Harmless? My nerves and insomnia begged to differ, but this man wouldn’t care about that. He’d call me hysterical, or some other chauvinistic term. I could feel sweat at the nape of my neck, dampness in my armpits, but I pressed on. “We have them on camera throwing rocks. And puncturing the tires on our car.”
“Can you identify my son?” he sneered.
“Well, no.… But we caught him in front of our home last night. He was about to throw a beer bottle at us.”
“Will and his friends were going to drink some beer in the park,” the man stated, “and then your husband and son came out of nowhere and attacked them.”
An incredulous laugh bubbled out of me. How could Jack Nygard believe such a preposterous story? How could this conversation be going so wrong? “These boys have been bothering us, almost nightly, for weeks. We just want it to stop.”
“So, your husband and son thought they’d beat my kid up?”
“No one beat your kid up, Mr. Nygard. They just talked to him. They just tried to get some answers.”
“Is that what they told you?”
“I was there,” I lied. Because I knew that Thomas and Eli would never, ever have hurt this boy. “I saw the entire conversation.”
“Will has bruises on his arm and on his shoulder. He said your husband swore at him and berated him until he was in tears. They tackled him to the ground and twisted his arm.”
“They did no such thing,” I cried. But I wondered: Had they? Thomas was so angry. And Eli was just a kid himself. He could have gotten carried away.
“I’ve already talked to a friend of mine at the police department. You can expect a visit from the cops.”
“We just want to be left alone,” I said, my voice trembling. “There’s no need to get the police involved.”
“Your husband should have thought of that before he dragged my son into his backyard. That’s unlawful confinement. That’s assault.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, but my voice was weak.
“My kid is traumatized. Your husband and your son are going to pay.”
And then he hung up.
Thomas
I HAD BEEN eager to call Will Nygard’s parents, to tell them exactly what I thought of their delinquent little brat, but Viv’s instincts were right. I was too angry, too riled up. My wife would handle the call to the Nygards better than I could. She was calm, and reasonable, and also seriously rattled by all the shit that had been happening to us. Viv would make them understand that they needed to get their kid under control. Hopefully they’d ground him for the entire summer. If they refused to punish him… well, the poor kid had been terrified last night. He wouldn’t come within ten miles of our property. Eli and I had taught him a serious lesson.
I’d gone into the office to do some research. It was Sunday, so I had all the privacy I needed. Tarryn had denied anything more than a cursory knowledge of a kid named Finn who had been expelled from her school. She said they had barely interacted before he’d been kicked out, for good. Still… I knew how kids “collected” people on social media. My daughter would have freaked out if she caught me scrolling through her Facebook friends list, but I wasn’t doing anything wrong. She’d accepted my friend request years ago, before she decided her mother and I existed only to annoy her. I had full access to all her connections.
Like most people her age, Tarryn rarely used the platform, but she still had over six hundred friends. She must have added most of them back when she was social and actually liked people. I scrolled quickly through the alphabetical list, pausing at the letter F. This Finn kid was the key to understanding why we were being attacked. Will was just a pawn, a foot soldier. While Viv handled his parents, I would get to the bottom of this abuse.
Tarryn had two Facebook friends named Finn. I clicked on the first name and went to his profile. This boy lived in San Diego. He must have moved away from Portland, or else Tarryn had met him on a school trip or something. I clicked on the second Finn—Finn Dorsey. Like my daughter, his school was listed as Centennial High, and he had not been active on Facebook for a few years. His profile pic showed a pale, skinny boy, about thirteen years old, with a mop of blond hair. It was a dated photo. He would be older now, probably about Tarryn’s age. Could this slightly nerdy kid with the shy smile be behind the harassment? Could he provide the answers I sought?
I clicked through his photos, the most recent taken almost three years ago. Most were pictures of Finn and his friends doing skateboard stunts, corroborating that I probably had the right kid. Will Nygard had said that he saw Finn at the skate park. That’s where Finn had asked the boys if they wanted a job attacking us. But why? Why did this kid hate us so much? It didn’t make any sense. But if I could find him, I could ask him.
