Innocent Mistakes

by Melissa F. Miller

  “Okay, Sasha. If that’s how you want to play it. Is Siobhan also a client?”

  No, not yet. But that’s a technicality.

  “She is.”

  “Great. Please let your other client know that Principal Dunbar and Officer Hill are willing to offer her the same deal we offered her brother.”

  She trills her lips, making a vibrating, buzzing sound. “So, here’s the thing. Siobhan didn’t post it either.”

  “Sasha … I’m losing patience.”

  “Joe, I know. But you don’t want me to knock down another charging document with an easily ascertainable fact, do you? Because that’s what I’ll have to do if Officer Hill picks Siobhan up.”

  He exhales in a long, loud sigh. “Really?”

  “Really. The post went up at twelve minutes past six on Thursday morning, correct?”

  “Um, let me check …,” he rustles some papers, then says, “yes, that’s right.”

  “At that time, Siobhan McCandless was showering, and her phone was in a common area accessible to anyone in the home.”

  Joe makes a growling noise. “So it was Colin?”

  “Not her home. She slept at a friend’s the night before. She was at Mallory Fuller’s house.”

  “Wait. Isn’t the Fuller girl dating Hunter?”

  “I know, it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “If I’ve learned one thing in this job, it’s that teenagers have reasons for their behavior that makes sense to them, but almost never makes sense to us. There’s always a logic. It’s just not one that an adult brain would follow.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “You have no idea. So, what do you want me to do with this info? Go after Mallory?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Joe, I’m trying to save you some embarrassment. You can check what I’m telling you with a phone call or two.”

  “Yeah, okay.” His weariness seeps through the phone.

  “And, look, I know the Commonwealth is your client, not Leigh Dalton—”

  “That’s right,” he says quickly, as if he might be able to forestall whatever’s coming next.

  Sasha continues as if he hasn’t interjected. “But, you should also know that if the Daltons continue to make a public spectacle out of this because of Mrs. Dalton’s school board campaign, it’s going to backfire in a big way.”

  “What does that mean?” He’s not even trying to hide his agitation now.

  “Hunter Dalton isn’t the only victim of cyberbullying here. And what he’s done is significantly more damaging than one comment on a school newspaper article that—let’s be frank—barely qualifies as bullying.”

  Joe curses softly under his breath. “Can you give me some details?”

  “Yes, but not yet. The victim is understandably reluctant to come forward. I’m telling you this because I’m your friend; it’s really ugly. I just need a day or two, and then I’ll be able to bring you credible, really damaging evidence that establishes Hunter Dalton as a predator.”

  “Great,” Joe says weakly. “I can hardly wait to deal with his mother.”

  “Maybe she’ll be reasonable?”

  “Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that teenagers have their own internal logic. If there’s two things, the second one is that parents aren’t rational when it comes to their children. I understand it, but it makes it hard to have a clean prosecution. Parents will do anything to try to save their kids.”

  She thinks of Fiona and Finn, cowering in the closet, while Connelly faces down an entire SWAT team, barefoot and unarmed, and her stomach flips over. “I know. Listen, can you stall for a bit?’’

  “One day, Sasha. On Monday morning, I want to put this to bed.”

  “Thanks, Joe. You won’t regret it,” she promises, even though she’s not at all sure she can bring Siobhan around in a day.

  31

  Sunday morning

  6:15 A.M.

  * * *

  Beep, beep, beep. Colin groans and dismisses the alarm on his phone. It’s so freaking early. The sun isn’t even up yet. He searches his groggy, fuzzy brain. Why did he set his alarm? After a long, blank moment, he remembers: today’s the day. Mallory’s parents always go to early Mass so her dad can golf afterwards. They let her sleep in and go later with her grandparents. So it’s the perfect time to borrow her mom’s minivan without having to answer a bunch of questions.

