Fifteen Lanes - S.J. Laidlaw Page 0,20

closest to me. He didn’t look at me, which was a relief and hurt at the same time. Only when we were well into the second thirty minutes of the interview did he reach over and take my hand. At that point, I was white-knuckling the hard plastic armrest. Mom had just started talking about getting a lawyer and suing the school.

Dad cleared his throat and Mom stopped talking. This wasn’t a strategy they’d worked out ahead of time, unless you count the past twenty-two years as “ahead of time.” Mom looked at Dad expectantly. I didn’t need to see her expression to know it was a mixture of Don’t interrupt me and What took you so long?

“I think it’s obvious Grace has been the victim of a cruel if not criminal attack,” said Dad. I couldn’t help but notice Mr. Smiley was suddenly way more alert and not trying to interrupt. “She used bad judgment, but her error was a private one, which we’ll address with her when we get home.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. McClaren,” said Smiley, who looked sorry and more than a little nervous. My dad runs a company with over two thousand employees; he can have that effect on people. “But even if Grace only sent the photo to the boy, she still sent a pornographic image to an underage student.”

“Really,” said Dad. “And have you identified that student?”

Mr. Smiley shifted uncomfortably. “Not as yet, no.”

“Have you traced the cellphone number?”

“It doesn’t match any we have on record, or the numbers of either of the two students Grace named as possible perpetrators.”

“So, as far as we know, Grace could have been in communication with anyone, an adult even?”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Mr. Smiley objected. “The picture was sent to almost every student in the school.”

“And how did that happen?”

“The image went viral. Students were passing it on. But your daughter was the first to send the image, obviously.”

“We don’t dispute that, but you can’t produce a single student who received the image from my daughter, and she doesn’t know who was play-acting as the teenage boy.

We’re in complete agreement that Grace needs consequences for her actions, but the humiliation of having her image disseminated is already a severe consequence. We’ll take her home for the rest of the day. It will give her time to reflect on her actions and we’ll talk to her. However, Grace cannot afford to miss school. She’ll be back in class tomorrow.”

My father stood up. Mr. Smiley, no longer living up to his name, stood as well. Mom and I followed suit.

“My colleagues and I will need to discuss appropriate sanctions,” said Mr. Smiley.

“We will not accept any consequence that jeopardizes her education,” said Dad firmly.

“At the very least she’ll have to do community service to atone for what she’s done,” said Mr. Smiley, equally firm.

“Grace already does community service as a requirement of her International Baccalaureate diploma,” said Dad. I could tell he didn’t like letting the school decide my punishment, but he was wrong on the community service front. I wasn’t involved in anything. In fact, I’d invested considerable energy into dodging the community service requirement.

“According to our records, Grace is not yet involved in any activity that will contribute to her required hours.”

I stared at my feet.

“Thank you for letting us know,” said Dad, without missing a beat. “Of course, we support any effort to help Grace find a suitable activity.”

Dad held out his hand and Smiley shook it.

“I trust you’ll keep us informed if you get any information on who’s responsible for this attack on my daughter.” Dad sounded every bit like the captain of industry that he was.

We walked out of the office. Dad only dropped my hand when it was necessary to pass through doors. He took it again when we were out of the building. I couldn’t remember him ever holding my hand before. It felt nice, though weird. Mom stalked ahead of us to the parking lot.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, daring to glance at Dad’s face for the first time.

He gave me a wry smile. “Everyone makes mistakes, Gracie, but this sure was a doozy.”

I couldn’t help but grin. Only my dad would use a dorky word like doozy. Who says that anymore?

“I guess you were missing your brother,” he said, as if he was trying to work it out for himself.

“And Tina,” I said.

“But still.”

“I know it was stupid but I never expected anything like this would happen.”

We reached the car. Our driver,