Twenty
The Social Networks
It had been a few weeks since the scene at the turf, and even though there had been no further incidents with Lee, I told myself it was merely the calm in the eye of the hurricane. A major storm loomed.
I was in my Upper East Side office where my first patient had canceled; his OCD rituals were too debilitating and he couldn’t get out of the house. I left a message, encouraging him to think about a medication consult, and then distracted myself by scrolling through Facebook.
I peeked at Julie’s page. She’d posted a picture of herself and Carly shopping for bathing suits. They were going on a Bahamas cruise, nice.
Against my better judgment, I went to Jim’s page. I had been expecting to look at an old photo like the one he showed me from a college reunion two years ago: seven men in flannel shirts and jeans, all covered in five o’clock shadows.
I should have stopped looking, but I couldn’t. My jealousy was a riptide, reeling me in deeper and deeper. Seeing Jim’s handsome face just made me miss him even more, and I sat, paralyzed as the page loaded with photos. The first revealed Jim, arm-in-arm with an auburn-haired woman who was so beautiful, I couldn’t breathe. Not only was he seeing someone new, she was a tall, gorgeous redhead, different from me in every possible way. The pictures broke my heart. He and the woman, together in every shot, smiling and laughing. In one photo, she was whispering something in his ear. I glanced at Jim and the redhead laughing in Yankees hats; eating ice cream; ice-skating. What was next: sandcastles on the beach? I couldn’t stand it.
It was out there for everyone to see: a love affair between my ex-boyfriend and this mysterious woman. If he’d moved on that quickly, he’d never really loved me at all. I thought back to the dinner party, how Lee had broken us up. Jim and his new girlfriend were probably double dating with the DeVrys at this very moment.
I started to cry, but stopped myself. If I gave in to this, I wouldn’t get through the day. I dialed Julie, but her cell just rang. I thought of going for a run, but I didn’t have my workout stuff. So I sat feeling sidelined, the wilted wallflower at a high school dance.
Change the channel, I told myself. Do not think about Jim and his new girlfriend. Or Lee. It was her fault we’d broken up in the first place. “I hate you, Lee,” I told the empty room.
It was juvenile and reminded me of how Rachel had been angered by the villain in a princess movie—she was two at the time—and shouted at the TV, “I hate you, evil queen!” She’d stomped her foot and balled her fists. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Thinking about Rachel’s childhood grudge cheered me up a little. To get myself through the rest of the day, I made a mental plan:
Step 1: Eliminate all social media, at least for today (who was I kidding? It would be years before I’d be able to get the picture of Jim and the tall beautiful woman out of my mind).
Step 2: Think about something else. Visualize a pleasant image, like a puppy. We had an Irish Setter growing up. He was so sweet, with his big brown eyes and soft sweet tongue, and silky red hair. Red hair! Ugh. Next.
Step 3: Distract yourself. Read a magazine.
I went to the waiting room and grabbed a copy of a news magazine. The lead story was about adolescents and bullying. Not exactly the thing to calm me down.
I clicked on Rachel’s classroom’s home page, wondering if there were any updates about what they were working on in school. A photo of three small blond girls laughing and smiling came up. I recognized Lexi and Collette, who were photographed on a field trip. They looked so happy and carefree. I wished it were my kid giggling with friends.
The phone rang, startling me. It was later than I’d thought. Amy had missed her hour and was leaving a rambling message. She’d gone over to Barnum because her daughter had received hurtful texts from some kid at school, and after meeting the principal, had “gotten caught up in something.” Hopefully she wasn’t trawling the internet again, or—worse yet—posting.
My next clients, the couple with the infertility issues buzzed. After ushering them in, I tried my best to listen as the woman described pregnancy symptoms, but I felt like I was sleepwalking, lost in a stiff-limbed trek through my own worst nightmare. The session ended. I put the tea kettle on and willed myself to keep going.
This is your fault, Evil Queen. My blood boiled. I couldn’t wait to get even with Lee. There were still five minutes before Maureen’s appointment. Maybe there would be an interesting development in one of the chat rooms; something I could use to get revenge.
When the buzzer sounded, I reluctantly closed the laptop. I still had the photos but hadn’t yet come up with a way to put them to good use.
