Barbarians at the PTA

by Stephanie Newman

  Julie was making soothing sounds. “You guys have been through a lot. It will get better. I know it. These women are a bunch of assholes, Vic. Rachel will come through this and it will all be fine.” She waited for me to go on. “What did Rachel say about missing the practice?”

  I barely had the energy to recap. “Later when we were alone in the car, Rachel was upset. She asked if Lee had made a mistake about the schedule. I said ‘perhaps,’ and bit my tongue.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her it was deliberate? Let her see what lowlifes you’ve been dealing with—better yet, make a plan to get even,” Julie wanted to know.

  “Rachel asked if we could organize a soccer class and not include Collette and a few of the others. I told them that we shouldn’t stoop that low. We’re really better than that. But between you and me, I’d love to get revenge.”

  “I would have told Carly the same thing. But the nastiness you describe makes me burn.”

  “Things were good in the city.” I sighed. “I pushed the move to Mayfair, and since that day I haven’t done anything right.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Vic. What happened between you and Jim isn’t your fault. And as far as the soccer thing, I can’t blame you for being furious. They’ve made your daughter miserable and lied about the practice location. I wonder how these women sleep at night.” She paused for a breath.

  “I wish you lived here.” I said, speaking rapidly, cramming it all in before our short visit was up.

  “Next time, I promise I’ll stay longer.” We hugged and said goodbye.

  Later on at dinner, I told Rachel that it was time I put Lee in her place, and tell everyone in town who didn’t know what a bully she was.

  “Please don’t say anything! They already don’t like me and you’ll make things worse.” Rachel’s eyes were panicked. “Promise me you won’t do anything. I can handle it.”

  It was a dilemma, choosing whether to let the world know how aggressive and nasty Lee had been, or respect Rachel’s wishes for me to put Lee’s treatment of us to the side. I told Rachel I’d never intentionally do anything that would harm her, but reiterated that I had to figure out something to make sure Lee stopped picking on her.

  While we were speaking, Rachel asked if I’d called Jim. I told her that I cared about him, but we weren’t suited for a long-term relationship. She nodded, and in her characteristic preteen way, displayed no further interest in my love life.

  That made two of us. Given how dispirited I felt, I couldn’t imagine entering into a romantic relationship ever again.

  Twenty

  The Social Networks

  It had been a few weeks since the scene at the turf, and even though there had been no further incidents with Lee, I told myself it was merely the calm in the eye of the hurricane. A major storm loomed.

  I was in my Upper East Side office where my first patient had canceled; his OCD rituals were too debilitating and he couldn’t get out of the house. I left a message, encouraging him to think about a medication consult, and then distracted myself by scrolling through Facebook.

  I peeked at Julie’s page. She’d posted a picture of herself and Carly shopping for bathing suits. They were going on a Bahamas cruise, nice.

  Against my better judgment, I went to Jim’s page. I had been expecting to look at an old photo like the one he showed me from a college reunion two years ago: seven men in flannel shirts and jeans, all covered in five o’clock shadows.

  I should have stopped looking, but I couldn’t. My jealousy was a riptide, reeling me in deeper and deeper. Seeing Jim’s handsome face just made me miss him even more, and I sat, paralyzed as the page loaded with photos. The first revealed Jim, arm-in-arm with an auburn-haired woman who was so beautiful, I couldn’t breathe. Not only was he seeing someone new, she was a tall, gorgeous redhead, different from me in every possible way. The pictures broke my heart. He and the woman, together in every shot, smiling and laughing. In one photo, she was whispering something in his ear. I glanced at Jim and the redhead laughing in Yankees hats; eating ice cream; ice-skating. What was next: sandcastles on the beach? I couldn’t stand it.

  It was out there for everyone to see: a love affair between my ex-boyfriend and this mysterious woman. If he’d moved on that quickly, he’d never really loved me at all. I thought back to the dinner party, how Lee had broken us up. Jim and his new girlfriend were probably double dating with the DeVrys at this very moment.

