The Newcomer (Thunder Point #2)(34)

Then she sat at the table, where she was determined to wait for a return call, no matter how long it took.

Tears ran down her cheeks. She’d read about teen suicide and wondered if those kids had said to their parents, “I just want to die!” Young girls harassed on social media sites or in chat rooms, escaping the pain through self-destruction? Young boys picked on so relentlessly they felt they couldn’t go on? Who put a stop to it all? Who intervened before it was too late?

The phone finally rang and she saw it was Simone Ross.

“I want you to bring her in,” Simone said. “I’ll see her in my office in one hour.”

“What if she doesn’t want to?” Gina asked.

“Bring her. Get help if you need help, but bring her. Let’s not play around with this. She’s had a bad experience, is experiencing feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness and I don’t want it to escalate.”

And so that’s what Gina did. She told Ashley she was taking her to the counselor and when Ashley refused, Gina threatened to call Mac to help get her in the car. And Gina reluctantly watched as Ashley threw on a wrinkled and smelly sweat suit from the bottom of the laundry pile. She just wanted her in the car; she wasn’t going to fuss about her wild hair, her sloppy appearance, nothing.

Once they were underway, Ashley said, “I don’t know why we bother. She can’t fix this.”

“We bother because you could use the support,” Gina said. “It’s hard to get through stuff like this alone. You need a team.”

“I just need to go away....”

This was their first trip to Simone Ross’s office during regular business hours and there was actually a receptionist behind the desk, a young woman with green hair and eyebrow and lip piercings. She didn’t even ask who they were—she used the intercom to buzz Simone, who came out immediately.

It wasn’t until Simone and Ashley were behind closed doors that Gina realized she hadn’t called Stu! Her boss had no idea she wasn’t coming back to work and by now the lunch crowd was beginning to arrive. When he answered she said, “Stu, I’m so sorry!” And then she burst into tears.

Eight

“Do you feel like telling me what’s going on?” Simone asked Ashley.

Looking down into her lap, Ashley said, “Didn’t my mom tell you?”

“Bits and pieces, but I’m interested in your version. Your mother is afraid, Ashley. She cares about you so much. Seems you’re getting picked on. Exploited. Or something.”

She lifted her eyes. “Picked on?” she asked, her eyes nothing more than swollen slits. She told her about the picture. “Downy’s girlfriend sent it to everyone in the world! Including all the kids at school and half the adults in town including the football coach. She put it up on Facebook. It was taken down, but not before the whole world saw it and shared it.”

“What about this is bothering you the most?” Simone asked.

“All of it,” she said.

“Help me out with some feelings here,” Simone entreated. “Hurt? Embarrassed? Angry? Sad?”

“All that,” she said. “Totally humiliated. And they believe it. People believe it.”

“So—your response to that is to do what?”

She thought for a moment that stretched out. “I called Downy to tell him how mean that was, but he didn’t pick up. He won’t answer my calls or texts. Not for any reason.”

“And what did you do next?”

She shrugged. “Cried. Fell asleep. Woke up and cried.”

“Have you gone to school? Talked to friends?”

Ashley shook her head. “I can’t.” Her voice was so small.

“Has it occurred to you that you’re grieving?”

“You said I was, so yes. I guess.”

“Have you been angry?” Simone asked. “Have you felt like this can’t be true?”

She just shook her head. “When you see it, you know it’s true. If I hadn’t smashed my phone, I could show you. It’s horrible. I know Downy wants to break up, I get it. But why would he let someone do this to me? Even if he hates me?”

“Tell me something, Ashley. Are you going to lay in bed forever? Are you going to get up at some point? Put on clean clothes? Call your friends? Go to school? Maybe go to a party or dance, like you used to?”

She shook her head dismally. “None of that stuff matters anymore....”

“Hold out your arm, like this,” Simone said, demonstrating. “I’m going to pinch you a little bit—just to look at the elasticity of your skin.”

“Why?” Ashley asked even as she held up her arm.

“Just to check something. I can see from your eyes that your face is swollen and... Ah, you’ve been crying so much and refusing food and drink so much that you’re dehydrated. I’m going to get you a bottled water.”

“I don’t really want anything,” Ashley said. “My stomach has been upset.”

“I know,” Simone said, but she got up, anyway. She went to the cupboard behind her desk and brought Ashley some water. “Try a few sips, please. I need to talk to your mother for just a minute. You’ll be all right here for a few minutes, won’t you?”

Ashley shrugged before she nodded. “What for?”