AS SOON AS I enter the school on Tuesday morning, I can feel it: a nasty energy permeating the hallways, a pervasive sense of hostility. Fiona Carmichael is behind it. When we locked eyes in that Dairy Queen, I knew I was doomed. I don’t know how she will do it, when, or even why, but she’s going to bring me down. It’s only a matter of time.
I’d barely slept, hypothesizing about Fiona’s role in my harassment. If Fiona is friends with Hugo Duncan, she might know his aunt Megan. And if Fiona follows Megan’s private Instagram account, she could have stolen Megan’s photos to create Ingrid Wandry’s profile. Fake-Ingrid’s brutal email and terrible review had been mature, articulate, and convincing. I’d assumed that my abuser was an adult. But Fiona is a bright senior, a coercive leader. She could have been behind this all along. She and Hugo Duncan.
With a cup of staff room coffee in hand, I go to Constable Kash’s office. “Do you have a sec?”
He invites me in, and I close the door behind me, take a seat. “You okay?” he asks, brow furrowed with concern.
I’m wearing my stress and lack of sleep on my face. And lately, I’ve been neglecting household chores, like laundry. This morning, I’d grabbed a rumpled shirt out of my laundry basket, not noticing the grease stain on the chest. “Hectic morning,” I say with a rueful grin. “But I have a solid suspect in my stalking case. I’d like you to talk to him.”
“Okay.” He reaches for a pen. “Who is it?”
“His name is Hugo Duncan.” I give him the only details I know: his school and his soccer team.
Kash’s brow furrows. “You think a teenage boy’s been leaving you nasty book reviews? Didn’t we decide the harassment seemed adult and personal?”
“This kid’s been lurking outside my apartment. And outside my ex’s place. And I saw him at the Dairy Queen with Fiona Carmichael.”
“You think Fiona has something to do with this?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh, overwhelmed by the possibilities. “She’s a horrible kid. She’s a monster.”
“She’s just a kid, though, Camryn.”
I see concern and judgment in his dark eyes, and I realize I’ve crossed a line. Guilt twists my stomach. “I didn’t mean that,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just so tired of it all.” My voice cracks with emotion, and I worry I’m about to fall apart. Quickly, I get up. “Please, Kash. Talk to Hugo Duncan. I need this to stop.”
I hurry into the hall.
I’ve barely returned to my desk when I’m summoned to Monica Carruthers’s office. “Be right there,” I say obediently into the phone. I have no idea what this meeting is about, but I feel a sense of foreboding. Moving through the barren hallways, I mutter under my breath, “What have you done, Fiona?”
Once I’m seated across from Monica, she gets down to business. “We’ve received a flurry of complaints about you through the online snitch portal.”
Well played.
Monica continues. “I wanted to give you the opportunity to address some of these accusations.”
I cross my arms, defensive. “Let’s hear them.”
The vice principal reads off her computer screen. “I told Ms. Lane that my mom’s boyfriend touched me and then she put it in her book.”
I roll my eyes. “I’d have an obligation to go to the authorities if a student told me that. You know that, Monica.”
She nods slightly—giving me a pass on that one—and then continues reading. “I used to live on the streets of the Downtown Eastside. Ms. Lane asked me all about it. I thought she cared but it was just research for Burnt Orchid.”
“I’d have to be a complete sociopath to do that,” I retort. “And if any of our students had been homeless, social services would have surely let us know.”
“True.” She reads another one. “Ms. Lane messaged me on Instagram. She invited me over to her apartment to get high.”
An incredulous laugh escapes me. “You’re not seriously entertaining these comments?”
“You know we have to look into them.”
“Why would I invite a student to my apartment? Am I insane?” My voice is escalating. “I don’t even get high, Monica. Plus my daughter lives with me so that would be a little awkward.”
“She only lives with you part-time, right?”
“Right,” I snap. “On the weeks she lives with her dad, I invite all the high school kids over to get stoned and have orgies.”
“Calm down, Camryn.”
“This is all ridiculous.” I take a labored breath through the tightness in my chest. “This is all Fiona Carmichael’s doing.”
“Fiona? How do you know?”
But what can I tell her? That I found the teen boy who took a humiliating video of me? That I went to his soccer game, watched him from my car before tailing him to the Dairy Queen where he met Fiona? It sounds unprofessional. It sounds creepy and crazy.
Monica sighs, clasps her hands on the desk in front of her. “I know Fiona is a mean girl, but do you really think she’s behind all of this?”
“She hates me.”
“She’s a popular teenager about to graduate high school. You might be overestimating your importance in her life.”
Maybe. But Monica doesn’t know Fiona like I do. “Are we done, Monica? I have work to do.”
“I’ll need to talk to Nancy about this,” she says, referring to our warmhearted principal. “But you can go.” Gratefully, I lurch from my chair and out of the room.
Back in my office, I bring up Fiona’s timetable on my computer. This is the last week of regular classes before exams and my nemesis is currently in French class. I call the teacher and have her sent to my office. About five minutes later, there’s a tentative knock at my door.
“You wanted to see me, Ms. Lane?”
“Yes, Fiona. Come in and close the door.”
The girl slips inside, shuffles the chair to shut the door, and sits. She looks at me expectantly, her façade of naivete so convincing. But I’m not fooled.
“What’s your beef with me?” I ask.
“Umm… pardon?”
“You clearly hate me, Fiona. Why? Because I want to hold you accountable for your actions? Because I think you should pay for what you did to Abby Lester?”
“All I did was share the video,” she says, eyes narrowing. “I know I shouldn’t have done that, but I’m not the one who gave her the Molly. I’m not the one who recorded her.”
“But you’re protecting the kids who did. Can’t you see that that’s wrong?”
“Don’t you remember what it’s like, Ms. Lane? I’d be destroyed if I snitched on the other kids.”
I doubt that anyone could destroy this powerful girl, but I continue. “Who is Hugo Duncan?”
“He’s a guy I’ve been seeing.”
“Has Hugo been watching my apartment? Or lurking outside my ex-husband’s house?”
“Why would he do that?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. Do you know his aunt Megan? In Bellevue?”
“Hugo goes to a soccer camp in Bellevue,” she says, brow furrowed. “But we’ve only been dating a few weeks. I haven’t met his family.”
“Do you follow Megan Prince on Instagram?”
“Ms. Lane, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. And all these questions are making me uncomfortable.”
Her stress is real, and palpable. She’s just a kid. I’m scaring her. “Go back to class,” I mumble, and the girl practically flies out of her seat. But as she fumbles her way out the door, I catch it. The faintest flicker of amusement dances across her lips. At least I think I saw it.
And then she’s gone.