There were a few photos of Finn on a family camping trip—or so I assumed from the ubiquitous blondness of the other campers. I clicked through the scenic shots: a glassy lake, a small boy resembling Finn holding up a fish, a blond woman roasting a marshmallow. And then, there was Finn, standing in front of a canoe, with my colleague Roger.
What the actual fuck? How did Roger know this boy? There didn’t appear to be any biological connection—Roger was of South Asian descent—but his hand rested on Finn’s shoulder in an avuncular way. What the hell was going on?
I massaged my temples, an effort to ease the crushing tension in my skull. Was it just a coincidence that Roger Bains was close to Finn Dorsey, the kid who’d convinced his friends to torment us? It had to be.… But then, Roger had also brought Chanel into my orbit, the woman who was now blackmailing me. Could there be some connection between my two nightmares?
My head was swimming. It didn’t make sense, but then… what if it did? Ever since Roger’s bachelor weekend, I’d been avoiding him as much as possible. So, if he had a problem with me, how would I know? Maybe he was angry, intent on destroying me? But why? What had I ever done to Roger Bains? Nothing. I’d done nothing. Unless… there was more to that blank night at the golf resort.
Grabbing my phone, I searched my contacts for Roger’s number. I would find out where he was, and I would confront him. I would finally get to the bottom of all this shit. If Roger had put Finn Dorsey up to this mischief, I would find out why. And then I would… well, I didn’t know what I’d do, but I would make it stop. Even if I had to get physical. At that moment, my phone rang in my hand.
When I saw Viv’s name on the call display, I felt a sense of foreboding. As soon as I answered, I could hear her quiet, repressed sobs. “Viv, what’s wrong?”
Her voice sounded so small, and so far away.
“What did you do to Will Nygard?”
Tarryn
IT WAS THE end of English class and everyone was filing out, when Mr. McLaughlin said, “Tarryn. Can I talk to you for a second?”
He didn’t look up from the pages he was marking, and his voice didn’t provide any clue to the reason he needed to speak to me. Luke caught my eye and raised his eyebrows, but I ignored him. I didn’t share his infatuation with Mr. McLaughlin. He was kind of good-looking—for a teacher. He was in his late twenties, fit, with cool glasses. Maybe it was the rumors that had always swirled around him, but he gave me the creeps.
“Yeah?” I said, standing in front of his desk. Mr. McLaughlin waited until the last kid had left the room, and then he said, “Take a seat.”
I grabbed a chair from the closest desk and sat across from him, arms folded.
“I read your essay on ‘The Yellow Wallpaper.’ ”
It was a short story written by early feminist Charlotte Perkins Gilman, first published in 1892. In it, the narrator had been diagnosed with “temporary nervous depression” after she had a baby. Her physician husband insisted on a rest cure, where she was forced to leave her writing and home behind and stay alone in a room with hideous yellow wallpaper. Ultimately, she’d gone insane. My essay argued that social media platforms were a similar trap for women. They kept us focused on our appeara
nce and our sexuality, discouraged us from serious discourse. But then, when we gained power from our looks, we were dismissed and slut-shamed.
“It’s an excellent essay,” Mr. McLaughlin said. “Thought-provoking and well-written. But there was one line that concerned me.”
I knew instantly the words he was referring to. I’d written them, then deleted them, and then typed them again. Because it was the truth. It was how I felt. But I’d worried it might grab the wrong kind of attention. Apparently, my instincts were right.
If I want to use my body or my sexuality to make money or to gain attention, that is up to me. I shouldn’t be shamed for it. I shouldn’t have to hide it. But I do.…
Mr. McLaughlin cleared his throat. “I have to ask.… Are you engaging in any sort of risky behavior, Tarryn?”
