“That’s not how life works, Mark! You don’t just opt out of the ninth grade because you don’t feel like it.”
“It’s not like that.”
Emily clenched her jaw. “You don’t get it. I knew you wouldn’t.”
“Then make me get it, Emily. Talk to me.”
Mark looked at Emily. “You said we were going to be honest, Emmy. She’s your mom. She deserves to know.”
Mark raised his hands in a placating gesture.
Emily lowered her head.
“The other girls… They hate me. It’s not just one person. It’s all of them. They move their bags when I try to sit down. They whisper ‘try-hard’ every time I answer a question in English. In the gym, they act like I’m invisible. They won’t even pass me the ball.”
I felt a sudden, sharp pang in the center of my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me, Em?”
“Because I knew you’d march into the principal’s office and make a giant scene. Then they’d hate me even more for being a snitch.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Em?”
“She’s not wrong,” Mark added.
“So your solution was to facilitate a disappearance?” I asked him.
Mark sighed. “She was throwing up every morning, Zoe. Actual, physical sickness from the stress. I thought I could just give her a few days to breathe while we figured out a plan.”
“A plan involves talking to the other parent. What was the endgame here?”
“She was throwing up every morning, Zoe.”
Mark reached into the center console and pulled out a yellow legal pad. It was covered in Emily’s neat, looped handwriting.
“We were writing it out. I told her that if she reported it clearly — dates, names, specific incidents — the school has to act. We were drafting a formal complaint.”
Emily rubbed her sleeve across her face. “I was going to send it. Eventually.”
“When?” I asked.
“The school has to act.”
She didn’t answer.
Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I should have called you. I picked up the phone so many times. But she begged me not to. I didn’t want her to feel like I was choosing your side over hers. I wanted her to have one safe place where she didn’t feel pressured.”
“This isn’t about sides, Mark. This is about being a parent. We have to be the adults, even when it makes them mad at us.”
“I know,” he said.
“I picked up the phone so many times. But she begged me not to.”
I believed him. He looked like a man who had seen his daughter drowning and grabbed the first rope he could find, even if that rope was frayed and rotten.
I turned back to Emily. “Skipping school doesn’t make them stop, honey. It just gives them power.”
Her shoulders sagged.
Mark looked at me, then at Emily. “Let’s go sort this out together. The three of us. Right now.”
I looked at him, surprised. He was usually the one who wanted to “sleep on it” or “wait for the right vibe.”
“Skipping school doesn’t make them stop, honey.”
Emily blinked, her eyes wide. “Now? Like, in the middle of second period?”
“Yes,” I said. “Before you have time to talk yourself out of it. We’re going to walk into that office and hand them that legal pad.”
Walking into the school felt different with both of us there.
We asked for the counselor.
We all sat down in the cramped office, and Emily told the counselor everything. The counselor, a woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense bun, listened without interrupting. When Emily finished, the room was quiet.
“Now? Like, in the middle of second period?”
“Leave this with me,” the counselor said. “This falls directly under our harassment policy. I am going to bring in the students involved today, and they will be facing disciplinary action. I’ll be calling their parents before the final bell rings.”
Emily’s head snapped up. “Today?”
