Chapter 5: The People Outside
Stacy's thumb hovered over her phone.
"What are you talking about?" she said.
"There's a reporter outside," my son said.
"From the county paper.
She's been there for about forty minutes.
I didn't invite her — she reached out to me last week after the principal's assistant spoke to her.
Apparently the letter wasn't the only document that came out of that office."
Stacy's phone hand dropped slightly.
"She's not here to cause trouble," my son continued.
"She just wants a comment.
From you, specifically, Stacy.
About the committee's role in what happened.
The letter.
The photo.
The pattern."
"There is no pattern," Stacy said.
"There was one letter, ten years ago, written by teenagers who—"
"There were four letters," my son said.
The room shifted again.
"One for me.
One for a girl named Priya, who transferred out in tenth grade.
One for a boy named Marcus, who I never knew well but who left the school halfway through junior year.
And one for a girl named Bethany." He paused.
"Bethany's mother is also outside."
Stacy's face had gone the color of old paper.
Ryan moved first.
He stepped toward my son, close enough that it was meant to feel like a threat.
"You think you can come in here and blow up people's lives over high school drama?" His voice was low now, not performing for the room anymore.
"You think anyone is going to care?
You think a county paper story is going to do anything to me?"
"Probably not," my son said.
He didn't step back.
"But Bethany's mother has a lawyer.
And the lawyer has all four letters.
And they've already filed."
"Filed what?" Ryan said.
"A civil complaint.
Against the school district.
For failing to act on documented harassment over a four-year period." My son looked at him steadily.
"Your name is in three of the four letters, Ryan.
As the primary instigator."
Ryan's mouth opened.
Closed.
"You're bluffing," he said.
"Call the lawyer," my son said.
"Her name is on the filing.
It's public record as of this morning."
Someone in the room pulled out their phone.
Then someone else.
Ryan turned to Stacy.
"Did you know about this?"
Stacy didn't answer.
"Did you know?" Ryan said again, louder.
"Keep your voice down," she said through her teeth.
"You kept those letters," Ryan said.
"You kept copies.
Why would you keep copies?"
"I didn't keep anything—"
"Then how does he have them?"
The room was watching the two of them now.
My son had stepped back slightly, giving them space.
He didn't need to say anything else.
They were doing it themselves.
Dana — the woman who had covered her mouth earlier — spoke up from across the room.
"Stacy," she said quietly.
"Did you know about Bethany?"
Stacy turned to look at her.
"Don't," Stacy said.
"I need to know if you knew," Dana said.
"Because if you knew what happened to that girl and you still ran this committee and you still excluded people from tonight—"
"I said don't."
Dana looked at my son.
"What happened to Bethany?" she asked.
My son was quiet for a moment.
"That's her mother's story to tell," he said.
"Not mine."
He put the envelope back in his jacket.
"I'm going to go outside now," he said to the room.
"I'm going to speak to the reporter.
I'm going to speak to Bethany's mother.
And then I'm going to go home."
He looked at Stacy one last time.
"You have about ten minutes to decide what you want to say."
May you like
He walked toward the door.
Nobody stopped him.