I unfolded my arms and gripped the sides of the chair. “I was being hypothetical. I was making a point.”
His cheeks looked red and he shifted in his chair. “Are you sure? Because if there’s anything you’d like to talk about… with me or with your counselor, we’re here to listen.”
“I’m good.”
“Okay…” He sat back in his chair, his eyes still on me. “You know I’m open. If you ever want to tell me anything.” He crossed a foot over his knee. “I’m a lot more chill than your other teachers. I think I kind of get you, Tarryn Adler.”
I took in his lazy posture, the hint of a smile on his lips, his slightly glassy gaze. The hairs on my arms stood up and a chill ran through me. What I saw on Mr. McLaughlin’s face was not concern, but interest. He wasn’t worried about me, he was curious. Maybe even a little aroused by the prospect of me using my sexuality for money.
Ew.
A couple of years ago, the school had been abuzz about Mr. McLaughlin and a senior named Jordan Henry. She was smart and pretty, but everyone said she was really stuck up. I was only in ninth grade, so I barely knew who she was, but by the end of that year, I did. Everyone did.
They said Mr. McLaughlin had offered to help Jordan with her college admissions essays. They said they’d spent time alone in his classroom, and eventually, he invited her to his house. It was a small bungalow, just a couple blocks from the school. It had become a sort of tourist attraction for curious students, or students (like Luke) with crushes.
Jordan Henry’s friends claimed to have seen text messages between the two of them. Jordan told her friends they were in love. We’d all heard that Mr. McLaughlin had almost gotten fired, but because Jordan was eighteen, the school couldn’t get rid of him. It was all rumor and speculation, but right now, it felt true. And the way he was looking at me felt icky. And wrong.
And then it struck me.
LitLad.
Mr. McLaughlin was my lit teacher.
Holy shit. Had he sent the creepy messages? I couldn’t remember the other names the commenter had used. Were they related to literature too? Was my own teacher watching me camming in my bedroom in a wig and underwear?
I stood. “Can I go now?”
“Only if you promise to come to me, if you ever need to talk. About anything.”
But I didn’t promise. Without a word, I hurried out of the room.
Eli
I WAS JUST crawling out of bed when I heard the doorbell. It was almost 10 A.M., but my parents were both at home. Their tense voices had drifted up from the kitchen, their words muffled by the sound of coffee cups being refilled, breakfast dishes being loaded into the dishwasher. I didn’t know who was at the door, but it wouldn’t be for me. I didn’t have any friends left.
As I was pulling a T-shirt over my head, my mom appeared in my doorway. “The police are here,” she said, her voice low. “They want to talk about the other night. With that boy, Will Nygard.”
“Okay.”
She stepped into the room, pressing the door closed behind her. “They want to make sure you and Dad didn’t do anything illegal.” She coughed slightly. “You didn’t, right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Eli”—she looked flustered—“this is important. Your dad could get in serious trouble if he hurt that boy in any way.”
“I know.”
“Because Dad is an adult. And Will is a minor.”
“I get it,” I snapped. She was asking me to cover for him, to take the blame. She didn’t have to articulate it any further.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, touching my cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. Just… tell them what happened.”
She turned and hurried out of the room.
As I descended the stairs, I saw my dad sitting in an armchair facing two uniformed officers, one male, one female, who were seated at opposite ends of the sofa. They both looked stern, and strong and intimidating. And I had to lie to them.
“Look, these kids have been harassing us for over a month,” Dad was saying. “They’re out there in the night with knives and rocks. It’s been terrifying.”
“Sounds stressful,” the male officer commiserated.
“I just wanted some answers. I’d never harm a child.”
My mom introduced me as I entered the room. “This is our son, Eli.”
“Hi, Eli,” the female cop said. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Saturday night. About Will Nygard.”
“Okay.”
The other officer said, “Can you take me outside, Thomas? Show me where everything happened?”
