“No offense, Diane. But I’m fine. I can’t change other people’s opinions.” I couldn’t even change my mother’s, what hope did I have of anyone else? “And what they think doesn’t really matter to me.”
“You can tell yourself that, but it doesn’t mean the situation isn’t uncomfortable for you.”
“This,” I pointed out. “This is uncomfortable for me. Being pulled out of my class where everyone sees that I’m gone and then wonders where I am. Some student aide sends out a message that says I’m here and people start to speculate. That just adds more whispers to it. I didn’t ask to come here, I didn’t report this—I’m fine.”
“Be that as it may, we still need to report this, you still need to know you have options, and you need to know this is a safe space where you don’t have to be fine and no one is going to gossip about it.” She sounded like she meant well, but I shrugged.
“Consider me informed. What happens next?”
“Well, I’d like it if you would consider sitting and talking to me for a few minutes.”
“More than I already have?”
“You haven’t really spoken to me.” Hands clasped, she leaned back in the chair. “I get it, it’s weird to talk to a psychologist. I wasn’t comfortable the first time I spoke to one.”
“Did you want to talk to them?”
“I suppose yes,” she said with some careful consideration. “Though not excited about doing it. I needed help, and I was hoping she could help me.”
“There’s the difference,” I said. “I don’t want help.” I didn’t want to talk about my mom or school or the guys or the girls—none of it. “I just want to go to class, get my work done, and graduate.”
“That fits. You’re an overachiever. You filled your schedule with challenging courses, and you’re taking nearly a full load. You added a TA opportunity to your schedule. You have a stellar transcript, and my understanding is that four separate teachers have offered to write you recommendations, and you’re planning on applying to Harvard.”
“You know a lot.”
“I try to make sure I know who I’m talking to, particularly when I don’t think they want to talk to me. I don’t take it personally. Trust takes time. You don’t have to trust me right now. But I am on your side.”
“Aren’t you on the side of every student here?” That was her job, right?
“Yes, I am,” she admitted. “But I am not choosing one side over another. Do you think you can talk to me for a few minutes about the posting?”
“I don’t really have anything to say.” I shrugged. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Can you tell me how it made you feel?”
“I can, but I don’t want to. Look, Diane, I appreciate that this is what you have to do, cause it’s the rules. But you’ve talked to me, and I’m fine.”
“Except that knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since you sat down. You’re on the edge of your seat, ready to run. You’re throwing up barriers to conversations and shutting everything down with answers designed to block follow-up questions. That doesn’t say fine.”
Stilling my leg, I scooted back an inch in the chair and met her gaze. “I have to pee.”
A hint of a smile appeared on her face. “Well, you may use the restroom here in the office at the end of the hall while I call your mother. I need to let her know what’s going on, or I can wait for you to call, and I’ll sit here with you.”
“Mom’s on a flight to California,” I informed her as I stood. “You can call, but you’ll probably get voicemail.”
“I see.” The advocate frowned. “I’ll leave her a message. Go use the restroom, and then if you are truly unwilling to discuss this any further, I’ll walk with you to the SRO, and you can make a small statement there.”
“If I don’t want to make a statement?”
“Then you can tell the officer you have no statement to make. That’s your prerogative. I would urge you to reconsider, as you have the right to report this bullying.”
“Someone else has already reported it, so you don’t really need me.” But I wasn’t going to keep debating it. Letting myself out, I made a beeline for the bathroom. I did actually have to pee. Inside, I shut the door and leaned back against it.
I checked my phone.
Jake: All good. Might make lunch. Definitely don’t want to miss study hall.
Archie: What’s going on? Coop said you got pulled from class.
Ian: You okay?
Coop: Lunch in ten minutes. You gonna make it?
I had no idea.
An alert popped up on my phone. Another tag on Instagram.
Wonderful.
Tabbing to the picture, I stared at it. It wasn’t a post—it was a DM. There were several of them. All from different accounts. All of them anonymous. One was a photo of Patty and Archie making out. Boy that one was old—but the bikini was familiar. It was captioned: He gets around.
The next was one of me and Jake in the hall, holding hands, followed by Ian holding my hand, and another with me and Coop. You are running out of hands.
Another was just some white lettering on a black background.
Heard Patty and Archie made out @Sat Party. #hot
Shaking my head, I scrolled to the last one.
You know everyone hates you right now, don’t you?
Closing the app, I pushed away from the door and stuffed my phone in my pocket, then used the restroom before washing my hands. I couldn’t linger in there anymore.
Diane was waiting for me in the hallway, wearing an encouraging smile. She led the way, then insisted on walking next to me. It wasn’t a short jaunt to the SRO’s office. It didn’t help that the bell rang for lunch before we were halfway there.
I should have just stayed in bed this morning.
Hanging by a Moment
Archie: Any news? Jake or Frankie?
Coop: No.
Bubba: None. Dad is here though.
Archie: Any updates from him?
Bubba: He just told me to hang tight.
Coop: Frankie stopped talking.
Archie: Head to SRO or Student Advocate
at lunch?
Bubba: IDK – split?
Go to both?
Jake: SRO. F just got here.
Coop: Bell rings in five.
Bubba: We’ll be there.
Archie: Anyone feel like ditching after?
Coop: Yes.
Jake: …
Bubba: Maybe. A. Did you see P’s post?
Jake: …
Archie: Yes.
Coop: Did they have a
meeting or something?
Bubba: We need to fix.
Archie: Sure. How?
Jake: …
Bubba: J we know you can’t talk.
Fill us in after.
Jake: K.
Coop: U don’t have a plan, Arch?
Archie: Bubba won’t like my plan.
Bubba: Share. I might be fine
with it now.
Archie: Pissed?
Bubba: Yes.
Archie: Good.
Coop: Bell in 2.
Archie: Talk soon.
Bubba: SRO?
Archie: SRO
Chapter Eleven
Crash Course
Dragging my feet wouldn’t make the trip to the SRO’s office any easier, so I did my best to hit a brisk pace. I could only wish avoiding prying eyes was possible. Jake and his mom were sitting in the office when we got there, and my gaze locked on his.
He frowned, then glanced past me to the student advocate. Ian’s dad was talking to Officer Jennings. Our school had three resource officers, two were usually always on site.
Mr. Rhys frowned at my arrival. “Hey, Frankie, what’s going on?”
“Hi, Mr. Rhys,” I said, looping my fingers through my backpack straps. I really didn’t want to discuss this with anyone, much less the guys’ parents.
“Ms. Curtis, if you’ll come this way.” Officer
Lester stepped out of an office and beckoned to me. She was the only female SRO, so I suppose that was a perk. Diane was right behind me.
“Wait,” Mr. Rhys called. “Why is Frankie in here?” His voice carried a lot of authority. Most of the time, like his wife, Mr. Rhys was so laid back and friendly. At the moment, however, his attitude reminded me of his military service.
Jake sat forward, but it was Diane who said, “It’s an unrelated matter,” she stated. “And also not one we can discuss with you, because you’re not Frankie’s parent.”
Oh, if only the floor would swallow me up.
“Actually, Sarah and I are both on the list of emergency contacts if you can’t reach Maddy.”
They were?
Since when?
Mrs. Brennen was—Coop’s mom and mine had been swapping out for both of us for years, but when did Mom add Ian’s parents?
Officer Lester cleared her throat. “We need to check on that. For now, Frankie come in here, will you?”
Jake lifted his chin toward me, and I gave him a little smile before following the officer. Diane didn’t join me immediately. The officer closed the door, shutting us in before she circled the desk. The dark-skinned woman had a genuinely nice smile, and she cast me a sympathetic look as she took a seat.
“Frankie, before I look this up, do you want Mr. Rhys in here?”
“I don’t know why I would need him. You just want me to make a statement about the posting, and I really don’t want to make a statement or even have one to make. I told Diane, I didn’t report it.”
“I know you didn’t,” she said, her expression sober. Leaning forward, she held my gaze. “Frankie, bullying seems like a trial to report. A lot of people feel like they are admitting to doing something they shouldn’t have done, and that’s why they are being treated this way. We used to tell kids to ignore it, and it would go away. Then bullies found new ways to pile on. Everyone can be a bully, it’s not just one person—it’s an attitude. It’s an attitude of entitlement that allows one side to strike out against another.”
“We discussed that in psych class,” I told her. “The problem is—what happens when you report bullying? Really? The kids who did it might get disciplined, but then they’re pissed off because they get called on the carpet for it. Doesn’t that just make them lash out harder?”
“It can also set a boundary, because not responding indicates that the behavior is acceptable. It’s not. The post? The photos? All of it? It’s not acceptable. You were targeted. Several people agree on this issue, and having reviewed it…”
Embarrassment crawled through me. “You looked at it?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s public. The tags are public. We’ve had to screen shot all of it so we have a record of it. There will be discipline—however—the poster’s identity is anonymous, and we’re trying to identify who did it, and we’ve reached out to the company.”
Seriously?
“There were names in the complaints, but I’d like to hear from you…”
At a knock on the door, I flinched. Officer Lester gave me a small smile before she said, “Yes?”
Diane opened the door. “Mr. Rhys is listed on the emergency contacts, and he tried to call Ms. Curtis, but as I explained to him, she’s on a flight to California at the moment. All our calls are going to voicemail.”
The officer looked at me, and I leaned back in the chair as much as I could with the backpack still on. I didn’t want to take it off or act like I was comfortable. I just wanted to get this over with so I could leave. “I still don’t want to make a statement.”