  Colin stretches, moans, and forces himself out of his warm bed. Mom and Dad are still sleeping, and there’s zero chance Siobhan’s awake this early. He eases his door open, tiptoes past their closed bedroom doors and creeps down the stairs, careful to skip the creaky step four from the top. Siobhan learned that lesson the hard way.

  He pauses by the door to grabs his shoes, then pads outside to the porch in his socks. He sits on the top step to put on his shoes and lace them up. He told Mallory to pick him up on the corner so the sound of her mom’s minivan pulling up doesn’t wake anyone. He jogs down the steps and across the street. He doesn’t turn back. If he did, he’d see that Siobhan’s curtains are pulled aside and there’s a shadowy figure looking out, right at him.

  The early spring air holds a sharp chill. He pulls up his hood, shoves his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, then jogs in place to stay warm. Mallory pulls up less than a minute later and eases the car to the curb, leaving the engine idling and popping the locks. He hops inside. The heat’s on, so he pulls his hood down and rubs his hands together in front of the vent.

  “Morning.”

  “If you say so,” she answers with a sleepy smile.

  She’s clearly rolled straight out of bed, just like him. Her blonde hair’s piled in a messy knot on the top of her head and she’s wearing comfy sweats, no makeup. She looks adorable. He coughs.

  Focus, dude.

  “Where do you want to do this?” he asks.

  She’s the driver, so it’s up to her. She’s only had her license for a little over a month, and she’s not entirely comfortable driving on the highway. He can’t blame her. He and Vonnie only have their permits, and, as far as he’s concerned, driving on Parkway East is scarier than facing down the strongest slugger at the plate.

  “I thought we’d go to that coffee shop over in Deerfield. They open at seven, and I know they have good Wi-Fi.”

  Deerfield’s a smart choice. It’s two communities over, and twenty minutes away. The Tigers don’t play the Deerfield Deer (stupid name) in any sports, no one’s likely to recognize him.

  “That works. You have what we need?”

  In answer, she glances toward the back of the minivan, where her bright pink bag sits on the floor.

  “Let’s do it, then,” he says.

  “Are you sure? We can’t undo it.”

  “We’ve been over this, Mall. Do you want to keep pretending to be into that butthole?”

  She lets out an exasperated puff. “What do you think?”

  “Then, what are we waiting for?”

  She pulls out with a lurch. “Sorry.” Her face turns pink.

  They drive in silence. He doesn’t want to distract her. But when she stops at the red light at the intersection with Hampden Road, he leans over and kisses her right by her ear.

  She glances over and gives him a secretive smile. Pretending to be broken up has been hard, but keeping their relationship under wraps does make it exciting. He grins back at her.

  She clears her throat. “If your aunt found messages, do you think she knows I’m Science Grl?”

  He considers the question. “Yeah, probably. She’s crazy smart. But she’s more worried about who posted that dumb comment from Siobhan’s phone.”

  Her blue eyes widen. “I told you. It wasn’t me.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me. Who else knows my log-in?”

  She shrugs. “Vonnie?”

  “No. I mean, she could probably guess the password.”

  Another little smile blooms on he
r lips. “Because it’s my birthday.”

  “Yep. But, why would she do it? She’s terrified of Hunter.”

  “I know. But … it had to be her. Who else could have done it?”

  He glances up. “You’ve got the light.”

  They fall silent again as she takes her foot off the brake and gives the car some gas. Coach and Dad are always telling him to visualize success. So he leans back and mentally reviews exactly how they’re going to bring Hunter Dalton down once and for all.

  Siobhan turns away from the window and tries to ignore the lump in her throat. It’s stupid to feel betrayed, but she does—double betrayed. Her twin brother and her best friend are up to something, something secret, and they’ve left her out. Are they mad at her? Planning a surprise for her?

  She laughs aloud. Way to center yourself in the story, dummy. Why does it have to be about you at all? Maybe Mallory’s cheating on Hunter with Colin—in which case, you’re the last thing on either of their minds.

