Her Silence

Chapter 1

Lacey

The drawing in front of me was brutal. Absolutely brutal. …

My son Dylan and I were sitting in his classroom with his teacher, Mrs. Griffin. All three of us were looking at the drawing Dylan had made of his classmate Benny, who had become a joke on paper.

In the drawing, Benny sat on a toilet, diarrhea splashing into the bowl. His large body was grotesquely exaggerated. More monster than human. Bloated and slimy like that slug-thing from Star Wars. Benny held empty candy wrappers in his fists. Above his head, a speech bubble read: “Feed the beast.”

It was childish and cruel. And I had no doubt that it had already gone viral here at school.

“It’s … quite a drawing,” I said as I shifted in the plastic chair.

We were sitting in a typical public high school classroom.

The walls were plastered with art and math posters.

Everything looked old and worn. Almost the same way it did when I went to this very same school about sixteen years ago.

I was barely older than Dylan was now when I became pregnant with him.

Everybody thought I would drop out or get an abortion.

But I finished school in these rooms and proved them all wrong.

Carried my belly like a badge of pride and determination.

It was torture. And I came close to quitting many times.

But, in the end, the bullying and jokes made me want Dylan and my diploma more than ever.

I looked at him as he sat next to me. Six feet two inches of sass. He’d become so handsome. Brown hair, a straight nose, and that athletic build. Girls already noticed him left and right. And even now, watching him sitting here getting scolded, I just loved him so much that it hurt.

“The whole school was laughing at Benny,” Mrs. Griffin said in a stern tone. Her eyes settled on Dylan, who avoided her stare.

“Benny’s parents are extremely angry about all this,” she added. “Pictures can carry powerful messages.”

She was right about that. And, at first, I sided with her. But then I realized who he’d drawn, and the lines between right and wrong blurred.

Benny wasn’t just anyone. He was the school bully.

Like out of a bad movie. And his parents acting like victims after all Benny had done to the other kids was one of the reasons Benny was such a piece of work in the first place.

I looked down at the drawing in front of me. It was incredibly realistic, and I had to swallow a laugh the moment I first saw it. Dylan had always been good at anything he did.

“Well.” I stood. Dylan and Mrs. Griffin rose too.

“I see why Benny and his parents are upset about this. But Benny has been bullying Dylan and others for years. So this kinda looks like a cry for help from Dylan’s end.

To survive Benny’s bullying. Is Benny’s bullying getting addressed by the teachers and his parents? ”

Mrs. Griffin’s mouth tightened. “We … are working with the family. But that’s not the issue here. Today we asked you to come because of Dylan’s drawing.”

I was about to give her my two cents, when Mrs. Griffin added quickly, “Two wrongs don’t make a right. And it’s important we teach our kids that.”

I sighed. She had a point there. And arguing more about this didn’t help Dylan.

“Well, we have to go now. But Dylan will apologize to Benny. Right, Dylan?”

Dylan’s whole posture tensed in defiance. Mrs. Griffin noticed and crossed her arms in response.

“Right … Dylan?” I pressed.

Finally, Dylan rolled his eyes and exhaled. A teen’s way of saying, Fine, I give in, but under protest.

“That will be the right thing to do, Dylan,” Mrs. Griffin said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Griffin,” I said, and we left.

We walked past lockers and more art and didn’t speak until we were in the car.

“Why the hell do I have to apologize to him?” he snapped the moment the doors closed. “This is bullshit, Mom.”

“Is it?” I couldn’t keep my annoyance hidden any longer.

Mrs. Griffin scolding us both kinda triggered the trauma of the few nasty teachers who tried to get me to quit school back then.

Then Brian and the weekend also kept running through my head.

We were supposed to leave for Zach and Amanda’s lake house tomorrow.

But if Dylan decided to throw a big teenage tantrum, I would have to cancel the trip.

There was no way I would push an angry teenager on my mom.

“Yes, it’s bullshit,” Dylan insisted. His blue eyes were steady on mine.

