What Have We Done (17)

The woman working the front desk says, “Can I help you?” She peers over her glasses pinched on her nose. No smile. Between the overbearing parents and entitled teenagers, Jenna suspects the woman’s customer-is-always-right instincts were extinguished long ago.

“Hi. I’m Willow Raines’s mom.” If Willow had been present, she would’ve quickly corrected her by saying “step mom.” But no need to complicate things now. “I totally spaced out that she has a dentist appointment this afternoon, and I need to check her out.”

Without saying a word, the receptionist pecks on her computer, probably pulling up Willow’s schedule. The woman picks up the phone.

Jenna smiles, tries to look nonchalant. Her daughter is safe at the school. She wonders if Willow would be safer staying put. Maybe, but only briefly. She can’t stay here forever. And right now Jenna has the advantage of time.

The receptionist’s brow furrows. She murmurs something into the line. Then hangs up.

“Willow has AP Lit sixth period. But her teacher says she didn’t come to class. She also missed

fourth and fifth periods.”

Jenna’s heart races. She needs to remain calm. “Oh,” she manages. “Maybe she remembered and took an Uber to the doctor.”

“You mean dentist,” the receptionist says, eyeing her now.

“Yes, dental surgeon,” Jenna says, recovering from the slip. “I’ll track her down,” she says absently as she taps on the scooter guy’s phone and strides out of the office.

Jenna’s thoughts are racing. Do they have her? If not, where the hell is she? The receptionist said she missed the two periods before lunch, before Jenna botched the job. And Simon said her phone is pinging at the school.

The bell rings and the hall fills with students. Jenna remembers from parents’ night that Willow’s locker is near the auditorium. She maneuvers through the kids and finds it. She doesn’t see Willow, but she spots a familiar face: Willow’s best friend, Lily.

Lily Hurtado usually exudes enthusiasm, but when she notices Jenna her expression turns from curiosity to concern.

Jenna rushes up to her.

“Hi, Ms. Raines,” she says sheepishly.

“Hi, Lily. Do you know where Willow is? There’s been an emergency and the office says she’s missed her last few classes.”

Lily looks at her shoes. Worn sneakers with hearts drawn on them with an ink pen.

“She’s not in trouble, but if you know where she is, you need to tell me. She’s not answering my texts.”

“She, um, told me that she and, um, Billy were like gonna skip with some kids.”

Billy? Who’s Billy? It doesn’t matter right now.

“Where, Lily? It’s important.”

“I don’t know.”

“Has she done this before?”

Lily looks at her shoes again.

“Where does she usually go?” Jenna’s voice must sound angry because the girl is tearing up.

“Last time it was the 7-Eleven on Wisconsin.”

Jenna doesn’t understand.

Lily shrugs, embarrassed. “Kids hang out in the back.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A few blocks from one of the most exclusive private high schools in the country stands a 7-Eleven, which is next to a Popeyes chicken and across the street from a liquor store. Such is the unpredictable landscape of even the affluent sections of Washington, D.C. Jenna paces quickly past a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk eating fried chicken out of a cardboard container and heads down the alley toward the back of the strip of businesses.

There, on a cinder-block wall near a large blue Dumpster, sits a group of kids. One of the teenagers, a boy with floppy hair and the necktie from his school uniform loosened, takes a drink from a brown paper bag and passes it to—you guessed it—Jenna’s stepdaughter.

Jenna charges over and faces the group.

Willow pauses, makes an exaggerated expression, mouth in a round O, as if unable to believe what she’s seeing.

“We need to go,” is all Jenna says. The lecture can come later.

“Jenna? Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening.”

The other kids dart looks at one another, not sure how to proceed.

“Let’s go,” Jenna says.

But Willow doesn’t move. Instead, she sets her jaw. After a brief stare-down with Jenna, she says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The other kids look uncomfortable now. A boy, the one who handed her the brown paper bag, says something to Willow that Jenna can’t make out.

“Screw that,” Willow says to him. “She’s not my mom.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Jenna says. “There’s an emergency. You need to come with me.”

The other kids have already jumped down from the wall. They gesture for Willow to join them, but she’s not budging. She’s humiliated, and Jenna gets it, but it’s not the time to prove a point. She makes a get lost gesture with a flick of her wrist and the other kids scramble away.

“I can’t believe you,” Willow says. “That was fucking humiliating. You’re, like, following me, now?” Her eyes are welling up.

Jenna walks over and looks up at Willow. “Come down. It’s not what you think. I can explain.