I managed to focus on the last hour of the evening before closing up the office and driving home where Rachel and I had dinner together. She showed me a website on her phone. It was for the store in the closest mall where all the kids got their accessories.
“Subtle, Rach.”
“Come on. Please. Can I get these ear cuffs? I’ll only put tiny studs next to them. It’s not like I’m going to wear five hoops at a time.”
“I’ll think about it. So still eating lunch with Maya these days?” I asked.
“Usually.” I was relieved to hear she’d been maintaining that friendship. “At the risk of becoming repetitive, Rach, want to invite her over again? Or all go to a movie?”
“Maybe.”
The next morning I unlocked my city office. Amy was waiting, squeezing an appointment in before work. She’d finally spotted me around school and had wasted no time in announcing that she’d seen me at the other end of the campus fields over the weekend, and had heard from one of the moms that I was the parent of a fifth grader, and lived in town.
This was the boundary stuff I’d been dreading. Amy was still speaking; hopefully she hadn’t noticed my nervousness. “Why did you listen to me say all kinds of things about Barnum, and never let on that you lived in town?” As she shifted and grabbed a tissue from the box on the table, I groaned inwardly and adopted a neutral look. I wasn’t up for this.
“Obviously you know the people I talk about! Do you talk about me?” She stuck out her chin. I knew she was vulnerable underneath the defiant stance. Who wouldn’t be? I had to answer. I thought it would destroy her trust if I let her associate without answering her questions or confirming her perceptions. “You are correct. I do live in Mayfair. But I hadn’t had a child at Barnum until recently.”
She stared, waiting for more.
“And I would and could never say anything about what we discuss in session. Not to anyone. It’s confidential.”
Amy nodded.
“I’m sure you will have more questions. For now, why don’t we treat this in a way that will allow us to use them in a therapeutic context,” I said. “For example, you have been through a hard time recently. And it seems like running into me has brought up a lot of feelings.”
“It’s fine. I want to talk about a couple of other things, like what happened before Ellie’s game.”
She was off, describing a coach’s mistreatment of her younger child. I was just glad we’d gotten past her anger.
After work I was driving north, eager to see Rachel. When I walked in, she was in the living room, sprawled out on the sofa, playing on her phone. Before I could speak she told me how Lexi and Collette had set her up, texting that a boy named Dylan had broken up with his girlfriend, asking her to pass it on. After she’d relayed the message, they’d told Dylan that Rachel was “obsessed” with him, and everyone had laughed at her.
I was amazed that any learning went on at school. The kids were all so busy with senseless playground drama. At least Rachel didn’t seem as upset as I would have expected.
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“I went over to Maya and we tried to ignore them, playing Candy Crush on our phones.”
“Good for you,” I said, putting my arm around Rachel and walking her up the stairs so she could get ready for bed. She smiled a little. Even if Collette and company had gotten under her skin, I was thrilled to hear that she and Maya had banded together.
Rachel finally acquiesced, and we invited Maya and her mother, Ellen, for dinner. She turned out to be the woman with the solarized glasses I’d met the first day. We laughed at the memory of the weirdness in the classroom, and said we hoped things would improve next year when both elementary schools combined.
“So who is this camp friend they’ve been writing to on Instachat?” Ellen asked. We were sitting in the living room drinking mint tea after the girls had gone upstairs.
“Not sure. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable. I’ve talked with Rachel about social media. It’s concerning that these kids put everything out there and are in touch with strangers.”
Ellen shifted her posture and seemed to be thinking about whether to speak. “Is something wrong?” I asked her.
“So you don’t know then?”
This didn’t sound good.
She breathed in before speaking. “The one who has been writing to our girls, someone’s camp friend, asked Maya, and Rachel, to send him—” she stopped and covered her eyes.
I sat forward in my chair. “Please go on.”
“He wanted naked photos.”
It felt like my air supply was cut off. Rachel and Maya weren’t even eleven years old. I prayed my daughter hadn’t done something stupid.
Ellen read my thoughts. “They didn’t send anything. And they both blocked the account. This was a few days ago.”
My pulse was moving in double time. The photo incident could have ended in disaster. I told Ellen that I needed to talk to Rachel. She said she understood and took Maya home. After they’d gone, I asked Rachel to help me fold up the tablecloth and napkins.
“Maya’s nice,” she said as we moved toward one other, collapsing the fabric into a perfect half, and then a smaller folded square. “But the other girls make fun of her.” She appeared to consider something before speaking. “They’re all teeny-tiny, and really pretty, and rich, and they think they’re better. It used to bother me, but now I try to ignore them.”
This was an opening. I’d follow up on the sexting in a minute.
“Rach?”
“Um hmmm.” She was texting and ignoring me.
“Rachel?” I waited.
“What! I’m done talking about this.”
“Please listen. You’re perfect, beautiful and smart. I mentioned this before and meant it. If the girls act this way, excluding you or any other person, it says more about them than it does about you.”
I inhaled and looked her squarely in the eye. “There’s something else. I just spoke to Ellen.”
Rachel hung her head. “I should have told you. But I handled it.”
I waited until she was ready to say more.
“The camp friend was nice in the beginning. And it felt good to message with a boy.” She looked sad. Poor kid. After all she’d been through, of course the attention was flattering. “So, he said, ‘I want to see more of you. Send photos.’ And when I refused, he kept trying to convince me, like, ‘don’t be a baby. Just take your top off.’”
I felt like jumping out of my skin, but forced myself to remain composed.
“When I said no, he got mad and called me a ‘tease.’ He did the same thing with Maya. We decided we would block him. And that was the end.”
I went over to where Rachel was sitting and hugged her tightly. “That was the right thing to do. Sending photos like that, sexting, is never okay. Don’t let anyone try to force you. And please come to me if anyone bothers you again, in person or online.” I made sure our eyes met. “Promise?” She nodded and we hugged again.
I was relieved that Rachel and Maya had stood up for themselves, but the incident had spooked me. I wondered again who the camp friend was, and emailed Ellen, asking if we could talk. Maybe we needed to go together to the police? She was going out of town and promised to get back to me. I felt better having reached out, and managed to get through the next couple of days.
On Friday, while Rachel and I were eating dinner, she told me a new girl had started school. She and Maya had invited the girl to eat lunch with them.
“That’s great, Rach.” Maybe our talks about the cliques had made a dent. But I still felt a chill in my blood thinking about her close call on Instachat.
“It sounds like you and Maya have each other, and maybe this new girl too. But I’ve been meaning to go over something. Any word from the camp friend?”
“I told you. We blocked him.”
“Do you have any idea who it was?” She shook her head, and I decided to take her pulse one last time about the girls in her class. “Since you’ll be at school together in the coming years, it’s important to have a handle on the group stuff. Have you thought any more about why Collette needs to run the show?”
Rachel sighed. “I have no idea, but you’re about to tell me.”
“Wealthy and attractive people can be just as insecure as everyone else. Everyone has something they worry about, and she’s no different. But it sounds like these girls don’t matter as much now. You’ve found other kids to hang around with.” I stopped talking because Rachel’s eyes were starting to glaze over.
She was glancing at her phone. Apparently even a minute was now too long for a talk. Time to wrap up. Rachel yessed me and stood up to bring her plate to the sink. At least she seemed to be putting the social stuff in perspective.
The next morning, I drove into my city office, feeling better than I had in awhile. My daughter was navigating well, both in school and online. And I was too, having relied on the wisdom of my personal moral compass to teach her while modeling kindness. Even though I still wanted to settle the score with Lee, my heart felt lighter than it had in awhile.
The good feelings were short-lived. This became clear after work when I climbed the stairs and opened the door to my daughter’s room. She was hunched over and didn’t move.
“Is everything all right? Did something happen today?”
Rachel’s eyes were swollen and her face was tear-streaked. She opened her laptop to Instachat, a page I’d never seen. There was a photo of Dopey, one of the Seven Dwarfs. His hat was pulled down and he had a confused look on his face. Underneath was a bio:
“Rachel Bryant”
I forced myself to look further. Rachel scrolled down. The first and only post was a stock image, a large flapping bird, the Domesticated Turkey. It had the following preprinted caption across the top: “World’s Stupidest Animal.” Posted right underneath was the phrase: “That’s me.” The account had sixty followers and the post, seventy-eight likes.