  She flops down on the bed. But why cheat on Hunter? Just dump his sorry butt. Even better—why date him in the first place. If she’s completely honest, Mallory’s betrayal began the day she decided to go out with the guy who’s making Siobhan’s life a waking nightmare. Colin’s another story, though. He doesn’t know about Hunter—she made Mallory swear not to tell him—but she didn’t think they kept secrets from each other.

  Really? Aren’t you keeping a secret from him? You don’t want him to know what Hunter did, brainiac. You swore Mall to secrecy.

  “Gah, shut up already!” she orders the little voice in her head.

  Okay, so fine, Colin and Mallory have some big secret that they’re keeping from her. That’s not what woke her up at six o’clock in the morning. It’s the weight of what Aunt Sasha is asking her to do. It invaded her dreams and shook her awake, demanding her attention.

  Can she do it? Can she really sit across the table from Mom, or Dad, or Officer Hill, or, yikes, even Principal Dunbar and show the pictures that Hunter sent her, tell her story? She tries to picture it, and her skin crawls. It feels so much like ants are marching up and down her arms that she pushes up her sleeve to check. But these ants are under her skin, living inside her.

  She rolls over onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. She could stop Hunter. Make it so nobody else will ever have to be on the receiving end of one of his nasty messages. She could, but can she? Is she brave enough?

  She hauls herself back out of bed and powers up her computer to check on Gurl Pwr15 and see how she’s doing. But when she logs back into Society, Gurl Pwr15’s avatar is grayed out. She’s left the game, permanently. The lump in Siobhan’s throat swells, threatening to choke her.

  “I’m sorry,” she chokes out the words as if somehow this girl might hear them.

  Her avatar’s grayed out, but if she’d deleted her account, it would be gone entirely. Siobhan takes a deep breath and types out a direct message to Gurl Pwr15 before she can second-guess herself:

  U don’t know me, but I used to play Society a lot. I saw u playing yesterday. U r good. Don’t let haters like Castle Rock chase u away. Just stay away from him & no matter what he does or sez, don’t talk to him. I hope u come back.

  She reads the message, her finger hovering over the Send button. She nods to herself and sends the message out into cyberspace. It’s not telling her story in public, not protecting other girls from Hunter, the way Aunt Sasha wants her to. But, to Siobhan, it feels like a good start.

  She’s wide awake—no chance of going back to sleep now. So she slips on her shoes and pulls on her hoodie then slips downstairs to get some bread from the pantry. She hasn’t fed the ducks at the community pond in ages. She used to love to go over there, early in the morning, and hand-feed the fat mamas and watch them take the food back to their babies.

  She lets herself out through the back door and disappears into the fog.

  32

  Hunter can’t get the image of that creepy old troll out of his mind. As soon as the selfie came through in his direct messages, he shut down his computer. He didn’t go back online all night. But that man, grinning at him, haunted him all night. So he slept for crap, spending most of the time staring out into the darkness worrying about what the man was going to do with the audio clip and kicking himself for playing Society.

  Stupid. You’re stupid, he tells himself now, rolling onto his side to check the time. His clock blinks 6:30. Ugh. The good news is he finally got bored enough last night that he did his geometry homework. Which means he has the entire day free.

  But he’s vibrating with nervous energy—overtired and too wired to sleep. Maybe later, he’ll call Mallory to see if she’ll come over and fool around. But he has hours to kill first.

  He puts his hands behind his head and interlaces his fingers, then surveys his bedroom searching for something to do. His eyes land on his running shoes by the door.

  Yes. A run.

  He pulls on a pair of running shorts and a long-sleeved half-zip running tee, then laces up his shoes. When he gets downstairs, Mom and Dad are already up and dressed. Dad’s sitting at the kitchen table with his head propped up in his hands and a glum expression. A mug of coffee sits untouched in front of him. Mom’s pacing around the room waving her arms while she tears into someone on the phone.

  “Morning.”

  “Morning,” Dad says.

  “Who’s she bitching at this early, Ruth-Ann?”

