Chapter 14: The Next Morning
Lily’s hand remained on the doorknob.
For a moment, I thought she might let go and step back from the door. Then she looked at her phone, took one steadying breath, and turned the knob.
“I’ll walk in with her,” she said. “Then I’m going to my classes.”
“Okay.”
“If it gets bad, I’ll go to Ms. Bell. I won’t just leave.”
“Okay.”
She studied my face, as if checking whether I’d add a warning, a lecture, or a list of things she had to promise.
I kept my hands at my sides. “And you can call me if you need to.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. Not because I think you’ll fail. Just because you shouldn’t have to figure it out alone.”
Her shoulders dropped a little. “I know that too.”
We had agreed the night before that going to school didn’t mean pretending everything was fine. Lily would check in with Ms. Bell before her second class, as she’d done on earlier mornings. If she felt overwhelmed or exhausted, she could use the support room and tell a staff member what she needed. If she couldn’t stay, she would contact me and the school instead of slipping out without anyone knowing.
There would still be missed work to make up. There would still be a conversation about leaving class without permission. But asking for help would not be treated like another offense.
I drove her to school without filling the car with questions. At a stoplight, Lily adjusted the strap of her backpack.
“What if Maya changes her mind?” she asked.
“Then you’ll make another plan.”
“What if I change mine?”
“Same answer.”
She watched the road through the windshield. “You’re really trying not to talk me into it.”
“I’m trying to let it be your choice.”
The school came into view beyond the light. I pulled into the drop-off lane and stopped behind another car. The front entrance looked ordinary: glass doors, brick walls, a row of students carrying backpacks. I knew how little that ordinary view told me.
Lily unbuckled her seat belt but didn’t open the door.
“Do you want me to wait here?” I asked.
“Could you?”
“Of course.”
She took out her phone. “I’m going to text Maya.”
A minute later, another car pulled into the lane behind us. Carla stepped out with Maya. She gave me a brief wave, then walked with her daughter toward the entrance. Maya’s eyes found our car. She lifted one hand, not quite a wave, and waited.
Lily’s fingers tightened around her phone.
“I can come with you as far as the doors,” I said. “Or I can stay in the car.”
“Stay here, I think.”
“All right.”
Lily opened her door. Before she stepped out, she glanced back at me.
“I’m going to try.”
“I know.”
She crossed the drop-off lane and joined Maya. They didn’t rush. At the entrance, Ms. Bell waited near the doors, not blocking them, just close enough to be there if either girl wanted her.
Maya said something I couldn’t hear. Lily nodded. Then the two of them walked through the doors together.
I stayed until I could no longer see them.
When I got home, I put my phone on the kitchen counter instead of carrying it from room to room. I had promised not to turn support into surveillance. That promise was easier to make than to keep. Every few minutes, I wanted to check for a message or call the school. I made coffee, forgot to drink it, and looked at the phone again.
At lunchtime, it buzzed.
Made it through the morning. Checking in with Ms. Bell now. I’m tired but okay.
I read the message twice. My first impulse was to ask whether she had eaten, whether she felt safe, whether she needed me to come get her. I typed, I’m glad you checked in. Do you need anything from me?
Her answer came a little later.
No. Just letting you know like we agreed.
I set the phone down.
That afternoon, I collected Lily from the front entrance. She came out beside Maya, and Ms. Bell walked with them as far as the doors. Maya and Lily said goodbye there. They had arrived together, but they didn’t have to leave together.
“How was it?” I asked when Lily got into the car.
“Hard at the start.”
“And after?”
“Still hard. Just less hard.” She buckled her seat belt. “I went to every class.”
“You did.”
“I used the check-in. I didn’t go to the support room, but I knew I could.”
“I’m glad it was there.”
She rested her backpack on the floor. “Maya made it to her class too. She said she might go to the counselor’s office after lunch tomorrow if she needs a break.”
“That sounds like her plan.”
“Yeah.” Lily looked out the window. “We didn’t have to stick together all day.”
I kept my eyes on the road. “I think it matters that you know that.”
For a few blocks, neither of us spoke. Then Lily said, “Ms. Bell talked to Maya privately.”
“About the account?”
“About the post. She said the school had gotten some of the copies removed from places it could address, but they can’t promise every copy is gone.”
I kept my voice even. “That must have been hard to hear.”
“Maya said she already knew. She said she just wanted the school to keep checking and tell her and her mom if they learn anything.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“Ms. Bell said they would. She didn’t tell her who else had been talked to, and she didn’t ask me to tell her what Maya said.”
I glanced at Lily. “Did that feel okay?”
“Yeah. I think so.” She pressed her thumb against the edge of her backpack. “It was better than people acting like everything’s fixed because they took one post down.”
“I’m glad someone said that out loud.”
At home, I made toast and eggs. Lily ate some toast and left the eggs. I didn’t ask her to finish them. She hadn’t forgotten our appointment the following week, and neither had I. We had agreed that we would talk with the pediatrician about her sleep, weight, and appetite without making every meal into a test.
After dinner, Lily brought her dishes to the sink.
“I want to tell you something,” she said.
I dried my hands on a towel. “Okay.”
“Not about school.”
“All right.”
She stood on the other side of the kitchen island, arms folded loosely across her chest. I recognized the look on her face: not the guarded expression she had worn when she first denied skipping school, but something quieter. She seemed to be measuring whether she could say the words without having to defend them.
I set the towel down. “Do you want me to listen, or help you figure out what to do?”
“Listen first.”
“I can do that.”
She looked down at the counter. “I don’t want you to think I’m making this up because I don’t want to eat.”
“I won’t assume that.”
“And I don’t want you to start checking every single thing I eat.”
“I hear you.”
Her fingers curled around the edge of the island. “I’ve been getting dizzy.”
My mind reached for an explanation before I could stop it: not eating enough, sleeping badly, stress, getting up too fast. I let all of them pass without choosing one.
“How long?” I asked.
“I don’t know. A few weeks, maybe longer.”
“Does it happen at school?”
“Sometimes. It happened at home too.”
“Are you feeling dizzy right now?”
“No.” She looked up quickly. “Not right now.”
I nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I thought if I told you, you’d say it was because I wasn’t eating. Or because I was stressed. And then you’d watch me every time I had a plate.”
“I’m sorry I made it feel like you had to keep this from me to protect your space.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I still wish you hadn’t had to carry it alone.”
Her eyes shone, but she didn’t cry. “It’s worse when I stand up. Sometimes everything goes blurry for a second.”
I pulled out a chair but didn’t move toward her. “That sounds scary.”
“It is.” She rubbed her palms against her jeans. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“We don’t have to decide what it means tonight. But we should tell the pediatrician exactly what’s been happening.”
She swallowed. “The appointment’s next week.”
“We can call the office and ask whether they want to talk sooner. We won’t guess at the cause.”
Lily nodded, though she still looked frightened.
Then she said, “There’s something else. I think I’ve been trying to act normal for longer than I told you.”
May you like
I stayed still.
“I don’t know when it started,” she whispered. “But it didn’t start with Maya.”