Lester curled her fingers, and the door opened wider to let Diane and Mr. Rhys in. When I glanced back, I caught Jake’s frown, and then twisted to look down at my lap. The sooner we got this over with, the better.
Dropping a hand on my shoulder, Mr. Rhys said, “Does this have anything to do with Jake and Rodney?”
“Yes and no,” Officer Lester said. “Jake’s statement made it clear what precipitated the fight.”
Mr. Rhys gave my shoulder a squeeze, and a horrifying burn started in my eyes that I blinked away.
“This, however, is a separate incident.” Officer Lester gave me another encouraging smile. “Frankie’s not in trouble. Far from it. Frankie was targeted on social media with a bullying post. It was reported to the school by several sources, and we have reviewed the post and found it to be objectionable and actionable.”
Oh, please don’t ask to see it…
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling, Frankie?”
“Like I don’t want to be here,” I admitted. “And I think this isn’t necessary.”
“I’d like to see the post, and I’m sure your mother would, but if the officer and Dr. Miller feel this warrants action, then I’m going to lean on agreeing with them.”
Of course, he would.
I didn’t pull out my phone or volunteer the post, but I didn’t have to. Officer Lester pulled it up on her computer screen and turned it around. I kept my gaze fixed on my hands. I really didn’t need to see the images again. Showing Ian’s dad was only going to create more problems for the guys on top of everything else.
“As you can see,” Officer Lester said. “Some of these photos are fairly explicit. The language is also keyed to targeting Ms. Curtis, as are the implications in the following images.”
My face was on fire, and I needed to file my nails. There were nicks in a couple of them. I also needed some lotion. The skin was dry. Did I not rub lotion over my hands after the shower that morning? A dull ache settled behind my eyes, weighing heavier and heavier with each tap of the space bar on the officer’s computer.
Finally, the show and tell portion ended, and Mr. Rhys sat down in the chair next to me. I stole a look at him, and the sympathy on his face just made me want to crawl into a hole. “Do you know who posted it, Frankie?”
“Not for certain, no.” That wasn’t a lie. I was pretty sure it was Sharon. The screen name she used was close to her own. Course, Sharon was in some of those pictures. She’d been the one to make the comment in the bathroom, too.
“Are you just saying that because you want this to go away, or do you really not know?” The question didn’t quite accuse me of lying, but the suggestion was there.
“I’m saying it because I don’t know. I don’t know the name it was posted under. I was just tagged in it.”
He nodded, and then gave my shoulder another squeeze before he focused on the officer. “Are we getting those images taken down?”
“We’ve made some calls, but it’s a process. In the meanwhile, it’s obviously had a lot of hits. If we can identify the student, then we can also approach them and their parents to remove the post.”
“Everyone has pretty much seen it, so what does removing it do?” Maybe I should have just shut up, but they dragged me in here for this less than comfortable discussion.
“I know it seems very after the fact,” Officer Lester said. “However, documenting a pattern of behavior and perhaps nipping it in the bud may help prevent future incidents. We also want our students exercising better judgment when it comes to their social media behavior. As you know, colleges look at your social media footprint during the evaluation process.”
Great.
“And while you didn’t post this…”
It still had my name all over it. “I really don’t know. I can guess, but that would be pointing a finger blind. It could be someone else entirely who just wants to cause trouble.”
Mr. Rhys scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “We could reach out to the parents of all the other students pictured here. Particularly those at the party in some of the images.” His mouth tightened, and I winced. “I would imagine they would know who was there and had access to these photos.”
“It’s the internet,” I pointed out. “It takes less than three seconds to share a photo with someone else.”
“I’m afraid that Frankie has a point
,” Diane said from where she’d been quietly leaning against the wall. “That said, we would like you to make a statement. You’re the affected party. With or without your statement, we are going to investigate it because cyber-bullying is a serious offense that could have legal implications down the road, but is definitely in violation of the school’s code of conduct.”
For some reason, that made me want to laugh. No one cared about the code of conduct. We all had to sign it every year, and I doubted anyone had read it from front to back.
I hadn’t.
It was ten pages long of basically common sense rules. We knew the important one: don’t be an asshole.
“Maybe just tell us how this affects you,” the officer suggested.
“I don’t care what they think. The pictures paint an image, they’re designed to make me question my friends. To feel bad. I don’t.” Which was mostly true. “It mostly makes me feel tired.”
“Have you received any other contact from the poster? We looked at your Instagram, but we didn’t find too many other tagged photos of a similar nature. Maybe ones sent through DMs?”
“No,” I lied.
“What other social media platforms are you on?”
“The usual ones,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t usually do that much. I’ve been busy.” Then with a look at Diane, I added, “I have five AP classes I’m taking, and I have a job.”
Changes and Chocolates: Untouchable Book Two Page 15