Nadia pulled her cell phone from a canvas tote bag emblazoned with the logo for the Minneapolis library system. A few clicks later, Alice’s own screen lit up with the contact information for Green Haven Family Services. “Life-changing,” Nadia said. “Really. Dr. Martín has been my favorite of them all.”
Alice’s stomach sank. The Reddys had been in therapy since Donovan was in third grade with very little progress. But then again, Teddy couldn’t be that far gone.
“All I know is what Donovan told me,” Nadia said, rolling her eyes, “so let’s hear the real deal. I’m sure there are a million ways to fix this.”
Alice looked alternately at her two friends, so different and yet both equally concerned. She wasn’t sure there were a million ways to fix things, but she recounted the harrowing day nonetheless, skipping just Aidy’s conference. One spiraling child was more than enough.
Meredith Yoshida
Meredith had read in Thinking Mother magazine years ago that responsible parents in the digital age required their children to charge their electronics in the kitchen. Hours alone in their rooms with access to the wilds of the Internet could only lead to folly.
Well, the article didn’t say “folly.” That sounded like something her grandmother would have said, but she’d taken the advice to heart nonetheless.
And usually she followed the recommendations of another article she’d read in that same magazine about the notion of “privacy.” Parents ought to give a little space to their tweens and teens, the writer had argued, and not virtually listen in on every conversation by reading their text messages and scouring their social media feeds for transgressive comments.
Meredith agreed with privacy in theory, but what about safety and supervision? Plenty of “thinking mothers” expressed similar concerns in the comments section of the online article. They’d even provided links to monitoring software, programs that could mirror Sadie’s phone and allow Meredith to analyze every incoming message, to comb through each of her daughter’s keystrokes. She’d clicked through and marveled at the screenshots explaining such programs. If she bought a subscription, Sadie wouldn’t even be able to follow an Amazon ad without Meredith knowing which product had fascinated her. But that level of snooping, Meredith knew without even asking Alice and Nadia for their opinions, was going too far.
So instead, several times a week after Sadie had adhered to her strict nine thirty bedtime, Meredith stood in the kitchen and scrolled through her daughter’s phone. Tonight, after she’d gotten home from Cork & Cask, she looked first at the texts, checking for any fallout from Teddy’s nightmare suspension. Though Sadie and Teddy were close, she couldn’t find any messages—new or old—from him. Had they had an argument? A message from Mikaela read, “Did you see Sullivan is suspended?” Sadie had simply responded with a thumbs-up.
Meredith switched to Instagram, and Sadie’s friends’ photos seemed pedestrian enough, though Mikaela Heffernan had photographed the graffiti at Elm Creek Park that Meredith had seen on NextDoor. The same “artwork” had appeared on the McDonald’s, she noticed, not that the fast-food restaurant was some kind of community paragon. Mikaela’s caption was “Fight the patriarchy,” and two laugh-cry emojis. At least Mikaela knew the word “patriarchy,” Meredith thought. Still, she was confident in Sadie’s relative innocence compared to the other seventh graders at Elm Creek Junior High. Her daughter hadn’t even been able to say “penis” aloud when she told Meredith what had happened in assembly. Meredith smiled, remembering the way Sadie had covered her face in the back seat when she’d recounted the incident on the way home from school. Meredith clicked out of the general Instagram feed and onto Sadie’s personal profile. She scanned the photos collected there, all the ones going back to the day she had supervised Sadie in creating the account, the day after Christmas in sixth grade. An op-ed in the Times about social isolation had convinced her it was time. And the online version of Sadie seemed completely age-appropriate—funny pictures of Stein, their ancient golden retriever mix that Bill had named for Mary Shelley’s monster; close-ups of flowers; personalized birthday messages for each of her inner-circle friends. Meredith didn’t quite understand the hashtags, but they seemed benign enough.
