49
“ERIKA, I WANT TO TALK ABOUTthe police finding the tracker on your phone.” I place an optimistic bowl of Parmesan crisps on the island between us.
“Did they say more about who or when they did it?” She settles onto a wooden stool, but her hands remain in her lap.
“No, but do you think it’s simply a coincidence—the picture your dad found, the tests, and now this tracker on your phone?” I stifle a shiver. “We need to figure this out, Erika, and I need your help.” I grab a chip and run my thumb along the gnarly edge. “What haven’t you told us?”
She strangles the hem of her T-shirt in her hands.
I pop the snack in my mouth but forget to taste it. I try the therapist’s counting technique, but Erika remains silent. Impatience gets the best of me. “Come on, sweetheart, we all have to be on the same side.”
“I need to unpack.” She slides off the stool and trudges to the bedroom she’s sharing with Reid.
I cover my mouth with both hands. We used to play the silent game when Erika was in grade school. I’d just want a few moments of quiet in the car. Erika would be prattling along about a Blow Pop she had stashed at home, her teacher’s new haircut, or the fact that horses can’t burp because the air only goes one way. I’d challenge her to silently sing an absurd tune like “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Tiger” without a mistake and then tell me when she’d done it. The rule was she’d have to start over if she sangreindeer. While my hands unclenched the steering wheel, Reid would intently watch his sister’s knotted-up face from his car seat. I needed a few moments of peace so I could think, but about what? Did I wish away her words?
Please talk to me, sweetheart.
I walk to her room and lean against the doorjamb. She turns away and shoves a handful of clothes into an old dresser. The wood scrapes and buckles as she tries to push the drawer back in place. Blowing out an exasperated moan, she slumps against the dresser, her back still to me. “I don’t know where to start.”
Responses crowd my mouth, but I stay silent.
“It has nothing to do with the picture.”
I open my mouth.
Erika glowers. “Stop. I know parents freak out about this. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have done it. But it was only one picture.” She throws her hip into the drawer. It finally closes. “I even tried to tell you.”
I think back on her quietly crying on the phone. I nod.
“When the snaps started on Monday about the tests, I couldn’t believe MJ had told. I mean, it was like rejection and betrayal all crumpled up and thrown in my face. I hadn’t told anyone else aboutthe tests. It had to be him. Dylan was still so upset, and we hadn’t even admitted it to Sophie.” Her knees look about to buckle.
“So, maybe they figured it out by the tracker on your phone?” Monday was after Betsey was removed from our lawn and I reluctantly filed the restraining order. The tracker had already been set on Erika’s phone, and they decided to go after my family. Heat broils me from the inside.
I risk approaching her. She allows me to lead her to sit next to me.
“That first test was dropped into my lap by a new kid.” Her face in anguish turns to me. “He was having trouble in geometry, and I didn’t question it. I didn’t even think to. Then his friends started bringing in other tests, and I went with it. We raised our rates to tailor our approach. Dylan is a master at this cash app, Hippa, and was using the social component to broadcast our success. Even people who’d turned off the feature were seeing our growth. He could see trends on Hippa that matched all the requests we were getting. He’s kind of a genius. But I’ve stopped even going into Hippa. I just can’t use the money.”
The food trucks—why she asked Clint for cash. The heaviness in my chest turns cold. They were cashing in on stolen tests. A deep desire to escape the words I have to hear makes my muscles tense. “When did you know?”
She tents her hands over her face and then lifts her gaze to the ceiling. “A student we helped last semester brought in her graded test to try to figure out what she did wrong. She was upset because it was hard, but a bunch of kids did well, so she was left at the bottom of the curve. It was the same test. I knew, but I waited to say anything.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because I had no idea how these kids got their hands on current tests, and by then we had gathered a handful. It could ruin us. Weneeded a new policy or something. No one would believe we didn’t know.”
“Erika, we would have believed you.”
“That’s what MJ said. He was helping me figure out what to do. How to make it stop. He was also jammed up about maneuvers this week. I sent the picture and then I heard nothing.” She wipes hard at her wet cheeks. “Until the weird messages.” Her voice breaks. “And then the threats.”
“When? When did the actual threats start?” I whisper.
“Monday night.”
After I told Candace about Betsey’s thumb drive.
“All on Snapchat. I’m sorry, Mom.” Erika curves her back and raises the bottom of her sweatshirt to bury her face. She makes herself small.
No. Oh, Erika, you are not small, or weak, or a victim to be taken advantage of.