Rachel spoke through sobs. “This was made by the camp friend. I’m pretty sure. It has a lot of the same followers and he used the same font and lettering as the account I blocked. I got a notification from his new account and clicked on it and found this page. The first time I looked, it had only eighteen followers and twenty likes. More and more people have been viewing it and laughing at me. Collette and Lexi and some of their friends wrote stuff like: ‘I want a slice of that’ and ‘OMG’ to make fun of me.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.
What was going on? First a request for nude photos, and now this? I felt the hair on my arms rise, and leaned in, unsure about what I was even looking at. All I knew was that it was a nasty display, intentionally targeting my daughter.
I clicked on the profile picture of the account that had notified Rachel about the cruel turkey photo. It was a cartoon of a basketball and hoop. “BucketBeast,” it said. “Living the Life.”
“He wrote a couple of times before. The first time the account said BucketBeast, and there wasn’t a picture with it. He just wrote ‘hi.’ But now suddenly the account has a photo and is posting mean messages, sending private DMs and commenting here and on other posts I made.”
I scrolled down. On the turkey post, he had commented, “You’re ugly. Go hide in your house!”
Rachel peered at me through red eyes. Why would he write something like this?”
I went over and kneeled down next to her. “We’re certainly going to get to the bottom of this. I don’t care what it takes, sweetheart. Let me think a little bit.” Rachel nodded and I went on. “Would you like to do something nice, like go out for ice cream with Alva while I make some calls?”
“Alva couldn’t come today. You were busy and forgot that she texted. Neil’s mom gave me a ride home. I’ll just stay here and do my homework.”
I’d forgotten that Alva had called in sick again. Hopefully she’d be back before too long. Rachel and I needed her.
I distracted myself by calling Julie, who was outraged by the online cruelty. “That’s horrible. Poor Rachel.”
I pictured her puzzling over our situation in the silence that followed. She finally said. “So what do you think you should do?”
“I wish I knew. It’s so cruel. And I don’t even get what this stupid account is. I was about to go online and try to figure it out, but I thought I’d call you. Maybe Carly would know?”
“When in doubt, ask a teen. They know everything. Carly!” A few moments passed, then I heard her daughter’s voice asking what was up. “Can you tell me about Instachat?” Julie asked.
I prayed she wouldn’t out us. We all got together for a road trip every couple of years, and I didn’t want Rachel to be embarrassed when she next saw Carly.
“Later. I have to FaceTime Ally.”
Julie spoke again. “I know someone who needs information about cyber stuff now. So here’s what we need to know: What does it mean if you look at Instachat and there’s a page with an unflattering or mean photo and bio, and the whole point of it is to make fun of a person?”
I thought I heard Carly make a snorting sound. “I don’t get the question.”
“So let’s say you found a page with your name on it on Instachat. Only it was really mean and you didn’t put it up.”
“Oh. Someone makes an account, pretending to be someone else, and puts really mean things on it?”
I was nodding along.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Is it, like, self-deprecating?”
“No, it’s more humiliating and mean-spirited than self-deprecating.”
“Well, it kind of sounds like a fake account, a second Instachat feed. Just so you know, there’s also something called a Finsta, which is different; we all have them. They’re for fun. So you have your regular Instachat, where you show more public things, and your Finsta, which is more private.”
Carly was losing me.
“So you have another account?” Julie sounded annoyed. I pictured her, hand on one hip, challenging her daughter about social media secrets.
“It’s not a big deal. I have like five hundred followers on my Instachat: kids from camp, teams, whatever, not just close friends. But on my Finsta, I have a lot less. And the posts are a joke, but kind of making fun of myself, private jokes. Like you only show your real friends if you are pissed off at a teacher or you tripped in the hallway at school. You don’t want everyone to know that stuff. Getting back to the question, I think what you are talking about is a fake account. People sometimes make those to poke fun at someone. Can I be done, now? I have to go.”
I heard Julie remind Carly to finish her homework, and waited as they had a muffled exchange. Once her daughter had moved on, Julie came back on. “Wow. Fake Instachat and accounts.”
