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SHE LASTED LESS than two hours,” Ramona says, arms folded across her ample chest, her pleasant features stern. We’re seated in Monica Carruthers’s office, discussing Abby Lester’s return to Maple Heights High. Clearly, it had not gone well.

“What happened?” Monica asks, hands clasped on her hardwood desk.

Ramona looks at me. “Fiona Carmichael happened.”

“Christ,” I mutter, dismayed but not surprised. “What did she do?”

“Unfortunately, we don’t know,” Ramona explains. “They were in English class together. When the teacher’s back was turned, something happened. Abby ran out of the room after that.”

“Something like what?” Monica asks. “Did Fiona touch her? Threaten her?”

Ramona sighs. “From what we can gather, it seems like she might have… imitated her. Convulsing.”

“What is wrong with that girl?” I realize Monica is asking me, and I shake my head. There’s no point articulating my satanic suspicions.

“The teacher heard the desk rattle and the kids all laughed. Then Abby bolted.” Ramona runs a hand through her cropped hair. “I think we might have lost her.”

“Maybe it’s for the best?” I say. “I know it’s hard to let her go, but this isn’t the right environment for her anymore. Fiona and her crew are too powerful in this school.” My voice trembles. “Abby has suffered enough.”

Monica’s eyes land on me. “You okay, Cam?”

I clear my throat, pull myself together. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” I say, which is close to the truth. I haven’t been sleeping at all. Anxiety about my daughter, my boyfriend, my best friend, and my career has kept me awake. This morning, I took pains to cover my dark circles with concealer, but I know the stress is wearing on me.

Monica seems to buy it. “I feel like I haven’t done my job here,” she says, her expression dark. “Fiona and her posse are about to graduate. They’ll go on with their lives with no repercussions. They’ll have learned nothing from this experience.”

“It’s not your fault.” Ramona sighs. “Everything they do is sneaky and subtle, but so pernicious.”

“Let me talk to Lily Mathers,” I suggest. “She’s the weak link in their crew. She might be the one who’s been reporting online.”

“Worth a try,” Monica mutters. “I’ll talk to the Carmichaels again, but they’re as scared of their daughter as everyone else is.”

“Give my best to Abby,” I say as Ramona gets up. She turns, gives me a pointed look, and I remember. For whatever reason, Abby views me as the enemy, as part of the problem. She doesn’t want my well wishes.

Lily Mathers wears stylish jeans, a minuscule top, her blond hair ironed straight. Her makeup rivals my daughter’s in its flattering application. She sits in my office chair, playing with the silver rings on her fingers. Her fingernails are long, acrylic, electric blue.

“You were in English class with Abby this morning,” I begin. “What made her run out of the room?”

She shrugs, eyes on her nails. “I didn’t see what happened.”

“Don’t you sit right behind Fiona?”

Her blue eyes meet mine. “Fiona didn’t do anything.” She looks down again. “It was one of the guys.”

“Which one?”

“Like I said, I didn’t see.”

“Is Fiona dating anyone at school?”

Lily scoffs. “She only dates guys from different schools.”

“Did one of these guys supply the Molly for Abby’s party?” I ask.

The girl exhales. “Give it up, Ms. Lane. I’m not going to tell you anything. No one is.”

The emphasis on you raises my hackles. “Is this about my book? I never wrote about any of the students here, Lily. And I never will.”

She shrugs a shoulder, plays with her rings.

“We’re fortunate enough to have the anonymous reporting tool at this school. You can do the right thing and tell us what happened that night. We can make sure everyone gets the help and support they need.”

Lily says nothing, but I can tell my words are sinking in. She is goodhearted. Unlike her ringleader, she has a conscience.

“I know Fiona is your friend, but she hurt Abby so badly. She needs to learn that there are repercussions for cruel actions.”

“Fiona never pays,” Lily mumbles.

“Tell us who was there that night. Tell us what happened.”

“I can’t,” she says, looking up through her thick lashes. “If I reported what really happened that night, everything would blow up.”

“It might seem that way, Lily, but I promise that it wouldn’t. Everything would be fine eventually.”

“You have no idea, Ms. Lane.” I see the determined set of her jaw, the coldness in her eyes. She’s done. “Can I go? I’m missing calculus.”

I nod and watch her slip out of the cramped doorway.

I devote the afternoon to less problematic students, helping them with college applications, exam prep, and graduation requirements. Liza flits into my mind, and I can’t help but feel sad that she won’t be following the academic path I’d hoped she would. But I will respect her decision and her space. Our relationship is the most important thing in my life. I can’t have my daughter traveling to the other side of the globe hating me.

That evening, as I’m walking to my car, I feel weary and defeated. Abby Lester has left the school. We failed her. And Fiona and her minions continue to be cruel, powerful, and unstoppable. I can only hope that life, karma, meaner kids at college will bring the girl down, but I know sometimes these personalities rise to the top. Fiona will probably become a CEO or Supreme Court judge or head of a social media platform.

My phone pings with a text and my heart buffets. It could be Liza, finally ready to forgive me. But when I look at the device, the number is unknown, untraceable.

Hurry home. I’ll be waiting for you.