“Thank you.”
“My kids don’t really know Ronni, but I told them that they should be kind when they see her. And if they witness any of the bullying behavior, I told them to go to a teacher.”
“Bullying behavior?” Lisa asked in a choked voice. She knew Ronni had felt isolated and ostracized, but she’d never complained of overt bullying.
“I don’t know any of the specifics. . . .” Karen clearly felt awkward. “If I did, I would have called the principal. My kids just said that there are some kids who are saying things . . . at school and online . . . mean things.”
“Ronni never told me. . . .” Lisa felt Yeva’s supportive hand land on top of hers.
“Maybe you should talk to her counselor?” Karen said, flustered. “I could have gotten it wrong—my kids aren’t the most reliable sources.”
“I will,” Lisa said, roasted yams turning to lead in her stomach. “Thank you for coming over.”
“If there’s anything I can do . . . I’m friends with Ana Pinto, Marta’s mom. She can send you my details.”
Marta. She was at the party that night. Her mom, Ana, had sent Lisa a note. . . . She couldn’t remember what it said, but the woman was a doctor. It was monogrammed on her stationery.
Yeva spoke for her. “Thank you, Karen. That’s kind of you.”
“Thanks,” Lisa managed, as Karen backed away toward her table.
Darcy’s hand reached across and joined the supportive hand pile. “You okay?”
Lisa nodded. “I’m going to go.”
“We’ll come with you,” Yeva offered, as Lisa pulled her hand away and stood.
“No, stay. Ronni and I need to talk. Alone . . .”
Darcy was on her feet. “Let me buy her a vegan raspberry scone. They’re amazing.”
THE WHITE BAKERY bag crinkled as Lisa let herself into the apartment building. She hoped the vegan scone wasn’t dry. Ronni didn’t have much of an appetite lately and would be easily turned off. Lisa rode the elevator to their fourth-floor apartment, so lost in thought that when the elevator stopped on the third floor (someone must have called it and then changed their mind), Lisa got off and walked to the end of the hall before realizing her mistake. She and the scone took the stairs up.
It was quiet in the apartment, but Lisa knew Ronni was there. She almost never left anymore, except on those days when Lisa could cajole her into attending school. Her reluctance made sense now. . . . Ronni had the entire apartment to herself this afternoon, but she was closeted in her lilac bedroom, as usual, with the door tightly closed. Her personal space was a shrine to what had been: pictures of her and her friends covered bulletin boards, filled frames, hung from a makeshift clothesline draped along one wall. Concert tickets, postcards, and music posters papered the rest of the space, a tribute to her former passions.
But Ronni didn’t listen to music these days: too emotive. She would undoubtedly be watching Netflix—teen millionaires, teen vampires, teen detectives—and wishing she were someone else, someone with money, fangs, or sleuthing skills. Lisa moved toward the room, holding the scone in both hands like an inadequate gift for royalty.
Usually, Lisa knocked—she had always respected her daughter’s privacy and she still did—but she was distracted today, reliving her tense meeting with Karen, so she pushed open the door with no announcement. Ronni was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her back to the door, with her laptop in front of her. Lisa had full view of the screen as she moved into the room. It wasn’t Netflix but Facebook; Lisa recognized the blue bar across the top. Ronni was looking at a large picture of a cartoon character: it was green with a round body, skinny appendages, and a big friendly smile. Lisa vaguely recognized the creature from the Pixar movies that Ronni had watched as a kid, and she felt amused and comforted that Ronni was revisiting her childhood memories. But why was Ronni’s name printed across the bottom of the image? And then she saw it: the creature had one eye.
At that very moment, Ronni sensed her mother’s presence and slammed the laptop closed.
“What is that?” Lisa’s voice was quiet, her throat constricted with dread.
“Nothing,” Ronni snapped, but her face was flushed and her eyes were full of tears.
“Let me see it.”
“No.”
“Give me the laptop, Ronni.”
Her daughter’s voice was desperate. “Just forget it. It’s nothing.”
Lisa lunged for the device, and Ronni yanked it out of reach. Lisa had never been physical with her daughter, but she needed to see that webpage. She was filled with such urgency, such panic, that she shouldered Ronni roughly out of the way and grabbed the laptop. “Ow! God!” But Lisa ignored her daughter’s feigned injuries and opened the computer.
It was just as she feared, and Lisa felt bile rise in her stomach. “Who did this? Who made this profile page of you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must have some idea.”
“I don’t!” Ronni screamed. “It could be anyone! Everyone at school thinks I’m a monster! Look at all the comments.”
Lisa scanned them, but they were too painful, too cruel. “This is cyberbullying. I’m calling the principal.”
“No!” Ronni shrieked. “You’ll make it worse.”
“Then I’ll call Facebook.”
Ronni let out a high-pitched snort of laughter. “Oh my god.” She covered her face as hysterical giggles shook her shoulders. “You’re unbelievable,” she spluttered, throwing herself face-first onto the bed. Within moments, the laughter had segued into anguished, wrenching sobs. Lisa set the laptop on the floor and leaned over her only child, shielding her with her body, stroking her hair and murmuring, “Who is doing this to you? Why . . . ?”
Eventually, Ronni composed herself and sat up. “I can’t go back to that school.”
“There are only a few months left in the school year. It’s too late to change now.”
“I can go to the public school down the street. They have to take me because I’m in the district.”
“That school is full of gangs and drug dealers,” Lisa said. “That’s why I sent you to Hillcrest in the first place.”
“Hillcrest is full of snobs and assholes!” Ronni was starting to cry again.
Lisa took her daughter’s hand and held it to her chest. “Listen to me,” she said firmly. Ronni took a deep, shuddering inhale and pressed her lips together, forcing her sobs back down into her chest. “You are strong, Ronni. You have already been through more than people like Lauren Ross or Hannah Sanders will ever go through. You’re better than they are. You’re a survivor.”
Ronni managed an affirmative shrug and nod.