  I started to cry, but stopped myself. If I gave in to this, I wouldn’t get through the day. I dialed Julie, but her cell just rang. I thought of going for a run, but I didn’t have my workout stuff. So I sat feeling sidelined, the wilted wallflower at a high school dance.

  Change the channel, I told myself. Do not think about Jim and his new girlfriend. Or Lee. It was her fault we’d broken up in the first place. “I hate you, Lee,” I told the empty room.

  It was juvenile and reminded me of how Rachel had been angered by the villain in a princess movie—she was two at the time—and shouted at the TV, “I hate you, evil queen!” She’d stomped her foot and balled her fists. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

  Thinking about Rachel’s childhood grudge cheered me up a little. To get myself through the rest of the day, I made a mental plan:

  Step 1: Eliminate all social media, at least for today (who was I kidding? It would be years before I’d be able to get the picture of Jim and the tall beautiful woman out of my mind).

  Step 2: Think about something else. Visualize a pleasant image, like a puppy. We had an Irish Setter growing up. He was so sweet, with his big brown eyes and soft sweet tongue, and silky red hair. Red hair! Ugh. Next.

  Step 3: Distract yourself. Read a magazine.

  I went to the waiting room and grabbed a copy of a news magazine. The lead story was about adolescents and bullying. Not exactly the thing to calm me down.

  I clicked on Rachel’s classroom’s home page, wondering if there were any updates about what they were working on in school. A photo of three small blond girls laughing and smiling came up. I recognized Lexi and Collette, who were photographed on a field trip. They looked so happy and carefree. I wished it were my kid giggling with friends.

  The phone rang, startling me. It was later than I’d thought. Amy had missed her hour and was leaving a rambling message. She’d gone over to Barnum because her daughter had received hurtful texts from some kid at school, and after meeting the principal, had “gotten caught up in something.” Hopefully she wasn’t trawling the internet again, or—worse yet—posting.

  My next clients, the couple with the infertility issues buzzed. After ushering them in, I tried my best to listen as the woman described pregnancy symptoms, but I felt like I was sleepwalking, lost in a stiff-limbed trek through my own worst nightmare. The session ended. I put the tea kettle on and willed myself to keep going.

  This is your fault, Evil Queen. My blood boiled. I couldn’t wait to get even with Lee. There were still five minutes before Maureen’s appointment. Maybe there would be an interesting development in one of the chat rooms; something I could use to get revenge.

  When the buzzer sounded, I reluctantly closed the laptop. I still had the photos but hadn’t yet come up with a way to put them to good use.

  I managed to focus on the last hour of the evening before closing up the office and driving home where Rachel and I had dinner together. She showed me a website on her phone. It was for the store in the closest mall where all the kids got their accessories.

  “Subtle, Rach.”

  “Come on. Please. Can I get these ear cuffs? I’ll only put tiny studs next to them. It’s not like I’m going to wear five hoops at a time.”

  “I’ll think about it. So still eating lunch with Maya these days?” I asked.

  “Usually.” I was relieved to hear she’d been maintaining that friendship. “At the risk of becoming repetitive, Rach, want to invite her over again? Or all go to a movie?”

 
; “Maybe.”

  The next morning I unlocked my city office. Amy was waiting, squeezing an appointment in before work. She’d finally spotted me around school and had wasted no time in announcing that she’d seen me at the other end of the campus fields over the weekend, and had heard from one of the moms that I was the parent of a fifth grader, and lived in town.

  This was the boundary stuff I’d been dreading. Amy was still speaking; hopefully she hadn’t noticed my nervousness. “Why did you listen to me say all kinds of things about Barnum, and never let on that you lived in town?” As she shifted and grabbed a tissue from the box on the table, I groaned inwardly and adopted a neutral look. I wasn’t up for this.