Once she felt satisfied, Meredith clicked on a little arrow at the top of the screen she’d never noticed before, right next to Sadie’s username, SadieLouWho. It had been an homage, obviously, to their long love affair with Dr. Seuss, never mind that Cindy Lou Who was blond and blue-eyed, and Sadie half Japanese. Meredith had, of course, scoured lists of books by Asian and Asian American authors over the years. The Yoshidas’ shelves included volumes by Uchida, Ohi, and Kadohata and other East Asian writers. But still, Sadie had chosen Seuss over and over again as a little girl. Maybe, Meredith worried, she hadn’t done enough to help her daughter claim her Japanese identity. She blinked the thought away and tapped the username. A little menu dropped down providing Meredith with an opportunity to select another profile, SadeeLux.
She inhaled sharply through her nose and sank onto a kitchen stool, stretching Sadie’s charger toward her. SadeeLux? What the hell is Lux? Meredith’s eyes bugged as she scanned the pictures in this new feed. She clicked on a close-up of her daughter’s lovely face—her deep brown eyes center in the square frame, thick eyeliner drawn above her mascara’d lashes. Meredith frowned. Except for Sadie’s skating competitions, they’d stuck to the Burt’s Bees tinted lip balms. Sadie hadn’t even asked for anything more in terms of makeup.
Another SadeeLux photo featured a selfie of Sadie’s pursed lips, bright pink lipstick half applied, the uncapped tube in her daughter’s free hand. Meredith scrolled faster. In a third photo, Mikaela sat on the Yoshidas’ basement couch, her thighs spread apart, jean shorts barely covering an inch of skin on either side of her crotch. Mikaela’s midriff peeked out beneath a green tank top that Meredith couldn’t remember ever seeing. The girl’s middle finger extended toward the camera, her tongue stuck out. Another photo featured Sadie at her locker door, crammed in a selfie with Tane Lagerhead. “It’s #TeamTANE, guys,” Sadie had written. “It’s not that hard to spell.” Their cheeks pressed together. Tane looked a little sweaty, probably thrilled to be pulled into a half hug with a beautiful girl. Beautiful and brilliant, Meredith reminded herself, despite the shock of discovering this alter ego, a confusing facsimile of the kid asleep upstairs.
She heard Sadie’s bedroom door open and rushed to switch the profile back to SadieLouWho, her photos of Stein and flowers. Meredith’s heart raced. “SadeeLux,” she whispered to herself, overpronouncing the “x,” her imagination flashing on a pinup model in a lacy bra. She listened for her daughter’s footsteps on the stairs, but they never came. After a minute, Meredith heard the toilet flush and water rush from the tap.
She’d have to confront Sadie in the morning. She knew Thinking Mother would have her force Sadie to delete SadeeLux. Or, Meredith reasoned, her heart rate slowing to normal now that the shock had passed, maybe it was smarter to know about the profile and not tell Sadie. She’d get an unfiltered look at this other version of her daughter. And, of course, she could step in if she saw anything truly alarming on the feed.
Did the other kids have secret Instagrams? She grabbed her own phone and googled “secret Instagram.” Several articles popped up about so-called Finstas. Now that she saw the term, she thought she remembered reading about them, maybe on a Thinking Mother message board. She never would have thought Sadie would be so bold. At least she doesn’t have Snapchat, Meredith thought.
Or did she? Meredith grabbed at the phone again and swiped through the app icons looking for the little white ghost. No ghost. Good girl.
Alice Sullivan
Alice had hoped she’d perk up that night after seeing her friends, but a leaden feeling had settled in her gut. Despite Nadia’s assertions that there were “a million ways to fix Teddy,” there seemed to be just two: Call a therapist and apologize t
o Tane.
In a whispered conversation across their pillows with the lights off, Alice told Patrick she’d get both of those items checked off the following day.
“As a start,” Alice said.
“The full monty.” Patrick whistled again. Alice could see the concern in his brow even in the dark, the heave of his chest as he pictured Tane’s pants dropping.
“Did he say anything more before he fell asleep?” Alice asked.
Patrick shook his head, his hair staticky against the pillow.
“The principal—assistant principal”—Alice corrected herself—“acted like Teddy is some kind of sex offender.”
Patrick grunted. “Why would he pants a kid?”
Alice shrugged, and Patrick reached across their bed to put an arm around her waist. “Why do twelve-year-olds do anything?”
