Mark glanced at her. “You said we were going to be honest, Emmy. She’s your mom. She deserves to know.”
Emily dropped her head.
“The other girls… They hate me. It’s not just one person. It’s all of them. They move their bags when I try to sit down. They whisper ‘try-hard’ every time I answer a question in English. In the gym, they act like I’m invisible. They won’t even pass me the ball.”
A sharp ache hit my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me, Em?”
“Because I knew you’d storm into the principal’s office and make a huge scene. Then they’d hate me even more for being a snitch.”
“She’s not wrong,” Mark added quietly.
“So your solution was to stage a disappearance?” I asked him.
Mark sighed. “She was throwing up every morning, Zoe. Real, physical sickness from the stress. I thought I could give her a few days to breathe while we figured out a plan.”
“A plan involves talking to the other parent. What exactly was the endgame?”
Mark reached into the center console and pulled out a yellow legal pad. It was filled with Emily’s neat, looping handwriting.