“Something’s going on,” Camille said. “Julie, I need for you to level with me.”

“I told you, it was a dumb thing over a dumb pickup game of soccer.”

“I don’t mean just today. I mean in general. What’s happening at school? You used to love school. You used to make good grades. You used to tell me everything.”

“I told you everything.”

Camille glanced at her father. He was watching Julie with the most peculiar expression—an expression she couldn’t read. The two of them locked eyes, and then Julie burst into tears—angry, frustrated tears. “I didn’t say anything because you were dating Drake Larson, and when it didn’t work out, Vanessa turned everyone against me, including stupid Jana Jacobs.”

“No.” Camille was horrified.

“You think I’m making this up? You think I wanted that to happen?” Julie swiped at her eyes.

“I thought you were friends with Vanessa.”

“She was only ever nice to me because her dad forced her to be.”

Camille felt a welling of guilt. Vanessa was beautiful, smart, and popular. She was also highly influential at the high school. Camille should have been more clued in to what was happening. “So it’s Vanessa and Jana? Jules, talk to me. I need to know what’s really been going on.”

“Forget it. If you make a big stink and start accusing people, everything will go even worse for me.”

“I need full disclosure if I’m going to help you.”

“Did I ask for help? There’s no way to help. The whole school hates me, and I hate them back.” Tears welled in her eyes again, and she pushed a hand under her glasses to swipe them away. “Can I go to boarding school, like Mrs. Marshall said?”

“You’re not leaving. No way.”

“Your answer to everything is no.” She flung herself into one of the patio chairs. “Can we just drop it and talk about something else?”

“We absolutely cannot,” Camille said, pulling out her phone.

Henry caught her hand and gently set the phone aside. “Julie is right. The more you try to intervene, the worse things will go for her. That is the way bullying works.”

“How would you know how bullying works?” She shot him an angry glare.

He set down his garden basket and sat next to Julie, motioning for Camille to join them. He took Julie’s hand in his and held it gently. She tried to take her hand back, but he gently laid it on his knee, exposing a set of stubby nails, bitten raw.

Camille felt ill. Julie never used to bite her nails. When had that started? And why hadn’t Camille noticed?

“Do you see this hand?” her father asked gently.

Again, Julie tried to withdraw it, her face turning red. “Papi—”

“I had this same hand, probably when I was about your age.”

Julie stopped resisting and stared at him.

“I, too, was the victim of bullies when I was young. In fact, this happened all through my childhood, but particularly when I was a teenager.”