He was quiet for a moment. Then he took out his phone and brought up a picture. “Was it anything like this?”

The picture on the phone screen showed Vanessa, her hair a mess, her face smudged, the neck of her shirt ripped and misshapen, as if someone had tugged on it.

“Drake, is that—”

“From yesterday. And believe me, I got the same story from Vanessa.”

“Wait—she told you she’d been bullied?”

He nodded. “And I had the added bonus of her mother screaming at me, too.”

Camille slumped back on the bench. “It was so much simpler when there was only one side to the story.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“Now what?”

“Now we get together—us, the girls, and a mediator. The school counselor wants to help. Then we try to figure out the real story, the real problem, and what will settle it.”

She sat quietly, drinking her coffee. “I’d rather be waterboarded.”

“I’m open to other ideas.”

“It’s just so nuts, our girls brawling like thugs for no reason. It’s . . . embarrassing. I’m embarrassed for them.”

“Freshman year is a rough time of life, and when you throw in an extra challenge, like a divorce or absent father, it makes things rougher.”

She bristled at absent father. That made it sound as if she had a choice. But she did understand what he was saying. “Let’s say we have that fun-sounding meeting with the girls. What would the goal of such a meeting be?”

“Obviously, we’d love for them to apologize to each other and become friends for life.”

“Obviously.”

“Realistically, we can tell them to give each other some respect, and most of all, some space. Out of sight, out of mind—it tends to be true for kids their age. I know it’s hard to find space in a small town like this, though. They’re bound to run into each other at the beach, or the movies, or downtown. We can set some rules . . .”

“And they’re so good with rules,” Camille commented. Was her daughter a victim? Or was she somehow part of the problem? Neither scenario was acceptable. She was irritated at Julie for not giving her the full scoop. At the same time she was skeptical of Vanessa’s story, too. “All right. Let’s get together sooner rather than later.” Camille hated confrontation. She just wanted to get this over with.

“What’s Julie doing later this morning?”

Julie stared at her boobs in the mirror. According to the girls in the locker room who teased her every time they caught her in the middle of changing clothes, she didn’t have boobs at all. Just fat.

She stuck out her tongue at the mirror, then put on a sports bra. Mom had bought her a regular bra with a bit of padding, but it was uncomfortable and made her even more self-conscious than usual. The sports bra just kind of held everything squished into place. She glared at herself again, then put on her old jeans and T-shirt. To her surprise, the jeans were a bit loose, and the shirt was a bit tight. Mom kept saying her body had been changing ever since Christmas, when she finally had her first period. That was a relief, at least. Up until then, she was the only ninth grader on the planet who hadn’t started her period.

With a sigh, she hitched up her jeans, shoved her feet into flip-flops, and went downstairs to check her phone. She’d heard a text message come in while she was getting dressed for the day. She’d slept too late, and it made her feel muzzy-headed. But it was the first day of summer freedom, and kids were supposed to sleep late, weren’t they? Freedom felt more like prison to Julie. She had no friends. She couldn’t go to the beach or take a walk around town, because she didn’t want to run into Vanessa or Jana or their minions, a squad that included pretty much everyone else in her grade.

She found her phone and saw a message from her mom: Meet me at the Surf Shack, 10:30 sharp.

Could be Mom was coming around. Could be she realized swimming and surfing were not the end of the world. Julie jumped on her bike and pedaled as fast as she could to the beach. One of the coolest things about the town was its network of paved hike and bike routes in a roller-coaster-like network along the dunes. When she was younger, and not yet the hated fat kid, Julie and her friends used to ride for hours, ending their adventures at the Surf Shack.

It was the best hangout in Bethany Bay, located at the entrance to the beach. They served cones of curly fries and hot dogs, big icy drinks, coffee, and beer around an open-air bar that had swings in place of barstools. There was an annex with picnic tables, and a surf shop for board rentals and lessons.

When she walked into the annex and saw Mom, Mrs. Marshall, Vanessa, and Drake Larson, Julie realized she’d been played.

“Let’s all have a seat,” said Drake, gesturing at a table.

Vanessa wore skinny jeans and a crop top, her hair freshly shiny, as if she’d just been to the salon. An overabundance of Band-Aids covered her forearm, which she cradled as if it were tender. She had a gift for doing makeup, Julie had to admit. But no amount of cherry lip gloss could sweeten the smirk on her face as she sent Julie a private dagger glare. Julie tried to glare right back, hiding her fear of Vanessa—the master manipulator.

“I guess the reason for this meeting is obvious,” said Mrs. Marshall.

“We didn’t raise you to fight,” Mom said. “You’re better than that.”

“I agree,” said Drake. “You won’t be acting like thugs anymore. We won’t allow fighting, or insults, or harassing each other online. We won’t let you gossip or spread rumors.”

Julie kept her mouth shut and detached herself from the droning conversation. She reflected on the altercation that had happened on surf rescue day. All she’d wanted was to fit in, and Vanessa had ruined everything. She couldn’t say for sure that Vanessa had been the one who had bonked her on the head with a stray board, but Vanessa’s angry face was the last thing she remembered before getting swept into the riptide. Then there was the purse thing, which never would have happened if Jana Jacobs had kept her big mouth shut. And then the Tarek incident . . . okay, maybe Julie could have handled herself better, but when they called her only friend in the world a terrorist, she’d kind of lost it.

“. . . not here to debate who started it or how or when. It ends here and now,” Mom was saying.

“It’s not just me,” Vanessa burst out. “I can’t be responsible for the way other kids act.”

“If other kids are involved, we’ll deal with them, too,” Drake said, stone-faced.

“I have a question for you,” Camille said to Vanessa. “What gave you the idea that I killed my husband?”

Go, Mom, thought Julie. This was more like it.

Vanessa blanched. “What . . . why would you ask me that?”

“Because you started a rumor that my mom killed my dad,” Julie said. “Don’t deny it.”

“I don’t have to deny it, because it didn’t happen.” Vanessa’s face melted into innocent confusion. “Julie, why would you make up something like that? It’s so mean.”

“I didn’t make it up. Why would I say that about my own mother?”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Vanessa shot back.

“Then you won’t mind if we check your phone, just to make sure,” Julie said.

Vanessa flattened her lips together, and for a moment, Julie thought she had her cornered. Then the lips curved upward into a perfect emoji smile. “Whatever. If you need to snoop on my phone, go ahead.”

Vanessa really was the master. She had covered her tracks. Fine, thought Julie, narrowing her eyes to slits and refusing to look away. She would let Vanessa win this round. She would accept responsibility for the brawl.

“Vanessa,” said Mom, “when I ran into you and Jana at the library the other day, I asked you to reassure me that there wouldn’t be any retaliation against Julie. This wouldn’t fall into that category, would it?”

“Oh my gosh, no. I don’t want you to think I started something just because Julie destroyed Jana’s purse.”

“I wouldn’t have destroyed it if you and she had kept your mouths shut about Tarek.”