My Sister Framed Me, Cried To My Parents, And Got Me Thrown Out Barefoot…

A Ghost in the Hallway

After approximately a week I was out of alternatives. That was when I began sleeping wherever I could.

Behind the gas station in a nook near the dumpsters where the light did not shine. I used to be able to hide until closing time at the library, but the security guy found me after a couple of nights and kicked me out.

I tried the school bathroom once, shutting myself in a stall, but someone came in, noticed my bag, and word traveled quickly. Hunger was terrible than cold.

I had maybe $40 saved from cutting lawns and babysitting. That money was quickly spent on cheap hamburgers and vending machine munchies.

Following that I either missed meals or drank from water fountains. My stomach grumbled loudly in class.

I would receive looks. School didn’t make things simpler.

Becca worked quickly. At the end of the first week everyone had heard the story.

How I stole money from my father, how I was booted out. She made it sound like I was a junkie in training.

When I sat down next to them, the kids brought their backpacks closer. Teachers gave me long stares that indicated they’d already been warned about me.

As I sat down in arithmetic class, a female moved her notepad.

“Sorry, I don’t want my stuff stolen,”

She whispered under her breath just loud enough for everyone to hear. The entire row snickered.

I wanted to yell but I knew it wouldn’t help. One day in the hallway, Evan, a basketball player, shoulder checked me.

“Watch your hands, thief.”

I shoved him back out of reflex and for a brief moment I believed we were about to swing. A teacher broke it up but I received the warning, not him.

“One more incident, Kyle, and you’re suspended.”

I heard this everywhere I went. Becca shines, I sink.

She made it loud enough so that everyone knew she was responsible with money.

“Unlike some others, I believe,”

She would say.

She’d catch my glance across the cafeteria, give me a slight smirk, and then resume her lovely demeanor in front of her buddies. She relished every second of it.

By the second week I was a ghost at my own school. Nobody wanted me around.

I sat alone, ate alone when I had food, and pretended I didn’t care. But internally it was eating me alive.

Nights were the worst. I’d curl up with my backpack and sweatshirt over my face, hoping cops wouldn’t bother me or a drunk wouldn’t walk by.

The chilly concrete caused my back to ache. My shoes were stinky from walking miles everyday merely to waste time.

And all I could think about was my own family did this to me. Not strangers, not enemies.

My sister.

One night I attempted to sneak into the library again. I figured if I concealed better maybe they wouldn’t notice.

I curled myself behind a row of shelves and used my bag as a pillow. Around midnight the guard’s flashlight struck me directly in the eyes.

He shakes his head.

“You can’t stay here, kid.”

He ushered me out the side door as if I were a trespasser. I wasn’t sure where to go.

And for the first time the concept struck me: perhaps this is precisely what they wanted. Perhaps they didn’t want me alive anymore.

I ended myself curled up behind the petrol station among the garbage. I closed my eyes but all I saw was Becca’s smug little face pretending to cry as my parents shoved me out the door.

The Confrontation in the Dark

She had won, at least for now. I kept telling myself that someone, anyone, would eventually listen.

Perhaps the adults at school weren’t completely blind. Perhaps one of my family would truly have a backbone.

I was mistaken. It all started with my father finding me.

I’m not sure how he knew where I was. Perhaps Becca told him.

Perhaps he just drove around till he saw me. I was seated on a park bench with my hoodie drawn tight when his car’s headlight struck me.

He came up so fast I feared he was going to run me over.

“Get in the car,”

He demanded, slamming the door behind him.

I stayed firmly rooted on the bench. I felt my gut tighten just hearing his voice.

“Now,”

He demanded.

I shake my head.

“Not unless you’re ready to admit Becca lied.”

His face contorted like if I’d spit in it.

“Don’t you dare talk about your sister like that! She’s been through enough because of you!”

“Through enough?”

Was my reply.

“She planted the money! She framed me and you just believed her!”

His jaw tightened. He took a step closer, pointing his finger at me as if it were a weapon.

“You’re going to come home. You’re going to admit what you did and you’re going to apologize, or I’ll call the police and tell them you’ve been stealing from stores, begging for money on the street. Do you understand me?”

I clenched my purse’s latch.

“I am not coming home to be treated like garbage again! You can call anybody you want but I’m not going to admit to something I didn’t do!”

For a brief moment I believed he was going to swing at me, his fists curled and his face hot. But then he swung around, went back to the car, and took off, leaving me shaking.

That was the moment it hit home: he did not want the truth. He only wanted control.

The next day at school I approached the counselor. I thought, hey, maybe they’ll believe me if I just lay it all out.

I sat in that office, my heart racing. I told her everything.

How Becca placed the money, how she brags about it, and how my parents kicked me out. She listened, nodding with that blank expression counselors have.

When I finished, she sighed.

“Kyle, I understand you’re under a lot of stress but accusing your sister without evidence isn’t going to help. Your parents already spoke to us. They’re concerned about your behavior. They claimed you were unstable.”

Unstable. That word affected me the most, as if I were a ticking bomb rather than a youngster camping outside gas stations.

“I’m telling the truth,”

I explained, my voice quivering.

She simply shook her head.

“Focus on your schoolwork. The best way to show your family you’re trustworthy is through your actions.”

So basically suck it up. That’s what she intended.

I attempted one more angle. I contacted my aunt from a pay phone outside the supermarket.

She picked up cheerfully until she heard me speak. Her tone changed as soon as I told what had transpired.

“Kyle, this isn’t something I can get involved in. Your parents are doing what they think is best. Maybe if you just said ‘Sorry’…”

I hung up before she could finish. My own blood did not want to touch this trash.

Everyone wanted the easy version of the story. Kyle is incompetent, Becca is perfect. Case closed.

A Glimmer of Hope

That night I sat outside the petrol station back against the wall sipping water I’d filled in the bathroom sink, hoping to feel something in my gut. A neon sign buzzed overhead.

Cars drove in and out and I sat there unseen. Then I heard the voice that I despised the most.

“Wow, didn’t think you’d last this long out here.”

I looked up and there she was. Becca was holding a Pepsi, casual as heck, as if she were simply passing by to say hello.

I glared.

“Why are you here?”

“Curious, I guess. I wanted to see how long it would be before you crawled back.”

She asked, smirking.

My fists clenched.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You think you had it rough? Try being me! Mom and dad never let me slip. Not once! Every grade, every chore, every little thing I did was compared to you!”

She said.

“If I messed up, it was, ‘Don’t be like your brother.’ That’s all I ever heard!”

I frowned but she continued, her voice low and steady.

“Now for once, I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to prove anything. All I have to do is not screw up like you. And honestly, that’s easy. I’m not giving that up.”

“You’re sick,”

I mumbled.

Her grin broadened.

“What’s really sick is how easy it was. Everyone already thought you were the screw-up. I just gave them proof.”

I wanted to shout, shove her or something. But she leaned in, her voice lowering.

“And if you keep pushing it, if you keep running your mouth about me, I’ll make up something even worse and then you won’t just be homeless. You’ll be locked up.”

She stated it calmly and confidently, which made my skin crawl. She wasn’t lying.

She was already planning her next move. She strolled away as if she hadn’t just threatened to destroy what little I had left.

And as I sat there in the warmth of that gas station sign, it dawned on me. She was not simply attempting to make me appear terrible.

She wanted to utterly erase me. That thought lingered in my mind for days.