  “Obviously you know the people I talk about! Do you talk about me?” She stuck out her chin. I knew she was vulnerable underneath the defiant stance. Who wouldn’t be? I had to answer. I thought it would destroy her trust if I let her associate without answering her questions or confirming her perceptions. “You are correct. I do live in Mayfair. But I hadn’t had a child at Barnum until recently.”

  She stared, waiting for more.

  “And I would and could never say anything about what we discuss in session. Not to anyone. It’s confidential.”

  Amy nodded.

  “I’m sure you will have more questions. For now, why don’t we treat this in a way that will allow us to use them in a therapeutic context,” I said. “For example, you have been through a hard time recently. And it seems like running into me has brought up a lot of feelings.”

  “It’s fine. I want to talk about a couple of other things, like what happened before Ellie’s game.”

  She was off, describing a coach’s mistreatment of her younger child. I was just glad we’d gotten past her anger.

  After work I was driving north, eager to see Rachel. When I walked in, she was in the living room, sprawled out on the sofa, playing on her phone. Before I could speak she told me how Lexi and Collette had set her up, texting that a boy named Dylan had broken up with his girlfriend, asking her to pass it on. After she’d relayed the message, they’d told Dylan that Rachel was “obsessed” with him, and everyone had laughed at her.

  I was amazed that any learning went on at school. The kids were all so busy with senseless playground drama. At least Rachel didn’t seem as upset as I would have expected.

  “So what did you do?” I asked.

  “I went over to Maya and we tried to ignore them, playing Candy Crush on our phones.”

  “Good for you,” I said, putting my arm around Rachel and walking her up the stairs so she could get ready for bed. She smiled a little. Even if Collette and company had gotten under her skin, I was thrilled to hear that she and Maya had banded together.

  Rachel finally acquiesced, and we invited Maya and her mother, Ellen, for dinner. She turned out to be the woman with the solarized glasses I’d met the first day. We laughed at the memory of the weirdness in the classroom, and said we hoped things would improve next year when both elementary schools combined.

  “So who is this camp friend they’ve been writing to on Instachat?” Ellen asked. We were sitting in the living room drinking mint tea after the girls had gone upstairs.

  “Not sure. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable. I’ve talked with Rachel about social media. It’s concerning that these kids put everything out there and are in touch with strangers.”

  Ellen shifted her posture and seemed to be thinking about whether to speak. “Is something wrong?” I asked her.

  “So you don’t know then?”

  This didn’t sound good.

  She breathed in before speaking. “The one who has been writing to our girls, someone’s camp friend, asked Maya, and Rachel, to send him—” she stopped and covered her eyes.

  I sat forward in my chair. “Please go on.”

  “He wanted naked photos.”

  It felt like my air supply was cut off. Rachel and Maya weren’t even eleven years old. I prayed my daughter hadn’t done something stupid.

  Ellen read my thoughts. “They didn’t send anything. And they both blocked the account. This was a few days ago.”

  My pulse was moving in double time. The photo incident could have ended in disaster. I told Ellen that I needed to talk to Rachel. She said she understood and took Maya home. After they’d gone, I asked Rachel to help me fold up the tablecloth and napkins.

  “Maya’s nice,” she said as we moved toward one other, collapsing the fabric into a perfect half, and then a smaller folded square. “But the other girls make fun of her.” She appeared to consider something before speaking. “They’re all teeny-tiny, and really pretty, and rich, and they think they’re better. It used to bother me, but now I try to ignore them.”

  This was an opening. I’d follow up on the sexting in a minute.

  “Rach?”

  “Um hmmm.” She was texting and ignoring me.

  “Rachel?” I waited.

  “What! I’m done talking about this.”

  “Please listen. You’re perfect, beautiful and smart. I mentioned this before and meant it. If the girls act this way, excluding you or any other person, it says more about them than it does about you.”

  I inhaled and looked her squarely in the eye. “There’s something else. I just spoke to Ellen.”

