Free Fault Lines by Brenda Ortega

know what makes me feel like jumping off a cliff? People like Taylor. Mean, selfish, ugly people who get away with murder. People like Mr. Reiber, sticking his nasty nose in where it doesn’t belong and ripping my parents apart! Right should win, but it doesn’t. Nothing bad ever happens to those people, and they deserve it!”
    I thought I might explode right there.
    “What did Mr. Reiber do?” Todd said.
    I took a deep breath and blew it out. I wanted to explode and be gone, but no such luck. “Nothing, just forget it. It’s a long story and it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s done.”
    “Well, if he split up your parents, why don’t we do something about it?”
    The faint glow of a streetlight softened Todd’s face, and I suddenly saw him clearer than ever. Long eyelashes under his uncut hair. Full movie-star lips. Cheekbones jutting out. He was cute enough that he should have been running after Taylor instead of me.
    “What are you talking about?” I said. “What would we do?”
    He smiled and his eyes crinkled. “I don’t know, but I could think of something to make him pay.”
    Make him pay . Those words were all I heard. Yes, make him pay for all he’s done. Nothing from my dog trainer voice. Not a peep from my good side.
    I was unleashed.

now
    ready, AIM, fire
    Mom’s already seated in the waiting area of the school’s counseling office when I arrive at the end of the day for my “post-arrest review.” I sit two seats over. Dad leans against the opposite wall. He tries to smile at me, then looks straight-faced at the clock. 3:10.
    The door to the counselors’ small meeting room is closed, and a sign hangs on the outside that reads “AIM meeting in progress.”
    I’ve heard of AIM, also known as Academic Investment Matters, but I’ve never had a meeting before. All I know that happens is problem kids and their parents listen while teachers list their bad behavior.
    At least I hope all we do is listen. I hope Mom and Dad don’t speak. They’re not so good at anything but arguing anymore.
    My gray-haired counselor, Mrs. Vernon, opens the door. She’s tiny, but students and teachers alike call her General V. “Are the Burkharts here? Please, come in.”
    We enter to the stares of all my teachers except Mrs. Luna, and I can breathe again in her absence. Thank God she’s missing. She won’t be here to say the one thing I don’t want Mom and Dad to know, what happened with Ricky York, the boy in the play, the day that turned into the night that Creeper’s window got broken.
    “Have a seat,” Mrs. Vernon says, motioning to three chairs on one side of a table, facing my accusers.
    Mom and Dad pick the two outside ones, so I’m in the middle.
    Mrs. Vernon sits at the corner. “We’re here today at the request of the Juvenile Court, to prepare a report for Danielle’s upcoming court appearance. In addition, we need to develop strategies for improving her school performance. Before we begin with each teacher, can either of you shed any light on the situation?”
    She’s looking from Dad to Mom, skipping over me.
    The door opens. Mrs. Luna peeks in before sliding through and slipping into the nearest chair. “So sorry to be late.”
    My stomach turns.
    “Yes,” Mrs. Vernon says, looking over the top of her glasses at Mrs. Luna. “I was just asking Danielle’s parents to share any pertinent information with us.”
    Dad clears his throat, but Mom answers. “We’re going through a divorce.”
    The teachers nod and look at me. I flush.
    “And selling our home, and getting rid of her dog,” Dad adds angrily, looking past me at Mom.
    Silence. Please God, strike me dead. Don’t let them launch into a fight here.
    “All right then,” Mrs. Vernon says. “Let’s get started with Mr. Fritz, who let me know in advance that he needs to leave early. He has only a few minutes to talk about Danielle’s performance in computer class.”
    The Ditz talks fast and doesn’t say much. There’s no