The picture on the phone screen showed Vanessa, her hair a mess, her face smudged, the neck of her shirt ripped and misshapen, as if someone had tugged on it.

“Drake, is that—”

“From yesterday. And believe me, I got the same story from Vanessa.”

“Wait—she told you she’d been bullied?”

He nodded. “And I had the added bonus of her mother screaming at me, too.”

Camille slumped back on the bench. “It was so much simpler when there was only one side to the story.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“Now what?”

“Now we get together—us, the girls, and a mediator. The school counselor wants to help. Then we try to figure out the real story, the real problem, and what will settle it.”

She sat quietly, drinking her coffee. “I’d rather be waterboarded.”

“I’m open to other ideas.”

“It’s just so nuts, our girls brawling like thugs for no reason. It’s . . . embarrassing. I’m embarrassed for them.”

“Freshman year is a rough time of life, and when you throw in an extra challenge, like a divorce or absent father, it makes things rougher.”

She bristled at absent father. That made it sound as if she had a choice. But she did understand what he was saying. “Let’s say we have that fun-sounding meeting with the girls. What would the goal of such a meeting be?”

“Obviously, we’d love for them to apologize to each other and become friends for life.”

“Obviously.”

“Realistically, we can tell them to give each other some respect, and most of all, some space. Out of sight, out of mind—it tends to be true for kids their age. I know it’s hard to find space in a small town like this, though. They’re bound to run into each other at the beach, or the movies, or downtown. We can set some rules . . .”

“And they’re so good with rules,” Camille commented. Was her daughter a victim? Or was she somehow part of the problem? Neither scenario was acceptable. She was irritated at Julie for not giving her the full scoop. At the same time she was skeptical of Vanessa’s story, too. “All right. Let’s get together sooner rather than later.” Camille hated confrontation. She just wanted to get this over with.

“What’s Julie doing later this morning?”

Julie stared at her boobs in the mirror. According to the girls in the locker room who teased her every time they caught her in the middle of changing clothes, she didn’t have boobs at all. Just fat.

She stuck out her tongue at the mirror, then put on a sports bra. Mom had bought her a regular bra with a bit of padding, but it was uncomfortable and made her even more self-conscious than usual. The sports bra just kind of held everything squished into place. She glared at herself again, then put on her old jeans and T-shirt. To her surprise, the jeans were a bit loose, and the shirt was a bit tight. Mom kept saying her body had been changing ever since Christmas, when she finally had her first period. That was a relief, at least. Up until then, she was the only ninth grader on the planet who hadn’t started her period.