“I know. I had no idea. Thank you so much. I appreciate your finding out about that. And thanks for keeping Rachel’s problems a secret. Now I have to deal with this online bullying. I really can’t take much more.”
“I know. It sounds really bad, Vic. From what you described and what Carly explained, someone made a fake account and, posing as Rachel, put humiliating things and threatening comments on it?”
I massaged my temples. “Apparently. I’ve got to get off the phone now so I can try to do something. Should I wait—everyone’s saying it’s some troubled kid—or go to the police? I want to nip it in the bud.”
“Going to the police is probably a good idea. Please call me when you get home—or before.”
We hung up and I went downstairs. Rachel was in the kitchen, mixing eggs and flour in a giant bowl.
“How are you doing, Rach?”
She shrugged. “Show me your phone. I want to see if there’s been anything new.”
As I feared, BucketBeast had been busy. He’d branched out, commenting on a few of Rachel’s recent posts: “I hate you,” one of them said. “You’re a whale!!! What’s your BMI, like 1000?” a second one read. “GO KILL YOURSELF!” the third one screamed. I had to steady myself against the desk. This was awful. The account now had 460 followers.
“Why is this happening to me?” Rachel was pacing. “Everyone in the school probably knows. They’ll all make fun of me.”
“I’ll be acting on this immediately.” She gave me an exhausted shrug. “What’s a BMI?”
“Just some disturbed kid’s attempt to disparage you. It’s an abbreviation doctors use.” She buried her face in her hands. I was furious now.
Rachel looked up and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I know it has to do with body size. I googled it.” She was crying harder now, and I knelt down next to her. “Remember at my last appointment, my height and weight, I was in the fifty-something percentile? I’m in the middle, not the biggest, not the smallest.”
I nodded. “Sweetheart. You are absolutely beautiful and healthy and just the right shape and size. I’m going out so I can deal with this now. Do you want me to drop you at Maya’s or Neil’s on my way?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine here.”
“Just hang in for a little while until I get back, okay? Love you,” I said as I grabbed my coat.
Mayfair shared a police department with several other neighboring villages. The precinct was housed two towns over in a small white house adjacent to a gas station off the main drag.
I walked onto the porch of the police station and said my name into an intercom next to the front door. Someone buzzed me into a large room. A gray-haired receptionist sat behind a desk several feet in front of me. I stepped in and smiled in her direction, closing the door behind me. She peered over her glasses. “Hello,” I said, unsure of the protocol.
“My name is Victoria Bryant. I’d like to speak to one of the officers.”
She cocked her head, waiting for more.
“About a potential criminal matter.”
“Okay. Sit down over there and someone will come and get you.”
As I took a seat in a boxy steel chair and waited as the receptionist went into a back room. I thought about what I’d say during the meeting.
A uniformed officer opened the door and extended one hand. “Officer Giles,” he said, ushering me into the main part of the precinct. He looked to be about my age, and probably had a decade or more of experience. That was promising. Although I wasn’t too keen on getting involved with the criminal justice system and preferred to keep our problems private, I’d file a report.
The officer brought me into a large room that had several desks across the interior and a table.
“So please tell me your name and address, then let me know how I can help you,” Giles said as we sat down.
“Dr. Victoria Bryant. Two Long Pines Drive, Mayfair. I’m here about my eleven-year-old daughter, Rachel. She’s a fifth grader at Barnum.”
Giles made notes as I told him the whole story, from girl troubles to the bullying comments on Instachat to the fake account and BucketBeast. As soon as I mentioned BucketBeast, he stopped writing and put a hand up. “I didn’t realize it was connected to that. Let me get you over to Detective Weiner.”
We stood up and walked over two desks to the woman who’d been filing. “Laurie, this woman is here on the ‘BB’ matter,” Giles said before looking back at me. “This is Detective Weiner. She’ll take it from here. Good luck.”
The detective took all the information as she brought the BucketBeast account up on her screen. I felt sick looking at the now-familiar turkey photo profile pic and growing number of accompanying jabs. “318 likes and 494 followers,” she said, eyeing me across the table.
