My Son Was Treated Poorly Because of His Looks Throughout His Freshman Year
On my son’s phone, I noticed a message that said, “Are you still doing it?—
and concluded that I needed to stop him before dawn. I found out that my closed door hadn’t stopped hours later.
The nite before my sophomore year, I locked my son inside our home. I believed I was rescuing him.
In our home, the kitchen light would always turn on before the sun. That’s how I loved it. I enjoyed learning about everyone’s whereabouts, the day’s events, and whose lunch was in whose bag.
“Mom. I’m fine.”
When Lucas began his freshman year that fall, I promised myself that I would be the kind of mother who
stayed near. I was already too close, according to my sister Renee. I informed her that she was not eligible to vote because she did not yet have a teen.
That first morning, Lucas emerged from his room above the front porch with his hair sticking up and a smile that yet lacked the ability to be ashamed.
“Big day,” I declared. “Did you pack the folder I laid out?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“And your water bottle? The blue one, not the leaky one.”
“You feel picked.”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“And you know where your first class is? It’s on the opposite side of…”
“Mom. I’m fine.”
He was alright. At least when it came to the vocabulary we shared, he was always OK.
“Is this stupid?”
But for the first several weeks, he was communicative at home, something I hadn’t noticed since middle school. A girl was present. Ava was her name.
One evening, as he stood at the pantry doorway with a granola bar he wasn’t eating, he told me, “She has this laugh.” “Like, she doesn’t even try to be funny, she just laughs at other people’s stuff, and you feel
picked.”
“Picked?”
“Like, chosen. To be laughed with.”
“It’s sweet.”
In order to hide my smile from him, I grinned at the refrigerator.
“That’s a nice way to say it.”
He agonized over a tiny gift for an entire Saturday nite while sitting at the kitchen table with a shopping tab open. A fox-shaped keychain, since she had previously mentioned that she enjoyed foxes.
He questioned, “Is this stupid?”
“It’s sweet.”
Everything was wiped off his face.
“That’s a yes on stupid.”
“It’s sweet, Lucas.”
On the phone that evening, I recall whispering to my sister Renee about it as if I were reporting a discovery.
I filled her in on every detail. I informed Karen, whose son was a classmate of Lucas’s. I told the salon
woman.
The next Thursday, he returned home with his face completely cleaned and his rucksack slung over one shoulder.
“Did you see Ava today?”
“Hey,” I said. “How was…”
“Fine.”
“Lucas, honey, did something…”
“I’m going upstairs.”
“Did you see Ava today? Did you give her…”
“Tyler and his friends were there.”
The advertisement
On the third step, he halted. He didn’t look back.
“She laughed,” he remarked. “At my clothes. In front of everyone.”
“Was she alone?”
“No. Tyler and his friends were there. She only laughed at what I was wearing. They went after everything
else — my face, my body, my weight. Tyler was the one who got everyone looking at me in the first place.”
Not a single bite was lifted by him.
Then his door softly shut, which was in some ways worse than a slam.
I had a hundred questions in my throat as I stood at the bottom of the steps. I heard him take a seat on his
bed upstairs. I also didn’t climb.
My first year continued to fall apart in ways I pretended not to notice.
Every afternoon when Lucas got home, he headed straight to his room. Even during supper, the baggy
hoodie remained on.
“Did Tyler or those boys bother you again?”
He used to love spaghetti, so I made it one Tuesday. He approached the table holding the handcuffs in his
fists like mittens, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled down over his hands. He narrowed himself against the chair by sitting with his elbows tucked against his sides.
“How was school?”
“Fine.”
He used his fork to push the noodles around. Not a single bite was lifted by him.
The plate was pushed aside by him.
“Did Tyler or those boys bother you again?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You’re not eating.”
“I ate after practice.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He hadn’t shown up for practice. He was cold, I thought to myself as I saw him cover his hands with his
sleeves. The plate was pushed aside by him.
“May I be excused.”
“You barely touched it.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I released him.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Rather than perching on the edge of his bed, I contacted my sister Renee.
“He barely looks at me, Renee. He used to talk my ear off.”
“Have you actually asked him about Ava? Or Tyler? By name?”
