Along the coastline, broken staircases and massive oak trees tipped like toothpicks littered the bluff, as the lake gradually ate the bottom of the bluff out from under itself and groundwater loosened great gaping chunks from the topside. Some properties boasted seawalls to keep the erosion at bay, but mother nature was relentless.
Finally, I stopped walking. "Look at me."
She kept her gaze pinned somewhere near my shoulder. I stepped in front of her, forcing her to either crash into me or stop. She stopped.
"Look at me," I repeated.
Slowly, she did. Her eyes were glassy.
"Explain it to me. Because right now, what I see in that diary is my daughter participating in bullying her best friend. I need you to explain that to me."
She dragged the back of her sleeve over her face, leaving a damp streak. "It wasn't—it didn't feel like that. Leah would make jokes, too. It was… how we talked. It was stupid, but it wasn’t that bad. Not at first." She swallowed.
"But you saw it was hurting her."
Her shoulders curled inward, like she wanted to fold herself inside out. "After Christmas, it got worse. Alexis and Peyton, especially. They'd push it farther. Leah stopped laughing."
"You still laughed."
"I was scared." She said it fast. "Okay? I was scared they'd turn on me if I didn't. You don't get it, Mom. They… they pick. One person. And then it's just… constant. Every outfit, every answer in class, every post. If I didn't go along, they'd choose me next."
"Better her than you, right?"
Mia recoiled. "That's not—I didn't think?—"
"But that's what happened." I kept my voice even. "You watched. You participated."
Her tears spilled faster now. She swiped at them, angry with herself. "I know, okay? I hate myself for it. I think about it all the time. Every time you say her name, I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"Then why didn't you say something earlier?" I asked. "When I asked you what happened that night. When we sat at that table, and you told me she was fine."
"Because you'd look at me like this," she said in a strangled voice.
That landed hard. I took a breath, forced myself to stay calm, to listen.
A few dozen feet in front of us, Apollo lunged at a length of driftwood bobbing in the shallows, barking when the wave tugged it away. I whistled him back, needing the distraction. He loped over, sand plastered to his legs, water dripping from his chest.
Mia tugged her phone out of her hoodie pocket and held it close to her face. She put it away swiftly, but not before I caught a telltale glimpse. "What is that you keep looking at?"
"Nothing."
"Mia."
Her gaze darted toward the water, the sky, the curve of the pier in the distance. Anywhere but my face.
"I need you to show me that app or website or chat or whatever it is you keep looking at."
"Mom, can we not do this right now?"
"No," I said. "We are absolutely going to do this right now. Whatever you're not telling me could be the difference between you ending up in prison or finding the real killer. You don't get to keep that to yourself because it's uncomfortable."
She bit down on her lower lip. Her shoulders sagged.
"Tell me. Now."
"There's this account," she said finally. "On Instagram."
"What account?"
