Page 39 of The Social Affair (New Hope 1)

“She told me to call if I ever needed anything.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me on the bench out front.”

“Fine,” she says. Not thank you. Just fine. For a moment I consider teaching her a lesson for talking to me this way. I consider letting her ride it out. But then she probably would call Beth, and I’d have to explain and it’s just not worth it. There are easier ways to teach lessons. Also, I can’t recall a time when I’ve heard her this distraught, and she hasn’t so much as gotten a bad note home before, so getting cut from anything, much less dance, doesn't seem like her. Dance is her life. They say you’re supposed to watch out for these things with teenagers. Especially in a competitive environment like this. Private school, especially one filled with New Hope members, is no joke. Look for changes in attitudes, quitting or ceasing the things they love, they warn. It can be more than just a sign of growing up. It can lead to trouble. To darker things, things I don’t want to think about. They tell you all the signs to look for. They just never tell you what to do when you come face to face with them.

When I arrive at the school, Avery isn’t waiting on the bench. I text her, and she replies immediately. She’s waiting in the assistant principal’s office. He would like to speak with me.

I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, or if everyone really is glaring at me as I make my way down the hall to his office. When I reach the door, I see Mr. Hines through the small glass window. He’s sitting at his desk, hands folded, facing the door. He doesn’t immediately see me. Avery is seated across from him. He’s speaking to her. His face is set, stern. I know that look well. She nods, but I can’t see her face. She buries it in her hands. Her shoulders heave. She’s sobbing. My heart leaps into my throat; I hadn’t been prepared for this. My hand grips the doorknob. Instinctively, I want to kill him for making my daughter feel this way. Something innate comes to the surface, and I’m ready to pounce. I twist the knob. “What is—” One look at Avery, her mascara running down her face, her eyelids swollen, nostrils raw, and the rest of my sentence lodges in my throat. It’s probably a good thing, as I realize that anything I say is going to be the wrong thing.

“Please, Mrs. Dunn—” He cuts me off and motions to a chair beside my daughter. “Have a seat.” He speaks calmly. Authoritatively. Like my husband. I wonder if there’s a class they give on this kind of stuff. How to get women to do what you want.

I want to dig my heels in, to grab my daughter and get the hell out of there. Somehow, I see the end result, and I stop myself. I’d never hear the end of it if she were kicked out of school. There are things I’ve been warned about, but sometimes you can’t learn until you suffer the consequences.

Still, I look down at Avery, and I do as he asks.

She looks over at me and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t do it, Mom,” she cries. She speaks between sobs, furiously. This is not the Avery I know. “I promise. It wasn’t me,” she says, and a thought crosses my mind. I push it away. How well can we ever really know our children?

“Mrs. Dunn, I called you in to talk about an incident—” he starts. I place my hand on Avery’s knee, and he pauses. He peers at me over the rim of his glasses. It feels very official. He wants to see that I understand as much. I do. If you try to boil the entire ocean at once it doesn’t work. “A very serious incident.”

I lift my brow.

He shifts his gaze to my daughter and then looks back at me. “I don’t presume you’re aware of the situation.”

“I’m aware that Avery was cut from the dance team.”

He seems confused. “Avery is being accused of harassing a fellow classmate.”

I glance over at my daughter. She’s staring at me, wide-eyed. I know this expression. But I don’t know what to make of it. “Harassing? Harassing who?”

“One of our students has been hospitalized after an attempted suicide. When her mother checked her phone, she found dozens of messages from your daughter. Threatening messages.”

My mouth hangs open. A saying comes to mind: Those who are shocked should be shocked more often.

“Mom—I swear. I never sent Laura Duffy anything. I swear.”

I shift in my seat. I open my mouth to speak before closing it again.

“I swear,” Avery says. “I hardly even talk to Laura Duffy.”

“How do we know it was my daughter sending the messages?”

He slides a stack of papers toward me. It appears he was expecting the question. I glance down at the text exchanges, most of them with my daughter’s profile picture next to them. “They were sent from her Instalook account.”

I glance up and meet his eye before looking over at my daughter.

“BUT IT WASN’T ME!” Avery begins to lose it. It takes a lot, but there’s a little of her father in her, nonetheless.

“Can we prove they came from her?” I study my daughter carefully.

“We’re currently looking into that. Investigators have spoken with Avery and are in the process of gathering information.”

I meet his gaze, letting my tight smile convey the simmering fury. “Wait—you let cops speak to my daughter without my knowledge or permission?”

“Mrs. Dunn—”

“Don’t—” I say. I stand to leave and pat Avery’s shoulder, ushering her to follow suit.

Mr. Hines is the last to stand. He clears his throat. “In light of how serious these allegations are, I’m afraid we have to suspend Avery until further notice.”

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