. In the days before we made it to middle school we spent every waking moment together. We shared all our secrets and told all our lies together. When sixth grade hit us, our entire relationship changed. Hillary somehow managed to fall in with the crowd she always wanted to be a part of and I apparently had not met the cut. And in the matter of two weeks, our relationship was over. 

I knew her new clique had urged her to key my car because that was their ultimate screw you behavior. Cars were their pride and joy and if your car was not as nice, you were immediately thrown into the limelight. What Hillary didn’t remember was that I knew where her family’s hide-a-key was, I still knew her schedule after all these years and I knew what would scare her the most. And it had to do with her sister. Her sister who suddenly disappeared all those years ago.