“I ask him everything.”
“Diane, you ask him if he’s okay. That’s not the same thing.”
My happy boy was coming back to life.
I dismissed her. I was the one that showed up, kept track of report cards, and was familiar with the
pediatrician’s phone number. Love was that. It must have been love.
When summer finally arrived, my son’s tension subsided.
He began going for morning runs. Instead of buying frozen pizza, he instructed me to buy chicken and rice.
He stood slightly taller in the mirror after returning from the barber with a decent haircut.
“You look good, sweetheart.”
“I need to finish something.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I allowed myself to breathe for a few weeks. My happy boy was coming back to life.
The laptop then began to remain open after midnight.
One evening, as I entered his room with folded laundry, he quickly turned the screen away, causing the hinge to groan.
I did something I had vowed never to do.
“What are you working on?”
“I need to finish something.”
“Finish what?”
“Just something, Mom. Please.”
Like he was shutting a door, he muttered, “Please.”
Ava was mentioned in a thread.
After that, I stood in the hallway and watched him type. Unlike before, the sound had a sense of secrecy.
When classes resumed, Lucas only appeared more alien. When I asked what he was working on, he became
evasive, guarded his phone, and remained up even longer.
I therefore performed what I had vowed never to do. While he was taking a shower, I picked up his phone
from the counter and took a peek.
Ava was mentioned in a thread.
Ava. The girl who had made fun of his attire in front of everyone in the hall. Every quiet supper in our home was the girl I had secretly blamed.
“Renee, he’s talking to her. The girl.”
The messages were brief.
“Can you talk later?” asked Ava.”
Lucas: “Yes.”
“Are you sure about this?” asked Ava.”
Lucas: “I’m certain.”
With chilly hands, I put down the phone.
“What if she’s using him?”
From the garage, I made a call to my sister.
“Renee, he’s talking to her. The girl. The one who started it.”
“Okay. And?”
“And he’s up until two in the morning on that laptop, and he hides the screen, and he won’t tell me
anything.”
I developed hypotheses.
“Diane. Ask him.”
“What if she’s using him? What if they’re planning something? What if someone is putting him up to it?”
“Ask. Him.”
However, I didn’t. Instead, I developed theories. I’ve seen articles about teens being drawn into things their
parents didn’t anticipate, online manipulation, and grooming. I had the same anxiety every time I saw a headline: something was going on, and I was the last to know.
“What did he do?”
While my son was performing push-ups in the yard, I noticed a stranger.
That day, Karen saw me standing outside the grocery shop with that particular brightness mothers employ just before passing you a tissue-wrapped grenade.
“Did you hear what Lucas did this morning?”
My stomach constricted. “What did he do?”
You’ll receive what is due to you.
“He walked right past Tyler and his friends. None of them recognized him.”
“Well, I’m not surprised,” I replied. “He’s changed so much over the summer. He lost weight, got in shape, changed his hair. He’s become such a handsome young man.”
Karen spoke more softly.
“When Lucas realized they didn’t recognize him, he turned around, gave Tyler a direct look, and said, ‘You’ll
get what’s coming to you.’ Then he simply left.”
“It’s nothing, Mom.”
I kept repeating Lucas’s comments to myself as I drove home with my hands firmly gripping the steering
wheel. You will receive what is due to you. By that, exactly what had he meant? And why did it sound more
like a warning than a declaration of confidence?
I poured a mug of tea that nite and used it as an excuse to stand in his doorway. With the blue light on his jaw, he was typing.
“So… what happened with Tyler today?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you still doing it?”
“Karen told me what you said to him.”
He raised his head. His face briefly opened as if he was going to explain.
The shutter dropped once again as he seen what was on my face.
“It’s nothing, Mom.”
I carried the unfinished tea back to the kitchen and promised myself that I would finally catch whatever was
coming the next day.
I was waiting with his phone at the table already.
While he was taking a shower that evening, I noticed the notification on his phone.
“Are you still doing it?””
Three dots. Then his response. “Tomorrow.”
I read it twice and then a third time while standing in the kitchen until the word “tomorrow” ceased to have any meaning other than peril.
“I saw the message.”