In between meetings the next morning, Alice retreated to the parking ramp—the only place she could ensure privacy from Ramona—to make the call to Green Haven Family Services, the clinic Nadia had recommended. She felt woozy as a young-sounding male receptionist took her information and said he’d email paperwork and information on the nature therapy groups that Dr. Martín generally recommended. The receptionist could fit Teddy into one of Dr. Martín’s “emergency slots,” he said. It would be less than a week until Teddy officially had professional help. Alice thought she might be able to stave off more prison disaster scenarios until then.
Alice steeled herself in the afternoon, when the time came for the apology that she and Patrick had agreed on. Her nausea roared back as she anticipated the call to the Lagerheads. “No issues,” Alice’s mom said as they passed one another in the mudroom. She’d worked from the Sullivans’ in the morning, so Teddy wouldn’t be alone. Alice smiled as her mom gave her arm a quick squeeze.
“Thanks,” Alice said, but her mom waved her off.
“I’ve gotta run. Clients.” Evelyn skipped down the garage steps. “Call you later.”
Alice found Teddy on his bed and told him it was time to call Tane.
“It was an accident,” he argued.
“When you hurt someone, you apologize.” Alice’s patience evaporated as she delivered the line for the umpteenth time.
Teddy lay back theatrically, his head bouncing against his pillow. He kicked a leg up, letting it slam down against his rumpled comforter. So many remnants of toddlerhood stuck with him even as he blustered into junior high. He’d thrashed and protested just like this when she and Patrick had asked him to share toys with Adrian or to stop throwing Cheerios off the tray of his high chair.
“The kid’s an asshole anyway,” Teddy said. “I mean, do you think he actually likes Sadie?”
“Language. And what? What does this have to do with Sadie?” Alice squinted at him. “Sadie Yoshida?”
“How many Sadies do we know?” Teddy threw his hands up before collapsing them over his face. “Tane just wants to get into her pants.”
Get into her pants? Her seventh grader knew this phrase? Alice felt instantly guilty for watching yet another season of Bachelor in Paradise while her children were within earshot.
She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of things. What did Sadie have to do with the assembly? She finally asked, lamely, “What do you mean?”
“He talks about her in band. Says she’s hot or whatever, in a Mary kind of way.”
“What?”
“Mary. You know. Didn’t you say that when you were young? Like from the Bible? Like, the virgin?”
Alice had had “the talk”—many of them, actually—with Teddy. She’d been the one to define the very word “virgin” for him, but she hadn’t imagined him using it to describe Sadie Yoshida, the little girl he’d been friends with since he was five.
“Anyway, he’s a jerk,” Teddy continued. “And I didn’t mean to grab his underwear, too. Who wears those loose boxers? I haven’t seen those on anyone who isn’t eighty.”
Alice frowned. “How many eighty-year-olds in underwear have you seen?”
“You’ve obviously never been in the men’s locker room at the gym.”
“Clearly.” Alice stared at the buffalo-checked sheets she’d chosen for him that summer, a replacement for the boyish striped set that had taken him through the final years of elementary. “But still, you’re going to have to call Tane.”
“Text,” Teddy countered. “No one calls.”
Alice had prepared herself for this negotiation tactic, and she held firm. “This is one of those times when we have to call. Believe me, I have no desire to talk to the Lagerheads, either, but it’s a must.” She had never really connected with Janna Lagerhead, whose leather pants had always looked a little over-the-top at Elm Creek Elementary events. “I’ll get us started.” Alice grabbed the sticky note from the back of her phone case, on which she’d written the Lagerheads’ number. As she copied it down, she double-checked it against the one attached to the anonymous text she’d received, but it didn’t match.
“I’m not talking,” Teddy said. Alice ignored him and put the call on speaker.
Janna picked up almost instantly. “Hello?”
“Janna, hi. It’s Alice Sullivan.” She extended her index finger toward Teddy and employed her sternest expression, eyes narrow and mouth pinched. The kid would deliver his apology. Meanwhile, Janna didn’t say anything, and Alice soldiered on. “I’m sitting here with Teddy, and he really wants to apologize to Tane for the incident at school.”