My dad’s eyes darted to mine. They were separating us, making sure our stories lined up. My throat suddenly felt thick and clogged. I wanted to swallow, but that would make me look nervous, and guilty.
“Of course.” My dad stood, his smile too big, too practiced.
As he and the male officer left the room, I took Dad’s chair. My mom perched on the seat vacated by the other cop.
“So,” the police officer said, with an encouraging smile, “can you tell me what happened on Saturday night?”
“These kids have been harassing us for a while,” I said. “It’s been scary for my mom. And stressful for all of us. They were going to throw a bottle at our house, but my dad and I stopped them.”
“How did you stop them?”
“We just jumped out and scared them.”
“Jumped out of where?”
I glanced at my mom, who was trying not to look panicked. She wasn’t doing a very good job.
“We were sitting behind the bushes.”
“Waiting for the boys to show up?”
It sounded like a stakeout. Like an ambush. “We just wanted to talk to them. To ask them why they were bothering us. To ask them to stop doing it.”
“So, what happened when they showed up?”
“They dropped the beer bottle and ran away. But we grabbed one of them.”
“Grabbed him, how?”
“Just… by his jacket.”
“Who grabbed him? You or your dad?”
My cheeks and earlobes were burning. I could feel anxiety coming off my mom in waves, but I kept my cool. “I think my dad sort of blocked his path, and then I held onto his arm.”
“Will Nygard says he was thrown to the ground.”
So, the kid was lying about us. That made what I had to do easier. “He slipped when he was running away. We never threw him down.”
“And then what happened?”
“We took him into the backyard.”
“Why?”
“He was yelling and swearing at us. We didn’t want to wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“And what happened in the backyard?”
“We asked him some questions. My dad wanted to call his parents, but Will said they’d kill him. So, we let him go.”
“Did you or your father hit Will?”
“No. Never.”
“Did you threaten him with any sort of weapon?”
My mom said, “God, no! We don’t have weapons in this house.”
The officer turned to her. “A weapon can be a piece of wood. A phone. Anyt
hing like that.”
“No,” I answered. “Nothing like that.”
“What about verbal threats?”
“I don’t think so. Like I said, we just asked him some questions.”
“Do we need to get a lawyer?” My mom’s voice was shrill.
The officer said, “I’ll need to talk to my partner, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She stood up. “But you can’t touch these kids. I know it’s frustrating. I’m sure it’s scary. But it’s not worth it.”
“We won’t even look at them,” Mom answered. “Right, Eli?”
“Right.”
I stayed alone in the living room while my mom escorted the officer to the door.
Viv
BY THE TIME the police officers left, my stomach was twisted into painful knots. I went into my office and tried to do some invoicing, but I couldn’t focus. I sat on the floor, cross-legged, tried to breathe away my anxiety, to no avail. My nerves were already on edge from the near-nightly assaults, and now the police had come into our home to interrogate us.
“Relax,” Thomas had said, rubbing my shoulders a little too vigorously. “We dodged the bullet.” Did that mean he and Eli had hurt that kid? That they had lied to the police? If that was the case, I didn’t know the man I was married to. And my son was turning out just like him. Thomas kissed my forehead before he hurried out the door. “We’re safe.”
But I didn’t feel safe, not at all. Because now we knew, definitively, that there was no way to stop these hooligans. They were untouchable. We couldn’t take matters into our own hands without getting arrested or sued, but the police wouldn’t help us catch them. The school refused to aid us without a positive identification, but my daughter either couldn’t or wouldn’t ID them. No one was taking this seriously. No one but me.
Eli was in his room gaming. Or watching YouTube videos. Or maybe porn… Whatever he did alone in his room for hours on end. He didn’t hear me slip down the stairs to the basement; if he had, he wouldn’t have cared. He’d think I was doing the laundry, or cleaning the downstairs bathroom, or organizing the storage space. But I went directly to Tarryn’s room and tentatively opened the door.
The Perfect Family Page 12