Page 74 of When We Are Complete

She stays silent, and that only makes my worry grow. I try again, a little firmer. “Adele, we have to go now. Come on, we can talk in the truck.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. “And I’m not going. I’ll stay here.”

“You can’t stay here, Mom’s staying at granny’s and there’s a storm coming.”

“Just leave me alone.”

The wind howls louder outside and my desperation builds. My gaze catches on her cell.

“Let me see your phone,” I say. Her eyes widen, and she quickly stashes it behind her back.

“What? No way!”

I shake my head, not backing down. “Yes, Adele. Right now. I need to know what’s going on, and I’m not giving you a chance to delete anything like you usually do. You know we agreed to spot checks when Mom and I said you could get a phone, and something’s clearly upset you.”

After a beat, she reluctantly hands it over. I scroll through her messages, and what I find sends a surge of anger boiling through my veins.

A group chat with her classmates stares back at me, a list of names organized intohotandnot. And there, beneath a cold, dismissivenot, is Adele’s name.

I scan the messages, sick as I read the comments, each one uglier than the last. It looks as though a group of boys in her class have ranked all the girls in their class, dissected them as nothing but pieces of meat, commenting on everything frombig boobstoeasy. Adele’s name sits alongside a list of reasons that make my blood run cold—cruel, shallow words that could crush any kid, let alone a teenage girl.

“Adele,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm. “How long has this been going on?”

She doesn’t answer, but her face twists in pain, her cheeks streaked with fresh tears. “Please, Dad, just—just let it go. It doesn’t matter.”

But I can’t let this go. No way. “This isn’t right, Adele. No one should talk about you this way, or anyone else for that matter.”

She sniffs, looking away. “They’re just joking and having fun.”

“It’s not funny unless everyone enjoys the joke.” I shake my head, my grip tightening on her phone. “This stops now.”

Ignoring her pleas, I screen-shot the messages and forward them to myself, then pull out my phone and call the school principal.

“Mrs. Thompkins, this is Jake Tanner. I wanted to let you know that I’ve just read some very concerning messages between the kids in Adele’s class. In my view, there’s a serious issue with bullying. I’m emailing you screen shots of what’s been going on, and I want to hear back from you today about what you’re going to do about it.”

Mrs. Thompkins hesitates, clearly taken aback by my tone. “Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Tanner, I’ll look into it first thing. I assure you, we’ll handle it.”

“Good.” My voice is steady, though inside, I’m still boiling. “This needs to be dealt with immediately.”

“Of course.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay, thank you. I appreciate you taking this seriously, especially with the storm barreling down on us. Stay safe.”

I hang up and turn to Adele. She’s staring at me, her face pale, a mix of worry and fear in her eyes that just about breaks my heart.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

I hold out my hand and after a beat she takes it, and I pull her to standing. We pack her bag in silence, and I lock up behind us before we run to the truck through the snow.

As I drive home, my hands grip the wheel harder than necessary, the skin stretching white over my knuckles. I can’t shake the anger thrumming through me—at those kids, at the school, but mostly at myself. How could I have missed this? Adele’s been struggling, and I thought I’d been doing everything right. But here she is, crying silently in the passenger seat, because I didn’t see what was going on. Didn’t ask the right questions.

I glance over at her, bundled up in her coat, her cheeks still wet with tears. She’s staring out the window, as if the snowstorm outside is more comforting than anything I could say.

“I’m sorry, Adele,” I finally say, breaking the heavy silence between us. “I should’ve figured out what was going on sooner.”

She doesn’t look at me, just huddles deeper into her seat. She sucks in a shuddering breath, barely loud enough to hear over the hum of the engine. “You shouldn’t have called the principal. You just made everything worse.”

Made it worse. The words hit hard, and it’s all I can do to keep my voice steady. “What those boys did is wrong and someone needed to stop it. Sometimes these things are hard to talk about, but your mom and I are always here for you. Next time, tell us what’s going on.”

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