I don’t, Teddy mouthed, and Alice jerked her palm up in quick signal for him to stop.
“While he intended to pull a prank, he didn’t plan to humiliate Tane, and well—” Alice paused. She dropped her hand firmly on Teddy’s shoulder, holding him in place. “He’s really sorry.”
Silence.
Alice nervously continued. “I’d also like to apologize.” She waited. Would Janna ice her out? She could hear the woman’s exhales as she held her own breath.
“Thanks for calling,” Janna said finally. “I appreciate that Teddy is sorry. But this goes beyond that, doesn’t it? Tane’s private parts—the whole seventh grade has seen them.” Teddy pressed his lips together, stifling a horribly inappropriate laugh.
Alice hastily pressed the speaker button and held the phone to her ear, lest Janna hear him giggling. “Can you even imagine that kind of trauma for a twelve-year-old?”
Alice nodded. “It must have been very embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” Janna’s voice acquired an edge. “No. This level of humiliation is life-changing.”
“Life-changing” seemed a little extreme, but at the same time, Alice couldn’t imagine Teddy in Tane’s compromised position. He’d have lost it, she knew. He probably would have refused to go to school for the rest of the week, if not longer.
“So,” Janna continued, “I’m afraid Tane is definitely not ready to accept an apology. But I have a question since I have you.” Alice’s fingers tingled as she held the phone. She felt as nervous as she had at high school track meets, crouched on the starting line, ready to run championship races. “Two, actually.” Janna sounded so businesslike, and Alice tried to remember what she did for a living. Something in banking, maybe.
“Of course,” Alice said.
“First, have you seen that graffiti on NextDoor?” Alice stiffened. She hadn’t even considered that the tags could be related to Teddy’s stunt.
“Those don’t have anything to do with Tane, do they?” Alice’s heartbeat revved. Teddy couldn’t have done spaghetti, the compost bin, the pantsing, and the pink penises. The last one, for sure, would make her “criminal” pronouncement from the night before uncomfortably true. Alice mentally reviewed the colors of spray paint she kept in her garage workshop. She hadn’t done anything pink in ages.
“I hope not.” Janna continued. “And what does Sadie Yoshida have to do w
ith this, do you know?”
A second prick of fear lodged near Alice’s diaphragm. She remembered Meredith, sympathetic but distant at the wine bar the night before. “Teddy just mentioned her.” Alice took a few steps into the hallway.
“Mom!” Teddy whisper-yelled, but Alice turned back and shut his door behind her.
“I was surprised he brought up Sadie.”
“This is going to sound a little silly since it’s seventh grade,” Janna said, “and I definitely don’t think this at all excuses Teddy.” Alice frowned. “But I’m getting the sense that both boys might have a crush on her. And I think, given what Tane has said about the time they’ve spent together at Quiz Bowl, I think Sadie might like Tane back.”
Alice pictured Tane as she’d known him in elementary school, mismatched outfits and those painted nails. I doubt it, she thought, and then cringed. She was as bad as her son, judging kids based on appearance rather than character. Alice walked into her bedroom and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Teddy did just say something about Tane liking Sadie, but I had no idea that Teddy might feel the same way.” Alice thought about Teddy and Sadie swimming together at the Elm Creek pool in the summers, watching movies on either the Sullivans’ couch or the Yoshidas’. “I’ve been friends with Meredith Yoshida since the kids were in kindergarten.”
“I know,” Janna said. “It’s always been you, Meredith, and Nadia, from basically the very beginning.” Alice thought back again to Janna’s leather pants, her blown-out hair at the Parent Association fund-raisers. Alice had never made an effort to get to know her. “Will you keep me posted?” Janna asked. “Like, if Teddy divulges anything else? Maybe you could ask Meredith? I just want this to end. All of it. The graffiti, too.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” Alice said. But I’m not asking Meredith, she thought. The idea of Sadie in any kind of trouble was a complete nonstarter. “Teddy hasn’t exactly been forthcoming about his feelings since entering junior high.”
Are We There Yet? Page 6