She rounded the corner to the front office and saw Alice standing at the reception desk. Her trench coat brushed the back of her black jeans. She noticed Alice’s favorite leopard-print flats and felt a surge of rage. She should have let Sadie’s friendship with Teddy run its course in elementary school. Instead, Meredith had continued to throw them together. Sadie had witnessed Teddy’s downward spiral, and now she was participating in it.
Of course, Alice looked impeccable, as if appearances could fix everything. Meredith assessed her own work uniform: Nike running pants and an Elm Creek Ortho polo shirt layered over a black tee. She wished she’d had time to change.
The receptionist looked past Alice. “Mrs. Yoshida? Just a moment. I’ll be right with you.”
Alice spun, her face pale and eyes wide. “Meredith,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Meredith stiffened. Alice didn’t know? Her fury intensified as she imagined her finding out about the photo. Alice would try to blame Sadie, no doubt. Meredith flashed back to her comment about due process when they’d all discussed #MeToo on one of their power walks last summer.
“Did you give Teddy his phone back?” Meredith demanded, her voice a gravelly whisper. “Why would you do that?”
Alice looked baffled. “I installed that software you recommended. The one with the app control.”
Meredith moved up to the desk and signed in on the clipboard. She avoided eye contact with the receptionist. How will I ever make eye contact with anyone in Elm Creek ever again?
“To be honest, Meredith,” Alice whispered as she followed her to the chairs outside Whittaker’s office, “I don’t even know why I’m here. It must have been too awful to tell me on the phone.” She tried for a laugh then, but it came out as a croak. “Do you know?”
Just then, Whittaker’s office door clicked open and Jonas Lagerhead, his white-blond hair slicked back, walked out.
“As I said—” Whittaker kept talking as he trailed Jonas. “Tane’s waiting in the Quiet Room at the back of the library. You can go pick him up there and then come back to sign out.”
Jonas glowered at the assistant principal. “I’ll sign him out now,” he said. “Save time.” That’s against the rules, Meredith thought, and then shook her head. Who cared about sign-out rules at a time like this?
Meredith jumped up. “Am I next?” She followed Whittaker into the office without looking back. The overhead lights reflected off the waxy leaves of a lush-looking plant on Whittaker’s desk. Meredith reached out and rubbed a leaf between her thumb and forefinger and realized with a shot of embarrassment that the plant was artificial. She dropped both hands into her lap.
“Well,” said Whittaker awkwardly.
This man has seen my child’s breast, Meredith realized. She blinked hard. “Do you know how this happened? Sadie would never just do this kind of thing.”
“I’m still piecing things together,” Whittaker said.
“Where is Sadie?” Meredith’s mouth felt dry, the lights too bright.
“I’ve got her in the nurse’s office,” Whittaker said. “I’ve been keeping the three of them separate.”
Meredith clasped her hands and leaned toward the assistant principal. “I just feel like I have to tell you that Sadie hasn’t done anything like this before. She’s been the opposite of a wild child for her entire school career.” Wild child? Meredith squeezed her knuckles. What was she talking about?
Mr. Whittaker’s face remained neutral, his eyes flat. “Mrs. Yoshida, the fact that I hadn’t met Sadie before last week tells me that she usually runs the straight and narrow. But the Instagram video was troubling. And now this photo. As I said, I’m working with incomplete information. What do you already know?”
No, thought Meredith. Don’t give him anything. She’d call Bill about a lawyer. “All I have is a couple of text messages from my daughter.” Meredith imagined the assistant principal looking at the picture again then and her stomach lurched. “Have you seen it?” she blurted.
“Look,” he said, palms up, “I know how shocking something like this has to be.”
“You don’t,” Meredith said. The man couldn’t be more than thirty years old. He had the remnants of a zit on the left side of his chin.
“Do you have children?” Meredith asked. “Any girls?”
“No. Actually, I just got engaged.” He smiled faintly, and Meredith felt like slapping him.
