PART 3
Her textbooks were shoved against the back wall. Her cheerleading shoes were underneath them. A water bottle sat sideways near the bottom.
Everything looked normal at first glance.
Except for the envelope.
It was lying on top of her history textbook.
A thick white envelope.
My daughter’s name was written across the front.
MAYA CARTER.
I reached for it.
“Wait,” Mr. Reynolds said.
I stopped.
“We haven’t opened it.”
“Why not?”
“Because we wanted you here first.”
I swallowed.
“Is there something dangerous inside?”
“We don’t know.”
Ms. Grant spoke for the first time.
“One of the students reported seeing someone near Maya’s locker after practice yesterday.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then how did you know to search her locker?”
Mr. Reynolds exchanged another look with Ms. Grant.
“Because this morning, another student came forward.”
“Who?”
“A girl named Olivia.”
I knew the name.
Olivia had been on Maya’s cheerleading team for two years.
She had come to our house once for a team dinner.
“Olivia said she saw someone putting something into Maya’s locker yesterday afternoon.”
“Who?”
“She couldn’t see the person’s face.”
“Then why did she report it?”
“Because she heard them say something.”
My heart was pounding.
“What?”
Mr. Reynolds lowered his voice.
“They said, ‘She’ll get what she deserves.’”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
I looked at the envelope again.
“Can I open it?”
Mr. Reynolds nodded.
I carefully picked it up.
It was heavier than I expected.
There was something hard inside.
I tore open the top.
A photograph slid out.
It landed face-up in my hand.
I stared at it.
Then I stopped breathing.
It was a photograph of Maya.
But not one I had ever seen before.
She was standing behind the school gym.
Her face was wet with tears.
Her cheerleading uniform was still on.
And someone had written across the bottom of the photograph in thick black marker:
LIARS ALWAYS GET CAUGHT.
My fingers began shaking.
“Where did this come from?”
Mr. Reynolds didn’t answer.
I turned the photograph over.
There was another message.
This one was handwritten.
ASK YOUR DAUGHTER WHAT HAPPENED AT THE STORAGE ROOM.
I looked at the principal.
“What storage room?”
He frowned.
“The equipment storage room beside the gym.”
“Was Maya there?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“We’re trying.”
“No.”
My voice came out sharper than I intended.
“You’re going to find out.”
He nodded.
But before he could answer, the flash drive in his hand suddenly seemed much more important.
“What is on that?”
“We haven’t opened it.”
“Then don’t.”
He looked surprised.
“Mrs. Carter—”
“I want the police to open it.”
His expression became serious.
“I agree.”
I looked once more at the photograph.
Someone had been watching my daughter.
Someone had followed her.
Someone had placed something inside her locker.
And worst of all…
Maya already knew.
That’s why she’d come home crying.
That’s why she’d locked herself in her room.
That’s why she had begged me to leave her alone.
She wasn’t simply embarrassed.
She was scared.
And I suddenly realized something else.
If someone had put this photograph in her locker yesterday…
then whoever did it knew exactly where Maya would be.
They knew her schedule.
They knew when cheer practice ended.
They knew which locker was hers.
That meant this wasn’t random.
Someone had been paying attention.
Far too much attention.
I left the school just after ten.
On the drive home, I called Maya.
She didn’t answer.
I called again.
Still nothing.
By the third call, I was shaking.
Then I remembered the way she had looked at me that morning.
She hadn’t looked angry.
She hadn’t looked embarrassed.
She had looked defeated.
Like she already knew something terrible was coming.
When I got home, I found her sitting on the floor beside her bed.
Her knees were pulled against her chest.
She looked exhausted.
I closed the door behind me.
“Maya.”
She didn’t look up.
“Mom, please.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know.”
I sat on the floor beside her.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I pulled the photograph from my bag.
Maya saw it.
Her entire body froze.
She stared at the picture.
Then her eyes filled with tears.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your locker.”
She covered her mouth.
“Mom…”
“Someone put this in your locker.”
She nodded.
“Did you know it was there?”
A long silence.
Then she whispered:
“I knew they were going to do something.”
My heart broke.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maya, look at me.”
She finally lifted her eyes.
“Who is doing this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has someone been threatening you?”
She wiped her cheek.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’ve been sending messages.”
“What kind of messages?”
She reached for her phone.
Her hands trembled as she unlocked it.
Then she opened a hidden folder.
There were dozens of screenshots.
Unknown numbers.
Anonymous social media accounts.
Messages that had started weeks ago.
At first, they were almost harmless.
You’re not as perfect as everyone thinks.
Then:
Everybody has secrets.
Then:
How long do you think you can keep yours?
My stomach tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it would stop.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I did what they asked.”
I stared at her.
“What did they ask you to do?”
She looked away.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Maya.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Her voice broke.
“Because if I tell you, somebody could get hurt.”
I felt a chill run through me.
“Who?”
She didn’t answer.
“Maya, are you protecting someone?”
Silence.
Then she whispered:
