Page 48 of For Your Own Good

“Since when do you ignore your phone when you’re doing schoolwork?”

“I wasn’t ignoring it. I just don’t sit around all day with nothing to do, like some people.”

If venom had a voice, it would sound like Courtney’s.

Ingrid smacked her so fast, Sonia almost couldn’t believe it had happened. Courtney’s whole face turned red, and for a second, Sonia thought she would hit her mother back. Instead, she ran out of the room.

“Ingrid,” Sonia said.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Ingrid threw up her hands, palms forward. “She was just so disrespectful.”

Sonia wanted to tell her that she was the one being disrespectful, but she kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t her place, even if they were on school grounds. Sonia was well aware of the laws regarding children and corporal punishment by parents. An open-handed slap is legal in every single state. As far as the law is concerned, there was no reportable action.

The next time Sonia was alone with Courtney, she’d tried to get her to talk about it. But Courtney shut her down, refusing to answer any questions.

Now, she would have to tell the story in court and it wouldn’t help Courtney one bit. It would only make things worse. She knew what the prosecution wanted, could see the story they were planning to tell. Courtney had an aggressive, overbearing mother who’d pushed her to the breaking point.

That’s motive.

An understandable one, too. They weren’t going to make Courtney out to be the devil in a schoolgirl uniform. She was just a kid who’d had enough. It wasn’t self-defense, either. Ingrid didn’t die in the middle of an argument or a fight. Courtney poisoned her mother. Or so they say.

In the store dressing room, Sonia cringes when she thinks about the final question. The worst one of all.

Did you tell anyone you saw Ingrid slap Courtney?

No.

Sonia hadn’t done a thing.

Never told anyone, never mentioned it to the school officials.

Because Ingrid Ross was a parent. Without parents to pay the bills, Belmont wouldn’t exist.

32

IT’S GETTING IRRITATINGhow often Zach’s father is right. Yet another one of his sayings has turned out to be true.

Money can open doors.

He’s right: It does open doors. Even jail cells.

It’s the middle of the night, long past Zach’s curfew. Doesn’t matter. This is the only time he can see Courtney, so he has to sneak out.

When he arrives at the side door, he sends a text to the night guard. The woman who opens the door is almost sixty years old, with short white hair and a nervous twitch in her eye. She also has a mortgage she can’t afford because her deadbeat ex-husband doesn’t pay alimony and doesn’t show up for his court dates.

The internet can be a beautiful thing.

Zach didn’t think twice before contacting this guard, whose name is Kay. Yes, it was illegal. Yes, she could’ve reported him. He knew that and did it anyway.

Because it was Courtney. She was there for him when no one else was. She’d saved him from what could’ve been years of being bullied. Of course he would do this for her. No question.

“Come in, come in,” Kay says, almost pulling him inside. She slams the door and locks it behind him.

“I really appreciate this,” Zach says, pulling an envelope out of his pocket. “Thank you again.”

She looks in the envelope before answering. “This never happened.”

“What never happened?” He smiles at her. Winks.