“Congratulations,” she managed. “Well, this will be hard, but just try to imagine you have a daughter.” Meredith felt her words coming more quickly. “And then imagine she’s thirteen years old and some little pervert pressures her to take a topless photo.” Whittaker pulled at his collar and coughed. “Now imagine him showing it to all his skeezy friends.”
“Um . . .” Whittaker looked over Meredith’s shoulder as if he hoped to be interrupted.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She reached out to the plant again and felt its thick plastic leaf. “There’s no way Sadie would have done something like this unless she was massively coerced.” Meredith shifted her gaze to a row of potted succulents on the filing cabinet. Also fake, she thought.
Whittaker leaned back in his chair, his hands curled around the armrests. “I asked her a couple of times why she did it, and she says she doesn’t know.”
Alice Sullivan
Ten minutes after Meredith’s meeting with Whittaker started, Sadie appeared with a police officer, a stout woman with her hair in a neat chignon and a gun in her holster. Alice held her breath as they walked to Whittaker’s office. The officer knocked lightly and held the door open for Sadie. The two disappeared inside, and Alice made stunned eye contact with the receptionist.
“Police liaison officer. They don’t have those in the elementary schools.” The receptionist looked quickly back to her computer screen.
A gun? Alice thought. For junior high?
This had to be Sadie’s first time in any discipline situation. Meredith said Sadie had straight As. And now she was in a meeting with the police.
Alice grabbed her phone from her bag and texted Patrick. “Emergency meeting in Whittaker’s office.” On the one hand, she felt guilty for alarming him when she didn’t know all the facts. But on the other hand, she couldn’t face the police alone. “I’ll let you know what happens.”
Alice leaned her head back against the glass wall of the office and closed her eyes, blocking out the kids passing in the hallways. A few minutes later, she opened them again when Meredith and Sadie exited Whittaker’s office ahead of him. Meredith refused eye contact, and Sadie’s slumped posture conveyed dejection. This was not the Sadie she knew—none of her usual confidence or precociousness. In fact, Sadie’s whole body seemed to sag, her shoulders rounded around her chest. After they’d passed, Alice stood.
“Come on in,” Whittaker said. “I’ve asked Officer Larson to join us.”
Alice forced herself forward, unable to speak. She judged the police officer to be about forty-five, given the wrinkles around her eyes. She didn’t smile or stand as she offered her hand to shake. “I’m Cindy Larson of the Elm Creek Police Department, currently assigned to the school.”
Once she’d taken the seat next to Officer Larson, Alice tried again and felt relieved that she could indeed utter words. “What’s going on?” she asked. She scanned the room, remembering the blank walls and the dusky sandalwood smell. Alice fixed her eyes on the artificial plant on the edge of the desk.
“I hate to do this today just as we’ve gotten back to normal,” Whittaker began, “but we’ve uncovered a troubling situation this morning, and given Teddy’s recent history . . .” He coughed. Alice closed her eyes as she had outside, as if waiting for a jury to read its verdict. “Well,” Whittaker continued. “It’s especially troubling for him.”
Officer Larson scooted her chair closer to Alice’s. “This might sound sh
ocking,” she said. Alice glanced again at her gun. “But we’ve determined from interviews this morning that Teddy has distributed a photo of Sadie Yoshida’s breast to several members of his soccer team.”
Officer Larson’s round face blurred in front of Alice. The sandalwood smell—one she usually associated with warm feelings—became oppressive. Alice fanned her face with her hand. The silence in the room stretched.
There had to be a mistake. Sadie Yoshida would never, ever photograph her naked breast. Alice would have laughed at just the idea of Meredith’s daughter doing something so illicit.
“But I turned off Teddy’s phone apps after nine p.m.,” Alice said stupidly. Nothing, she realized, would have prevented him from sending the photo earlier in the day. Officer Larson gave her a pitying smile, and neither she nor Whittaker spoke. “Why would Sadie take such a photo?” Alice’s voice sounded like a whine, which she hated. “We’ve known her since she was a little girl.”
Whittaker nodded. “I agree it seems totally out of character for Sadie, but junior high is prime time for impulsive behavior, and in this case, it seems like we might be dealing with a bit of a love triangle?”
