The Bequest

Maren's giggle sounds a little too diabolical for my tastes.

"What's the rule about being on our phones while we eat?" I hold out my hand.

"Mom, we're sitting in the park." Maren slides her phone into her purse. "I'm fifteen. It's not like I'm a little kid anymore. I deserve some autonomy."

"I'm happy to hear SAT words being put to use." Even if I'm not 100% sure what autonomy means. I assume it's independence or freedom or something along those lines. "But you still owe me the phone."

Emery's sly smile is my confirmation that I'm making the right call. I struggle as a parent pretty much every day. Am I doing the right thing? Am I being too firm? Not firm enough?

For a second, I worry that Maren's going to throw a fit in the middle of Central Park and refuse to give me her phone, but when I really turn up the heat on my glare, she hands it over. The whole interchange has me thinking...I haven't checked their social media accounts lately. I imagine Maren's due. Instead of slipping her phone into my pocket, I start swiping.

"Hey," she objects. "That's private."

"No, it's not," I say. "In fact, it's all public. That's kind of the point."

Her sulking confirms my suspicion that I'll find something I don't want to see.

"Twitter," Emery coughs.

Maren's head whips around like a twenty-something on the scent of a pop-up sample sale.

Twitter it is.

It doesn't take me long to realize why Emery pointed me that way, but the more I scroll and the more comments I digest, the more alarmed I become.

Maybe if you can't think for yourself.

In your dreams, loser. He wouldn't go out with you if someone paid him, not that your family even could.

As if anyone would care what you think.

Do us all a favor-never comment again. Actually, don't talk or type again in any form.

Someone needs to call the police, because that's worse than a simple crime. That's a violation of the laws of nature.

It would be bad enough if those comments had been made in response to things Maren had said. I'd be genuinely concerned, but my anger would be directed at terrible kids.

But my concern right now is for my own child. Maren said those things herself.

By the time I finally slide the phone into my purse, my hands are shaking. "Maren."

Her soft pink lips are compressed into a hard line, and her eyes shift downward, avoiding mine.

"What do you think I found on Twitter?" Other than the fact that I haven't been paying enough attention to my own daughter. She's turning into a little monster. Her account certainly doesn't show depth or dimension. Only cruelty. Where is she learning it?

"Maren, I'm waiting for an answer."

"You have no idea what school is like." Her hands clench the bench tightly, her half-eaten burger forgotten on the paper in her lap.

"You're right. It's been quite some time since I was in high school myself, and I've never been to yours as a student." Actually, I don't go to her school nearly often enough as a parent. I'm not really the kind of mom who joins the PTA. "But I know enough to be positive that this isn't who we want to be."

She swallows.

"I'm not sure why you would say such cruel things, to anyone, but you're certainly done doing it."

"This is how you have to act to succeed. The world is kill or be killed, Mom. Dad knew it, and it's only gotten worse "

Her dad did know it, but I don't want her to act like he did. It's miserable for everyone around them. "Don't get all defensive when you should be apologetic. Have you learned that word yet?" "Mom!"

"There are a lot of people on this thread that are going to be getting a call from you."

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She holds out her hand. "Fine. Give me back my phone and I'll message them."

"I'm not sure you are going to get your phone back... ever."

Her eyes widen and her mouth dangles open for a moment, and then she rolls her eyes. "Be real, Mom."

Something very close to rage floods my body. "You think I'm not being real?" I stand up, only vaguely aware that I'm now shouting at my teenage daughter in the middle of a busy park. "It may seem like these are just words, but there's a person on the other side of them. You have been afforded every chance at success, and-"

"Just like every kid whose posts I have commented on." One eyebrow quirks up. "It's not like I'm insulting poor little scholarship students."

People all over the park are staring. I sit down and lower my voice. "I need to think about what to do here."

"Great." She crosses her arms, the edge of her hand knocking her hamburger off her lap. It rolls until the eaten part reaches the ground, and then the contents splay outward into a fan. Toasted bun, lettuce, meat, pickles, bun.

A boisterous goldendoodle jogging alongside his owner snaps up the meat and keeps on moving. His dark-haired owner turns around, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry," he says, starting to slow down.

I wave him on. "No big deal. It was our fault."

"That's what you might call an apology," Emery says. "In case you just didn't know what it was."

Sweet little Emery has never sounded snarkier. "What in the world?"

"While you're taking people's phones," Maren says, "maybe you should steal hers too."

All the energy in my body suddenly feels spent. My eyes lock with my darling twelve-year-old. "What am I going to find on yours?"

Emery digs her Mary Janes into the thick grass in front of us and shrugs.

"Em?"

"Same thing as you found on mine, I imagine," Maren says.

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! "No!" Emery's face is entirely white.

Why would Emery tell me about Maren's bullying if she's doing the same thing? "Emery Celeste Brooks."

When she looks up, her eyes are full of unshed tears.

"What's wrong?"

Her small, skinny arms slide around my waist and her head presses against my chest. I know she's twelve, but sometimes it feels like she's still much younger. "People say the same kind of stuff to her," Maren says. "All the time."

Realization finally dawns. "You're saying mean things to Emery?" My hand is suddenly itching to slap my eldest. How did I not notice any of the comments were on Emery's page? Maren rolls her eyes again. "Of course not. I'm not the devil."

How am I lost again?

"Hate to break it to you, Mom, but Em's kind of a loser at school." She pulls her hair back into a high ponytail. "It was watching her get torn apart that made me realize I never wanted to be picked on-so I went on the defensive. Scare them before they can bully you."

I brush the hair out of Emery's eyes. "Is that true? Have you been picked on... for a long time?"

She burrows her face closer, turning toward my shoulder. I take her phone too, preparing myself to deal with it later. The whole thing makes me sick. "Let's head home. We'll sort all this out later."

"Unless you're pulling Emery out and enrolling her somewhere else, I doubt you can do much." Maren's tone is so flippant that even knowing she didn't have a hand in tormenting her own sister, I want to slap some sense into her. "You should consider that the people you're ridiculing are someone else's sister. They're just like Emery."

"I should?" Maren says. "I'm just doing what you do." Her mouth turns up in a half grin. "Looking out for myself."