So hundreds of people had seen this humiliating photo and horrible display. How would Rachel ever show her face in public again? And the comment, “Go kill yourself.” I thought about how Rachel had tried to help herself, blocking the kid who was doing this, talking to friends. But all he had to do was make another account and go after her again. Kids were so vulnerable these days, with all the time they spent online. The pain caught in my throat and came out as a small anguished gulping sound. The detective handed me a box of tissues. As I cried, she sat silently, hands folded on her lap.
She was tall and dressed in all black with almost no makeup and long straight blond hair, which she’d drawn into a tight, high ponytail. “We’re looking into this, Dr. Bryant. I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation, but over the past twenty-four hours, we’ve received several similar complaints. The school is also concerned and cooperating in our investigation.”
“I guess that’s something. My child wasn’t singled out.” Weiner nodded and brought her fingertips to her lips before inhaling deeply.
I wondered whether Collette had been on the receiving end of a fake account from BucketBeast. Then Lee would know how it felt to see her child bullied while being unable to help.
“I appreciate that this is rough for your daughter and you. But this incident isn’t a lot to go on. And normally I’d tell you that we don’t open a criminal investigation for something like middle school shenanigans . . . however hurtful they may be.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Any idea who is behind this?”
“Like I said before, I can’t comment, but in this case, there are several people who’ve made similar complaints, and for reasons I’m not going to get into right now, the department is pairing with another police organization and investigating further. So please be available.”
“Okay. But is there some help you can provide until the investigation precedes any further? My daughter’s turning eleven, and this cyber stuff is brutal.”’
Weiner nodded. “We’re doing everything we can. Just sit tight.” She ushered me to the exit. I texted Rachel, “leaving now.”
“Finished baking,” came the response. “Doing homework.”
I was relieved she’d back-burnered the fake account, at least for now.
I’d put my coat on and started to walk out the door when Detective Weiner reappeared. “Dr. Bryant? I forgot: Here’s my card, in case you think of anything else or need to speak to me again.”
Once I’d left the station, I slid into the driver’s seat of my car, feeling a little more hopeful. I’d taken concrete action by going to the police, and Rachel wasn’t the only one targeted. I hoped things continued to move in a positive direction.
When I arrived at home, Rachel asked me a lot of questions. “Was there a police dog at the station house?” she wanted to know.
“Nope, just a coffee maker. What are you going to say the next time you’re at school, and someone asks you about the fake account?”
“I’ll tell the truth. I ignored it.”
“Rach, telling the truth is always good. But since we don’t know who BucketBeast is yet, and we don’t want to provoke him or cause him to make another fake account or bother you in some other way, I think you should say very little, okay? Until we get it all sorted out?”
“I forgot to tell you, BucketBeast made fake pages about Maya and Francesca. Those accounts also had a lot of followers.”
I nodded, waiting to hear more.
“Neil got one the other day, but he didn’t tell anyone. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one.”
Apparently BucketBeast was an equal opportunity hater.
“So if someone asks me about the turkey account, I won’t respond,” Rachel continued. “I’m going to make a new account, and if they bring up the other one, I’ll just tell people to follow the new one I’m making.”
“Great idea.”
“I’m going on Urban Dictionary.” As she went upstairs to her room, I overheard her, trying out puns, seeking a name for her fake account: “The Rachel,” “Pulling a Rachel,” “Code Rachel,” “Rachel heart—wait that’s it.” I heard her closing her door.
An hour later, I called her to come downstairs for dinner. “Let me see the fake account, please,” I said. She handed me her phone. There was a profile photo of Rachel, winking at the camera. The bio said: “Rachel < 3”
“What does that mean?” I was confused by the symbols after her name.
“A Rachel with a sideways heart means ‘awesome Rachel. A great friend, the person everyone wants to be around.’”
I smiled, despite the fact that her handle and explanation made me sad. Rachel was obviously trying to display an image of what she wanted to be, the girl at the center of a core group of friends.
I thought about my daughter and her peers, living their lives online, their social lives commoditized for all to see. It was so complicated, growing up in front of an audience, in a world with no boundaries, no privacy, no accountability, and where bullying was the norm.