Her face went white.
“No.”
“Ava.”
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You don't know that.”
“No,” I said quietly. “But I know you can't spend the rest of the year hiding at a lake.”
She looked toward Derek.
He hesitated.
Then he nodded.
“Your mom's right.”
Ava stared at him like he'd betrayed her.
“You said you wouldn't force me.”
“I'm not forcing you to face those girls alone.”
He picked up the notebook.
“We're going with you.”
Her eyes filled again.
“All three of us?”
“Yes,” I said.
Derek glanced at me.
“For once, your mother and I are going to be a united front.”
“Don't make it weird,” I muttered.
Ava laughed through her tears.
It was small.
But it was the first hopeful sound I'd heard all morning.
Twenty-five minutes later, we walked into Westbrook High together.
Ava stayed between us.
She looked like she wanted to disappear inside her sweatshirt.
The receptionist recognized her immediately.
“Ava? We've been trying to contact—”
“We're here to see the counselor,” I said.
Within ten minutes, we were sitting inside Mrs. Reynolds's office.
I expected Ava to shut down.
Instead, she put the blue notebook on the desk.
Mrs. Reynolds opened it.
Her expression changed almost immediately.
She read quietly for several minutes.
Then she looked at Ava.
“Did you put this together?”
Ava nodded.
“My dad helped.”
Mrs. Reynolds turned another page.
“And these screenshots are from student accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have the original messages?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Ava looked terrified.
Mrs. Reynolds closed the notebook.
Then she said something I think my daughter desperately needed to hear.
“You are not in trouble.”
Ava blinked.
“For skipping?”
“We will deal with attendance separately. But what is documented here is serious.”
She leaned forward.
“You should have been able to come to school without being humiliated every day.”
Ava's face crumpled.
I reached for her hand.
This time, she let me take it.
Mrs. Reynolds began making notes.
She said she would speak with the principal immediately.
Teachers would be interviewed.
The students involved would be called in individually.
Parents would be contacted.
Ava's schedule could temporarily be adjusted so she wasn't sharing certain classes with the main girls involved.
They would also arrange for Ava to check in with the counselor each morning for the next few weeks.
Ava looked at me.
“Are they going to know I told?”
Mrs. Reynolds didn't lie to her.
“They may figure it out.”
Ava swallowed.
“But,” the counselor continued, “that doesn't mean you did anything wrong. Silence protects people who are hurting you. It doesn't protect you.”
Ava stared at the floor.
Derek leaned forward.
“We'll handle whatever happens next.”
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
For once, we were saying exactly the same thing.
Outside the school, Ava asked if she could sit in my car for a few minutes.
I gave her the keys.
She walked ahead of us.
Derek and I stopped beside his pickup.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “Go ahead.”
“Go ahead with what?”
“Tell me I'm an idiot.”
I folded my arms.
“You're an idiot.”
“Fair.”
“You should have called me Monday.”
“I know.”
“Not Wednesday. Not after you finished collecting evidence. Monday.”
“I know.”
“You made me think our daughter might have been getting into a stranger's truck.”
He winced.
“Yeah. I didn't think about that.”
“Obviously.”
He looked through the windshield toward Ava.
“I just wanted her to know she had somewhere safe to go.”
My anger softened.
“I understand.”
He looked surprised.
“That doesn't mean what you did was okay.”
“There it is.”
“But I understand.”
He nodded.
“I've spent years being the parent who makes things fun because I was scared she'd stop wanting to come to my house.”
That caught me off guard.
Derek stared at the pavement.
“I know you think I'm irresponsible.”
“Sometimes you are.”
“I am.”
He gave a humorless laugh.
“But I don't want to be the dad who teaches her that every scary thing can be escaped.”
I glanced at Ava sitting inside my car.
“You gave her somewhere to breathe.”
He looked at me.
“But breathing space isn't the same thing as a solution.”
“Yeah.”
“And next time?”
“I call you.”
“Immediately.”
“Immediately.”
“No secret lake vacations.”
He smiled.
“No secret lake vacations.”
“And for the record, that truck is horrifying.”
“Insurance is paying for the repairs on my Ford.”
“It looks like it transports stolen lawn equipment.”
