I know this story. Danny told me about it on our first date. The night we first kissed, under the string lights. God, that feels like a lifetime ago.
“Daniel’s mother was apoplectic. I managed to convince her that I could do more to influence him. But I knew I couldn’t just depend on her for money. I had to find a different way. You know how little teachers earn? Private school teachers earn more than public school teachers, but not much, certainly not enough to cover lawyer’s fees, and my ex-wife has an endless pool of money on her end, them being crazy rich Asians and all.” He spits out the word Asians, which makes my whole body bristle, the way he says it.
“The answer came from one of my students. A student who was failing my class. He came to see me during office hours and offered to pay me ten thousand dollars to let him pass. That was when it struck me. The answer’s been right in front of me this whole time.”
It’s true. I think of Beth and her totally blinged-out room, of Sam and her insane car, of Danny and his three guitars.
“I approached a couple of my wealthiest, laziest students and made them an offer. And they jumped at it. I would’ve stopped, you know, once the divorce proceedings are finalized.”
He pauses and his gaze flicks toward mine in the rearview mirror. The corners of his mouth lift into a—a something. It’s most definitely not a smile. “Then you came along.
“I don’t care what you are. Daniel’s parents do, though. His mother threatened to back her sister’s case, provide her with a character testimony or whatever.” He laughs, a bit hysterically, and gives the steering wheel another squeeze. “I can’t take on another one of them. There is no way I can afford—and my kids—” His voice cracks. “I’m not a bad person. I’m truly sorry that you got caught up in all this, Lia.”
I can’t meet his eye. I can’t see him like this, vulnerable, without his usual sheen of self-assurance. It makes it that much harder to hate him.
Maybe I should just back off. Accept my fate and leave Draycott, forget about all this.
But then I think about Ibu and how she’d react when I tell her I got kicked out of school. The worst part is, she wouldn’t scold me. She wouldn’t even say anything mean; she’s not that kind of mom. She’d try to hide her disappointment, and she’d hug me and tell me everything would be okay, and all the while, she’d be blaming herself for somehow failing as a mother.
And I recall my meeting with Mrs. Henderson and how my folder had been filled with accusation after accusation, all of it arranged by Mr. Werner. How effectively he’d ruined my reputation. This whole vulnerable thing is nothing but an act.
I have to do it. For my sake, and for Ibu’s. I have to go through with my plan. Even if it ends up destroying both Mr. Werner and me.
Chapter 15
I’m so busy wrangling my own thoughts that I barely notice where we’re headed until Mr. Werner stops the car. I stare out the window. Nothing but redwood trees towering around us. A nearby sign says WELCOME TO ORANGE POINT.
Orange Point. I remember Danny telling me about it once. He’d said it’s a scenic overlook near the school, though there’s not much scenery there. Just a pathetic little ledge down a dirt road that overlooks the river. About a fifteen-minute drive farther up the hill is Strawberry Point, which is a lot nicer than Orange. And I’m out here all alone with Mr. Werner. I take out my phone and try to send a message to Beth to let her know where I am, but there’s no reception out here.
Mr. Werner turns off the engine and gets out of the car.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my thoughts into something coherent before getting out as well.
He doesn’t waste any time. “So what do you want, Lia? You have to leave Draycott, I’m very sorry. But I’m not a monster, really, I’m not. Look, here’s some money…” He actually takes his wallet out and rifles through it, like he thinks forty bucks might just be enough to make me disappear.
Now or never. I brandish my phone like a trophy. Because in a way, it is. “I did my homework.”
Mr. Werner sighs. “Can’t wait to hear it,” he mutters. He actually looks bored.
Again, the rage flares deep inside me, and I fight to control my voice. “Have you heard of an app called Draycott Dirt?”
“Sounds like the kind of thing you kids nowadays spend too much time on.”
“Um. Yeah, okay, that’s true.” I mentally shake myself. “It’s an app that lets you post secrets anonymously. All you have to do is make up a username, and then you can post whatever you want, no questions asked. Any secret you want to share. About anyone.”
He’s stopped looking so bored now. Understanding is dawning on his face, and I can’t decide whether it’s a good sight or a terrifying one.
“I hate the app. People use it to bully others. Mandy and her posse post all sorts of crap about me all the time. I can’t stand it. But then I realized, hey, if there’s so much on me, a new student, what will I be able to find on you?”
“Hang on—”
I tap on my saved posts and start reading out loud. “Why are only the richest kids the ones getting As? Oh, here’s a really good one. I paid for an A-but got an A instead. Thanks for being so generous, Mr. W!” Despite my heart hammering its way out of my rib cage, I manage to raise my eyebrows at him. “Did you just decide to give that kid a freebie? That’s not very lucrative.”
“A couple of kids telling lies on social media? This is hardly evidence,” he spits. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. I bet he’s starting to sweat. Good.
“Yeah, except it’s not just a couple of kids. There are over thirty of ’em.” I hold the phone up so he can watch as I scroll through my saved posts. “And here’s one from a user called LittleTokyo, posted a few months ago.” A lump appears in my throat and my voice catches, but I make myself read it out loud. “LittleTokyo said: Mr. W ruined my life. We’d agreed that I would get an A, but when I couldn’t cough up the cash, he got so angry that he started failing me. I got rejected by every college I applied to because of it.”
“That doesn’t—”
“How much do you want to bet that LittleTokyo was Sophie Tanaka?” I say in a voice rough with emotion. Because when I found that post, buried under thousands of other newer ones, it had driven such sorrow in my heart. The post had been inundated with the usual unkind replies, other kids jeering at her for failing, for being unable “to cut it” and blaming it on her teacher instead. Only one other user had taken her side, probably that kid Logan, and the others had quickly made fun of him too. She’d bared her soul on DD and got eaten alive for it. Mr. Werner’s mouth is a thin line, his eyes hot coals.
The thought of Sophie crying as she made that post months ago, followed by Sophie last night, defeated and broken, spurs me on. “Did Sophie confront you? Did you say something to her? Push her into committing suicide?”