  “Language, and it’s Mrs. Clemson to you. And no, she’s bitching at the assistant district attorney.”

  “Really? The sun’s not even up yet.”

  Dad shakes his head, but Hunter honestly wants to know—did Mom call this guy at home? Or does he go to work at six-thirty in the morning on the weekend? Like, both options mean the dude’s life is a disaster.

  “…an outrage. I expect someone to pay for what has happened to my son, and I don’t care if that’s Colin McCandless, Siobhan McCandless, or Mallory Fuller. But I want someone to be charged and I want it to happen today.”

  Mom pauses, listening to his response, then snaps, “Yes, I realize it’s Sunday. But I have a campaign event tomorrow. And I will either be announcing that my son’s bully is being brought to justice or I’ll be announcing that I’ve asked the mayor to launch an investigation into the malfeasance and incompetence of the district attorney’s office—specifically the juvenile crime department.”

  Hunter can’t hear what the ADA says in response, but it appeases her. She smiles tightly, “Good. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Mr. Donaldson.”

  She ends the call and turns to Hunter, and flips the switch to Mom of the Year. “Good morning darling, you’re up early.”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Good, you can get dressed for church.”

  “The early service? Why?” They never go to the early service.

  “Your mother thinks it’s important to be accessible to the voters. She wants to go to all three services today,” Dad said in a resigned voice.

  “It’s important for the voters to see all of us together,” Mom clarifies.

  “Why? I’m not running for school board.”

  Dad gives him a look that says ‘I already tried that.’ Before Mom can respond, Hunter pivots.

  “I mean, can’t I go to the late service? I want to go for a run. You know, with everything that’s been going on … the bullying … I’ve slacked off on training.”

  He feels gross leaning into her vision of him as a victim of Colin McCandless, but it works.

  Her face softens. “Oh, Hunter, of course. Of course. Do you think you need to talk to someone? A professional, I mean?”

  “No! I mean, maybe. But right now, Mom, I just need to run.”

  She glances at Dad, who’s now playing around on his phone. “That should be fine, don’t you think, Paul?”

  “What? Yeah, sure.” He’s still typing out a text. He looks up and gives Mom a pleading look, “Leigh, I need to handle t
his. Somebody’s saying that I sold them a lemon. Do you mind if I just meet you at church?”

  Mom waves her hand as if to say fine, whatever, and dismisses him. Dad pushes back his chair and gets up fast, like he’s afraid she’ll change her mind. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and ruffles Hunter’s hair.

  “Have a good run, sport. I’ll take the Jag. Maybe you want to take the minivan? That seems like the more appropriate choice for a school board member, don’t you think?”

  Mom titters, but Hunter can tell she’s eating up the idea that Dad’s keeping her public image in mind. As Dad heads out the side door toward the garage, she turns her attention back to Hunter with a slight frown.

  “The sun’s not up yet, and it’s foggy. Take a good safe route.”

  He’s got to get out of here before she makes him wear that orange safety vest he hid in the back of his closet.

  “I will, Mom. Don’t worry. I’m just going to run over to the park, do the loop around the lake, and run back. Easy peasy.”

  “Hmm. There’s no sidewalk on part of Hampden Road.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I know. I’ll hug the shoulder. See you later.”

  He leaves her at the pegboard in the kitchen, trying to decide which set of car keys to take. Hunter’s Jeep is his, full stop. But Mom and Dad rotate through cars like they’re sweaters or something. When they get tired of driving one, they switch it out for another one on Dad’s lot. Constantly—like he didn’t even know they had a minivan in the garage.

  He jogs down to the sidewalk and props one foot, and then the other, on the curb to stretch, then he hits the button on his stopwatch and melts into the fog. What did the ADA say to Mom to make her mention Mallory? They can’t seriously think she posted that dumb comment. Although, props to her if she did—it would be an epic troll move. But she doesn’t have it in her. She’s so serious and boring, always blabbing on about science and school and stuff. She’s not really his type, except for physically.