“Benny is a bullying asshole. He literally put dog shit in Connor’s backpack.

And he grabbed Anne’s butt last week in the hallway.

Like some pedo piece of shit. I can’t just sit there and watch.

I have to fight back. Make him the prey. Not the predator.”

“The teachers can handle Benny,” I said.

A sarcastic laugh escaped him. “The teachers? You mean the same teachers who didn’t do shit when Ryan was bullied last year and killed himself?

Did you all just forget about him already?

Where were the teachers then, huh? Where were they when Ryan jumped off the bridge because he couldn’t take the bullying anymore? ”

I tried to say something rational, but his anger was more than justified. The town had lost Ryan last year to a bullying-related suicide. Despite multiple reports, the bully wasn’t removed from the school until after it happened.

After.

And now Benny had taken over as the school bully.

I sighed. Schools just weren’t what they used to be. Classrooms were now packed to the brim. Teachers were overwhelmed and underpaid. Parents were working themselves into the ground just to keep the lights on. Too tired to give their kids the attention and guidance they desperately needed.

“You always taught me to hit back,” Dylan said. “Never hit first, but when a punch comes, you hit back hard or you become the target.”

“But Benny didn’t attack.”

“Oh … so you want me to be a coward? Someone who just watches others get bullied?”

I glanced in the rearview mirror. I looked so tired.

Burned out. My brown hair hadn’t been washed in who knew how long, and I had dark circles under my eyes.

My brown eyes just stared back at me, dull.

New wrinkles deepened on my forehead. My T-shirt and leggings looked more like a jogging outfit than real clothes.

I had lost weight too. I’d always looked so young and was full of laughs.

But now it seemed so long ago since people last asked if Dylan and I were siblings.

There actually had been a time when people shook their heads in flattering shock when I said he was my son.

It felt like I was failing on all fronts.

A strained marriage.

A teenager fighting the world.

An eight-year-old with a million hobbies and a toddler who sucked the life out of me like a vampire.

Still, I loved them. So much.

My hand found Dylan’s. “You’re right. I’m sorry.

You don’t have to apologize to Benny. I’ll handle Mrs. Griffin.

But please try to talk to the teachers first when you see Benny bullying someone.

All these shootings— The times we live in aren’t safe.

And your teachers are trying their best. But I got your back. I always do.”

Dylan’s eyes softened. He looked like he finally felt seen again.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said.

Our family wasn’t perfect, but we all tried our best.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Grandma is coming over tonight.”

“I thought you weren’t leaving for the lake house until tomorrow.”

“I’m not. I’ll leave tomorrow after work and carpool with Zach. But Grandma will keep Ethan home from daycare tomorrow because of his cough. She’s staying the night to make things less stressful in the morning.”

He offered a bored nod.

“You going to behave?” I asked. “Otherwise, I’ll cancel the trip and—”

“Nah, you go. Dad really needs it.”

I reached up and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear.

Kids were smart. Too smart sometimes. Especially Dylan, who was able to pick up on his dad’s bad moods like certain animals that went still before an earthquake.

Brian did indeed need the kid-free weekend.

He had much less tolerance for stress than I did.

And lately he looked so lost in life. Every evening, the moment he came back home from his HVAC business, the responsibilities of being a dad rolled over him like a bulldozer.

“Can you help Grandma with the little terrorists?” I joked. The younger kids listened to Dylan more than to us. His teenage sass kept Ethan and Lila in check.

Dylan grinned. “You make it sound like Grandma is some old lady with a cane. She doesn’t need anyone’s help. All Viking warrior woman ’n’ shit.”

I laughed. “That’s true. But you know she has high blood pressure.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep the little monsters in line.”

I started the car.

“If you take me to Dairy Queen,” he added.

“Deal. But we have to get rid of all the evidence before we go home.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

I sat there staring at him for a second. Dylan grew serious again.

“What?” he asked.

A fond, almost sad smile formed on my lips. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

He didn’t smile back. Just nodded.