  Rachel hung her head. “I should have told you. But I handled it.”

  I waited until she was ready to say more.

  “The camp friend was nice in the beginning. And it felt good to message with a boy.” She looked sad. Poor kid. After all she’d been through, of course the attention was flattering. “So, he said, ‘I want to see more of you. Send photos.’ And when I refused, he kept trying to convince me, like, ‘don’t be a baby. Just take your top off.’”

  I felt like jumping out of my skin, but forced myself to remain composed.

  “When I said no, he got mad and called me a ‘tease.’ He did the same thing with Maya. We decided we would block him. And that was the end.”

  I went over to where Rachel was sitting and hugged her tightly. “That was the right thing to do. Sending photos like that, sexting, is never okay. Don’t let anyone try to force you. And please come to me if anyone bothers you again, in person or online.” I made sure our eyes met. “Promise?” She nodded and we hugged again.

  I was relieved that Rachel and Maya had stood up for themselves, but the incident had spooked me. I wondered again who the camp friend was, and emailed Ellen, asking if we could talk. Maybe we needed to go together to the police? She was going out of town and promised to get back to me. I felt better having reached out, and managed to get through the next couple of days.

  On Friday, while Rachel and I were eating dinner, she told me a new girl had started school. She and Maya had invited the girl to eat lunch with them.

  “That’s great, Rach.” Maybe our talks about the cliques had made a dent. But I still felt a chill in my blood thinking about her close call on Instachat.

  “It sounds like you and Maya have each other, and maybe this new girl too. But I’ve been meaning to go over something. Any word from the camp friend?”

  “I told you. We blocked him.”

  “Do you have any idea who it was?” She shook her head, and I decided to take her pulse one last time about the girls in her class. “Since you’ll be at school together in the coming years, it’s important to have a handle on the group stuff. Have you thought any more about why Collette needs to run the show?”

  Rachel sighed. “I have no idea, but you’re about to tell me.”

  “Wealthy and attractive people can be just as insecure as everyone else. Everyone has something they worry about, and she’s no different. But it sounds like these girls don’t matter as much now. You’ve found other kids to hang around with.” I stopped talking because Rachel’s eyes were starting to glaze over.

  She was glancing at her phone. Apparently even a minute was now too long for a talk. Time to wrap up. Rachel yessed me and stood up to brin
g her plate to the sink. At least she seemed to be putting the social stuff in perspective.

  The next morning, I drove into my city office, feeling better than I had in awhile. My daughter was navigating well, both in school and online. And I was too, having relied on the wisdom of my personal moral compass to teach her while modeling kindness. Even though I still wanted to settle the score with Lee, my heart felt lighter than it had in awhile.

  The good feelings were short-lived. This became clear after work when I climbed the stairs and opened the door to my daughter’s room. She was hunched over and didn’t move.

  “Is everything all right? Did something happen today?”

  Rachel’s eyes were swollen and her face was tear-streaked. She opened her laptop to Instachat, a page I’d never seen. There was a photo of Dopey, one of the Seven Dwarfs. His hat was pulled down and he had a confused look on his face. Underneath was a bio:

  “Rachel Bryant”

  “Loser.com”

  I forced myself to look further. Rachel scrolled down. The first and only post was a stock image, a large flapping bird, the Domesticated Turkey. It had the following preprinted caption across the top: “World’s Stupidest Animal.” Posted right underneath was the phrase: “That’s me.” The account had sixty followers and the post, seventy-eight likes.

  Rachel spoke through sobs. “This was made by the camp friend. I’m pretty sure. It has a lot of the same followers and he used the same font and lettering as the account I blocked. I got a notification from his new account and clicked on it and found this page. The first time I looked, it had only eighteen followers and twenty likes. More and more people have been viewing it and laughing at me. Collette and Lexi and some of their friends wrote stuff like: ‘I want a slice of that’ and ‘OMG’ to make fun of me.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.