“What?” Alice was having a hard time following. She wished she could tag out, that Patrick could just give her a report of the meeting later, after the fact.
“I’m thinking this might have something to do with Teddy’s actions at assembly two weeks ago.” Whittaker coughed again. “With Tane.” As if Alice needed a reminder.
“To be fair,” Alice said, “I’m not sure that was so much of a decision related to Tane as a terrible impulse. You just mentioned impulsivity? I read an article about ADHD last week.” She’d make an appointment, she thought, with Teddy’s pediatrician for a formal evaluation.
Officer Larson’s cocked head conveyed judgment, and Alice looked away, her eyes drawn to her leopard-print shoes. “In any case,” Whittaker said, “Tane seems to have bragged about his relationship.” He rolled his hand in the air. “With Sadie, I mean, by sending Teddy the picture I mentioned.”
Alice blinked at him.
“Uh, the picture of Sadie’s breast,” he clarified.
Whittaker’s face faded in and out of focus. “Wait,” Alice managed. “What exactly did Teddy do?”
Whittaker gave an exaggerated nod and seemed relieved to be back on track. “We learned about the photo when another parent, the mother of someone on Teddy’s Elm Creek Soccer Club team, reported that she’d seen it on her child’s phone last night.” Whittaker dropped his chin and looked up at Alice, as if she were being scolded. “We do recommend, Mrs. Sullivan, that parents periodically check their children’s text messages and emails.”
“I do check!” Alice blurted. “I just told you I’d started that!” She jumped then as a text notification dinged. “Sorry.” She grabbed her phone and flicked it to silent. “And this soccer mother knows for sure her son got the picture from Teddy?” His phone was supposed to be a practical purchase, helpful for rides and trips to the mall. Alice had read alarmist pieces about the catastrophic mistakes teens made with their phones in every publication from People to the New York Times, but she couldn’t believe this meeting was actually happening to her. “I’m assuming you’ve talked to Teddy about this?” Alice asked. “What’s he saying about it?”
Alice caught a look between Officer Larson and Mr. Whittaker. “He denies it,” Whittaker said, “but we’ve got it now from more than one source.”
Alice remembered the Spider-Man speech Patrick had given to Teddy when he’d unwrapped the iPhone. Her husband would be so disappointed to learn it hadn’t done any good. Officer Larson jumped in. “I’m afraid we need to talk about the seriousness of what Teddy has done.”
“I understand the seriousness,” Alice said, “but we do want to verify that he actually—”
Officer Larson held up a finger. “You’ll find he actually did.” The compassion Alice had first detected in her gaze fizzled. “And I need to tell you that sharing pictures of girls’ breasts via text message qualifies as distributing child pornography. It’s Minnesota statute.”
“Well, then Tane’s guilty, too?” Alice remembered Jonas Lagerhead striding angrily from the office, no police officer at his side.
Officer Larson frowned. “We obviously can’t discuss the disciplinary actions we may or may not have taken against other students.”
Alice felt the backs of her thighs slide forward on the straight-backed chair. Dry air spread across her tongue. Officer Larson peered at her. “I’ll have to file a police report,” she said. Alice wondered what would happen if she slid all the way off her chair and lay on the ground. “But,” Officer Larson continued as Alice imagined the feel of the carpet against the back of her neck. “Our county DA hasn’t been pressing charges for minors under the age of fifteen, at least not for first-time offenders.”
“You’re filing a report?” Alice’s voice echoed in her head. “Teddy’s only twelve.”
“I know it sounds extreme.” Whittaker swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple shiny under the LED lights. “But what Teddy’s done is actually a crime.”
Nothing in any of Alice’s parenting books had included instructions on what to do if your tween got arrested. She ran a hand over her jeans and wished she were home in her sweat pants. This outfit, including her favorite shoes, had turned against her. “Where is Teddy?” Alice asked.
Whittaker nodded toward the wall on his left. “He’s on his way from the social worker’s office.” Alice felt hot.
