Maggie—
You’re a slut! Don’t think Kevin didn’t tell me about you. As a matter of fact, he said you were the worst blow ever…although ALL the other guys on the football team might have a different view. We used to laugh about what a skanky bitch you were, pretending to be a sweet, innocent virgin. You aren’t fooling anyone; the entire school knows what a whore you are, what a ho…
It wasn’t the words on the note that caused Sawyer’s distress; it wasn’t even the fact that the note appeared on the same mint-green paper as hers had—it was the handwriting. It was identical to hers.
Sawyer bit down hard on her lower lip as she read the last line—signed,
Sawyer Dodd, an admirer.
Her breath came out in painful gasps now, and Sawyer flopped forward, clutching the note in one hand as she pressed her head between her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her breathing to slow down, her heart to slow down, when there was a frantic beating on the girl’s room door, followed by a crack of hallway light as the door opened.
“Sawyer? Is everything okay?”
Sawyer pushed herself up and used the heel of her hand to brush away the tears that had inexplicably started to fall. “Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat, “I’m good.” She kick-flushed the toilet for good measure and beelined to the bank of sinks, keeping her head bent so Ellen couldn’t see her flushed cheeks. She splashed her face with cold water and Ellen’s eyebrows went up, her lips curling into a sympathetic coo.
“Are you worried about what your parents are going to say?”
“Um, yeah, a little bit,” Sawyer said, meeting Ellen at the door. “But time to face the music, I guess, huh?”
Ellen fell into step next to Sawyer. “You know, if you need anything, you can call me. I know we don’t really know each other, but I can get your schoolwork for you or something.”
“That’s okay,” Sawyer said, “you don’t even know my classes.”
“Oh, no worries. I can pull your schedule from the office. It’s no big deal.”
Sawyer felt a small bit of heat clawing at the back of her neck, but she wasn’t sure why. “No, that’s all right. I really appreciate it though, thanks.”
Andrew Dodd didn’t say anything to Sawyer as they left Principal Chappie’s office and walked to the visitor’s lot.
“Dad,” Sawyer tried once they got to the car.
Andrew held up a silencing hand as he sunk his key into the lock and slid into the front seat of the car. Sawyer flopped into the passenger seat next to him, dumping her backpack on the floor.
“Dad, I didn’t do anything. Maggie threw herself on me! And I didn’t even write that note.” She paused, and when Andrew didn’t respond, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and slunk down in her seat, staring out the front windshield. When her father made a left turn away from the highway toward Blackwood Hills Estates, she frowned. “Where are we going?”
“You’re going to see Dr. Johnson.”
Sawyer straightened up, anger and betrayal tearing through her. “What? Dad, I told you I had nothing to do with this. Maggie is a freak—and someone sent her a note and they said it was from me but it wasn’t.”
Andrew raked a hand through his thinning hair then rubbed his eyes. “Sawyer, Tara’s on bed rest. She’s gone to her mother’s house.”
Sawyer felt her eyebrows rise. “What? Why?”
Her father turned to look her full in the face now. His eyes were narrowed and cold, and his cheeks were flushed a hot red. “Really, Sawyer? Really?”
“Dad, I have no idea what—”
“Save it. God, Sawyer, I just don’t know what to do with you anymore. I mean, I know you lost your boyfriend and my marriage and this baby have been hard on you but really, grow up. What you did—” He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and he continued looking straight out the front windshield. “You know what? You’re about to be late for your appointment. I’ll be right out here in an hour, and I expect you to be here.”
Sawyer opened her mouth to say something, but the tension was oppressive. Instead, she swallowed back tears and slipped out of the car, making a beeline for Dr. Johnson’s empty waiting room.
“Sawyer Dodd,” she said to the woman at the front desk. “I guess I have an appointment.”
The dark-haired woman smiled serenely. Without checking her computer or datebook, she gestured toward Dr. Johnson’s office. “You can go right in.”
Sawyer hiked up her shoulder bag, suddenly feeling very small and very unprotected as she walked into Dr. Johnson’s posh office. She had been there a handful of times before—just after Tara and her father married, and then again after Kevin’s death.
“Ah, Sawyer, so nice to see you again.” Dr. Johnson was dressed in his signature “don’t think of me as a doctor, think of me as a buddy!” khakis, with a light-colored button down that showed off his trim physique. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off well-toned forearms tufted with blond hair. He was a good-looking man, but Sawyer never trusted anyone who steepled their fingers and “mmhmm, mmhmmed” as much as he did.
“Have a seat.”
She did, tentatively, dropping her purse on the floor. “Why am I here?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew,” she said, feeling the hot fist of anger forming in the pit of her stomach. “Some chick at school jumped me and my father picked me up and dumped me here. It wasn’t even my fault.”
Dr. Johnson pressed his lips together. “So you don’t want to talk about the nursery.”
Sawyer felt her lip curl. “What about the nursery?”
The doctor cocked his head in what was supposed to be a comforting look, Sawyer guessed, but it just looked like condescension to her. “So we’re not going to talk about it?”
“What are you talking about?”
Dr. Johnson picked up the cell phone on his meticulously kept desk. He scrolled through a few screens and then handed it to Sawyer.
She gasped.
“Oh my God. Who did this?”
The pictures were of the nursery that Tara had so carefully put together with her organic fabrics and the soothing, butter-colored walls, the white slatted crib with its layette that matched so perfectly. Only it wasn’t. Now the calm of the pale yellow walls was interrupted by angry slashes of red paint that dripped in sad streaks, leaving pools on the carpet. Slats of the pristine white crib were kicked in on each other, showing the blond wood underneath. The layette was torn and slashed, bubbles of organic cotton fill bubbling out. What wasn’t destroyed was splashed with heavy dots of red paint, giving the image that something truly terrible had happened there—or was about to.
Sawyer gaped at Dr. Johnson. “They think I did this.”
The doctor waited.
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? My dad thinks I’ve gone over the edge and I—I want to hurt the baby.” She shoved the phone back at Dr. Johnson. “I didn’t do this. You know I wouldn’t do this, Dr. Johnson, you have to tell them.”
“Sawyer, a lot has happened in your life in a very short time. It’s understandable that you would feel some anger.”
“I’m not angry!”
“You were in a fight today at school.”
“I told you she jumped on me. I didn’t do anything! I had to push her off of me—that’s all. I didn’t mean for her to fall.”
“Did you mean to send her the note? Uh…” He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and picked up his phone, reading from it. “Maggie, You’re a slut! Don’t think Kevin didn’t tell me about you. As a matter of fact, he said you were the worst blow ever…although ALL the other guys on the football team might have a different view.”