Chapter 2: The Picture
Mrs. Harris stared at her son.
“What did you show them?””
Miles rubbed both hands over his face.
“I don't want to talk about it.””
“You're going to talk about it.””
“Mom—”
“You dragged me into this office because you said Ariana was bullying you.””
“I thought she was!””
“You just told me you did something first.””
“I didn't know it would become this.””
Principal Reynolds leaned forward.
“Become what, Miles?””
Miles looked toward the window.
Outside, students crossed the courtyard carrying backpacks and laughing between classes.
Normal.
Ordinary.
Almost painfully ordinary.
“I had a picture,” he said.
Mrs. Harris' brow furrowed.
“What picture?””
“Of Ariana.””
“What kind of picture?””
“She sent it to me.””
“Why?””
Miles hesitated.
“Because she asked me something.””
Ms. Patel glanced at Principal Reynolds.
“What did she ask you?”” the counselor said.
Miles picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.
“She wanted to know if her outfit looked okay.””
Mrs. Harris' expression softened for half a second.
Then tightened again.
“And what did you do?””
“I said it looked fine.””
“Then?””
“I showed it to my friends.””
“Why?””
“I don't know.””
“That isn't an answer.””
Miles sighed.
“They were talking about clothes. I thought it was funny.””
“What was funny?””
“I told them Ariana was trying to look like some celebrity.””
Mrs. Harris stared at him.
“Was that when you called her outfit a Goodwill fit?””
“No.””
“Then when?””
“The next day.””
Principal Reynolds opened another folder.
“According to Ariana, it happened several times.””
Miles didn't respond.
The principal continued.
“Monday, you made the comment in the cafeteria. Tuesday, you repeated it near the lockers. Wednesday, you told two students they should ‘check out Ariana's latest Goodwill fit.’”
Mrs. Harris closed her eyes.
“Oh, Miles.””
“I was kidding.””
“You keep saying that.””
“Because I was!””
Ms. Patel looked at him.
“Miles, do you understand why Ariana might not have wanted to sit with you anymore?””
He shrugged.
“She could've just told me.””
“She did.””
Miles looked at the counselor.
“When?””
“Monday.””
He shook his head.
“She didn't.””
Principal Reynolds turned a page.
“She told you, ‘Please stop. I don't like when you say that.’”
Miles went quiet.
Mrs. Harris looked at him.
“Did she say that?””
“Maybe.””
“Did she?””
“Yes.””
“And what did you do?””
“I laughed.””
His mother sat back.
The answer seemed to physically push her away from him.
“You laughed.””
“It wasn't mean.””
“You laughed when she asked you to stop.””
“I didn't think she was serious.””
Ms. Patel's voice remained calm.
“That is the problem, Miles.””
He looked at her.
“What problem?””
“You decided that because you considered something funny, Ariana wasn't allowed to be hurt by it.””
Miles' eyes narrowed.
“But she made fun of me too.””
Mrs. Harris immediately asked, “What did she say?””
“She said my shoes looked fake.””
Principal Reynolds paused.
“When?””
“Last month.””
“Who was there?””
“Some people.””
“Names?””
Miles couldn't answer.
Mrs. Harris waited.
“Miles?””
He shrugged.
“I don't remember.””
The principal closed the folder.
“That incident was investigated.””
Miles looked up.
“And?””
“Ariana apologized.””
“She did?””
“Yes.””
Mrs. Harris frowned.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
Miles shrugged again.
“I forgot.””
The principal's voice hardened slightly.
“You didn't forget. You chose not to mention it when you told your mother Ariana was bullying you.””
Miles stared at him.
“That isn't fair.””
“What isn't fair?””
“You're acting like I'm some horrible person.””
“No one has called you that.””
“Everyone thinks it.””
Mrs. Harris leaned forward.
“Then help me understand.””
Miles looked at her.
“I didn't mean for her to cry.””
His mother swallowed.
“Did you see her cry?””
He hesitated.
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Wednesday.””
“And what did you do?””
“I told her she was being dramatic.””
Mrs. Harris slowly shook her head.
The principal watched Miles carefully.
“What happened after that?””
“She left.””
“Where did she go?””
“Bathroom, I think.””
“And you?””
“I stayed with my friends.””
Mrs. Harris looked down at the folder.
There were pages inside.
Statements.
Names.
Dates.
Her son was suddenly no longer the only child in the room.
The other children existed in those pages.
Children he had laughed at.
Children who had apparently gone home and said nothing.
Until they finally did.
Mrs. Harris lifted one sheet.
“Who is Jordan?””
Miles' face changed again.
“My friend.””
“He says you told him not to wear his old jacket because ‘everyone can tell your family shops at the discount store.’”
Miles shook his head.
“I was messing around.””
“Who is Kayla?””
“She's in my class.””
“She says you told her to ‘hide her lunch money because poor people shouldn't have expensive snacks.’”
“I didn't say that.””
“You did,” Principal Reynolds said.
Miles looked furious.
“Everyone says everything I say is bullying now!””
Mrs. Harris put the papers down.
“Because you may have been bullying them.””
Miles' chair scraped backward.
“No!””
“Miles.””
“I said I was joking!””
“And I'm saying that doesn't make it okay.””
He stared at her.
For the first time since entering the office, he looked less angry than frightened.
“What happens now?””
Principal Reynolds answered.
“We figure out the truth.””
Miles swallowed.
“And if you don't believe me?””
“We will listen to everyone involved.””
“What if they all lie?””
The principal was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “Then there is something you haven't told us yet.””
Miles looked down.
His fingers began trembling.
Mrs. Harris noticed.
“Miles?””
He didn't answer.
“Miles, what aren't you telling us?””
He looked at the principal.
Then at his mother.
Finally, he whispered:
“Ariana wasn't the only person I sent that picture to.””
Mrs. Harris' eyes widened.
“Who else saw it?””
Miles said nothing.
Principal Reynolds stood.
“Miles, who else has that picture?””
The boy's lips parted.
And before he could answer, someone knocked sharply on the office door.
Principal Reynolds opened it.
Ariana stood outside.
Her eyes were red.
But she wasn't alone.
May you like
Behind her were two students.
And one of them was holding a phone.
