“No. Never. But I thought he told.” Her halting voice belongs to her much younger self.
A weight settles on my chest. “Told what?”
“But they said he hasn’t had his phone since Sunday afternoon. So, he couldn’t have,” she mumbles. “We’ve been using tests we shouldn’t have.” Erika’s voice shakes. “For tutoring.”
“What do you mean? Tests you shouldn’t have?” I stare out the front windshield.
“Stolen tests.” Her voice is soft, but it’s as if each word burns a brand into my brain. Having a daughter who started, with her friends, a tutoring business that helps other students is like a monument to my success as a mother. When my self-recrimination gets too harsh, I buff this statue of mothering achievement. If my teenager could be part of something so altruistic and, frankly, profitable, I was doing something right. But they have been doing it with stolen tests?
Clint squeezes hard, but my hand goes limp.
“Did you hear me? Your perfect daughter is a cheat.” Erika’s voice is caught between ages—immature but resolute, feisty but fragile.
“Oh, Aery.” Her toddler name, which is more like a moan, slips from my lips.
“What tests?” Clint asks.
“I didn’t know. I promise. I thought it was from a previous year,and I used it for all my one-on-ones.” A sob makes her stutter. “I-I messed up.”
“It’s not your fault if you didn’t know.” We can fix this. She just needs to explain. We can help her get back on track.
“But then I did,” Erika says with a drop-the-mic tone that makes my stomach churn.
“Someone found out?” Clint’s tone matches his daughter’s. He’s put this together. Before me. Has someone been threatening her?
“I got a snap that MJ said we were stealing tests. Which is bull—anyway, they said he was laughing about it Sunday night at an off-campus party. But he couldn’t have.” She takes a deep breath. “Then these randos said I had to come forward and admit to cheating, but I didn’t know. I mean, none of us knew.” Her voice breaks and then she continues in a whisper, “At first.”
“What do you mean—at first?” Clint grips the steering wheel with both hands.
“If I don’t admit to it, they’re going to ruin all of us. They’re going to make it seem like... It was only a few tests... and when we really knew... But they’ll make it seem like...”
I wring my sweaty fingers in my lap. “Why would you not tell us any of this before?”
“I thought I could fix it. I mean, this is so much more than some paint. This is my future. And I ... I thought MJ told someone after I sent him the picture.” Sounds of her crying fill the cab, and then she sniffs hard. “I need a tissue.”
“Should we stop?” Clint asks me but then glances toward the back seat.
“No. Please,” Erika utters between sobs. “I want Reid.” She wheezes and then snuffles. “And I really need a tissue.”
I pull my purse onto my lap and dig around inside, remembering I pulled the pack out while I was at my desk.
“Check the glove compartment,” Clint mumbles.
I pop open the surprisingly disciplined glove box.
“I organized it last weekend before our, uh... well, for Sunday.” Clint raises an eyebrow at me.
I nod as I pull out a small pack of tissues and hand it back to Erika.
“Do you want to tell us why you kept this from us? Even after what happened to our garage and car?” Clint’s words are so tight, as if he strangled them as they left his mouth. Feeling obliged to ask the questions and wanting to know the answers are two entirely different things.
Silence from the back seat.
“Just tell us—did you send the picture over Snapchat? And only the one?” I suck in my lips.
“Erika?” Clint prompts.
“Yes, Dad. And just the one. Can we drop it? You guys know everything.”