“We should look at other schools,” she blurted. “Or move. My husband’s been working in Cincinnati. Maybe it’s nice there?” Whittaker squinted at her, and Alice heard the office door open. She expected to feel enraged when she saw Teddy, but instead she wanted to throw both arms around him. All of his blustery defiance had gone. His eyes looked tired and his head bowed. Alice remembered the couple of times he’d dropped his McDonald’s ice creams on the sidewalk after soccer practices. This was like that, only sadder.
Teddy Sullivan
As soon as they left Whittaker’s office, Teddy’s mom took his phone. “Where’s your locker?” she asked. Her face looked gray. He pointed down the hall, and she walked next to him in that direction, silent. After Teddy had opened it, his mom dumped everything from his locker shelves into his backpack.
“We don’t need it all,” Teddy tried to say, but she emptied it anyway. The stuff that didn’t fit in the backpack, she put in her work bag. She took down the pictures of soccer players he’d hung on the door, crumpling them as she pushed them behind her laptop sleeve. Teddy looked up and down the hallway, checking for witnesses. Only the English teacher with a classroom across the hall seemed to notice them. He gave Teddy a wondering look.
Teddy tried to swallow his fear, to push the police officer out of his mind, but his limbs shook with it. For a second, he thought he’d have to sit down right there in the hallway. “We don’t need the pictures,” he whispered to his mother. She didn’t say anything.
In the car, she never turned toward him. She revved her engine out of the school’s driveway and took her turns faster than normal. Teddy gripped the armrest and spread his fingers for stability.
When they pulled into the garage, Teddy’s mom got out before he’d even unbuckled his seat belt. His whole body felt heavy as he shuffled inside. His mom’s shoes—the animal print ones she liked so much—lay on their sides in the mudroom. He could hear her stomping up the stairs and guessed he should probably go to his room, but he didn’t want to follow her to the second floor. He didn’t want to see her eyes flash while she avoided looking at him.
Once her door slammed, he figured he could tiptoe up there. As he did, he could hear her opening and closing her dresser drawers. He briefly wondered whether she’d hide his phone in the same place she’d stashed the Xbox she’d bought them for Christmas last year, in the drawer ben
eath her bed with the bulkiest of her sweaters. Teddy still remembered the date on which he’d found that Xbox. It had been December 16, when Alice had taken Weasley for a walk before dinner. He’d worried for the next nine days that his pretend “surprised” reaction to the gift wouldn’t be convincing enough, but neither of his parents suspected anything. Adrian had asked him later, “Did you know?” Teddy surprised himself then with a seemingly heartfelt shake of his head.
Teddy had almost crossed the threshold of his room when he heard his mother’s voice, muffled but sharp. He couldn’t hear all of her words, but a particularly loud “No!” reached him. He backed out into the hallway. His arms felt leaden, his fingers tingly. He’d never, even before a penalty kick in soccer, felt so seized by fear. Who was she talking to?
“I don’t know,” she said. “The police officer said they haven’t been charging kids under fifteen lately—too few resources for too common a problem, which I guess is supposed to make me feel better? To know that other kids do this kind of stupid shit?”
Teddy recoiled at “shit” but forced himself forward again, closer to his parents’ door. He’d crept out here once in the previous summer, woken in the night by a bad dream. He’d stood outside their door, feeling his heart exploding in his chest, and realized he was too old to open it.
“I’m not sending him back,” his mom said, louder now on the phone. “I texted Ramona to tell her I needed time. I’ll have to homeschool him.”
Teddy’s eyes widened. Homeschool? There was a kid on the Elm Creek Soccer Club premier team who was homeschooled. He wore the kind of ugly sports goggles that fastened behind his head. Nobody passed to that kid unless the coach screamed at them to do it. Teddy had heard him mention the periodic table and Jesus in equal frequency on the sidelines.
“I can’t calm down, Patrick,” Alice said, quieter. Teddy leaned his head closer to the door. He thought he heard her flop down on her bed. “The police are involved.” She paused, and Teddy held his breath. “Okay.” His mom’s voice cracked, and he heard a hiccup. “Thank you. I know.”
Are We There Yet? Page 21
