Until 2:00 a.m.? I walk into the courtyard, smiling as I glance up. I don’t have to worry about those murderous palm trees but I probably should be worrying about Bo. I could report this, get him in big trouble, if I wanted to. Maybe I will. Just need to get through graduation day first.

Angelica keeps talking, per usual. “You know, Mrs. Harris, a lot of kids struggle to navigate the pressures of high school and life in this pressure-cooker community. I mean, I don’t know how they do it. Four hours of homework a night, sports, jobs, the pressure to get straight As. We all place so many expectations on them, parents and the district.” Angelica sighs into the phone. I imagine her looking out at a sea of troubled teens. “I could talk about this all day but I’m sorry—I’ve got to run. Betsy is doing great, she’s a wonderful young woman and she’s about to graduate, so you have nothing to worry about. See you tomorrow night.”

Oh, but I’m worried, and intrigued. Betsy has been a step ahead of me, hiding things from me. I’m accustomed to her Cs and community college–level achievements. I’m also quite familiar by now with her disdain for me. But a secret boyfriend, that’s next-level stuff. I wonder if Mary knew about Bo? Has this been going on for more than a year? Is Bo what Mary was helping Betsy hide from me? I wonder if Mary was a fan of Bo, too? I answer my own question. No way my preppy daughter would like her sister to hang out with a man like that.

I know my Mary. Mary would have hated them together as much as I do. I decide I need to search Betsy’s bedroom, so I hold the handrail (no tragic falling for me) and reach her door. It’s locked. I presume the outside door will be, too. Foiled, I head back upstairs and grab my window to the world, while ignoring my actual windows and the views they could provide of the ocean. I open my laptop and search his name. Bo has a blog with about two hundred followers. He writes about sports, and teens talking to each other, and he has a whole series of do-it-yourself household fixes. How handy. He writes about parental pressure and the “false idea of perfection” forced on teens these days.

He hosts “talk-it-out sessions” at Point Park in the nature preserve section every Sunday evening, weather permitting.

My pulse quickens.

According to Bo’s post, Point Park is the perfect place to “kick-it with nature.” It’s also a deadly place. Why would Betsy want to hang out there? The park is the scene of the crime, so to speak. Strange, and creepy.