I was waiting at the table with Lucas’s phone between us when he arrived downstairs.
“Sit.”
“Mom, what…”
I handed him the phone.
“What am I supposed to think?”
“I saw the message. Someone asked if you were still doing it. You said tomorrow. Who is telling you to do something tomorrow, Lucas?”
I saw something in his face close down as he glanced at the phone and then at me.
“It’s nothing.”
It’s not insignificant. I’ve spent the entire summer observing you. The laptop, the late evenings, the way you hide the screen. Karen now informs me that you told Tyler he would receive what was coming to him by
looking him in the eye. Lucas, what am I supposed to think?”
“I think you’re being manipulated.”
“Auditioning.”
“You know what I mean.”
His voice became flat as he said, “No, I really don’t.” “Tell me what you think I’m doing. Say it out loud.”
I was unable to. Because the moment I opened my mouth, every scenario I had practiced in my mind
sounded crazy. I followed my usual course of action. I made a list.
“You never listen.”
“I think you’re being manipulated. I think that girl is involved in something. I think you’re getting pulled into something you don’t understand. Something that could ruin your life, or…”
“Stop.”
“Lucas.”
He sprang up so quickly that the chair scratched, saying, “You never listen.” “You just decide what’s happening and then panic about it. All year. All summer. You ask me a hundred questions a day and none
of them are real.”
Someone would be harmed if I allowed him to depart.
“Sit down.”
“They’re not questions, Mom, they’re inventory. You check I’m here and then you go worry somewhere else.”
“I said sit down.”
“No.”
“You’re not leaving this house.”
Abruptly, I noticed blood. Lucas. Tyler. Outside the school, there are police lights. Everything else was
overtaken by a horrible thought: someone would be harmed if I permitted him to escape.
I therefore took a step that I never would have taken. The original lock on Lucas’s second-floor bedroom
door required a key from the hallway to unlock. It was impossible to open from the inside once it was locked.
I bided my time till he entered his room, closed the door, and turned the key.
I said, “You’re not leaving this house until I understand what’s happening,” as I was leaving.
Lucas had vanished.
Nothing. Don’t yell. Don’t beat on the door. Just quiet.
Until two in the morning, I waited outside his room in the hallway, listening for any movement. None existed.
I eventually dozed out against the wall.
The door was still locked when I awoke. However, the window of his bedroom was open. I hurried inside. The porch roof beneath it had new scuff marks on it.
I had no knowledge.
Lucas had vanished.
I dialed his number. voicemail. I made another call. voicemail.
I texted him “where are you,” “please,” and finally simply a question mark. I then waited the screen for the
little read receipt, but it never appeared.
When I contacted Renee, I heard myself shouting, “He’s gone, he’s gone.” She said, “Breathe, Diane,
breathe. Tell me what you know,” and that’s when I realized I didn’t know anything, which was the whole point.
I unlocked his laptop.
I gave Karen a call. Her daughter had just been dropped off at school.
Lucas, did you see him there?”
“No, Diane. I didn’t.
My stomach fell.
AVA is a folder.
Desperate to locate some hint as to where he had disappeared, I opened his laptop.
folders. Numerous ones. dates. screenshots of messages regarding his appearance, face, and weight that I
could hardly bear to read. pictures of bruised knuckles. a spreadsheet with dates in one column and names in the other.
Tyler’s name kept coming up.
And an AVA folder by itself.
It was too late now.
When I opened it, I saw statements, documents, and a draft of what appeared to be a plan, but I was
unable to organize any of it into a form that my mind could comprehend.
Promotion
The phone rang after that.
“Mrs. Bennett. This is Ms. Alvarez at the high school. You need to come here. Now.”
After all, he had attended school. Karen must have just missed him.
Certain that it was already too late for whatever had happened to my son, I grabbed my keys and bolted
for the car.
“Your son has brought us something remarkable.”
Anticipating sirens, I stormed through the front doors of the school. Rather, I was gently escorted to a
conference room by a receptionist.
Lucas was seated at the table next to a quiet girl I didn’t know and Ms. Alvarez, a counselor.
“Mom, this is Ava,” Lucas remarked.
“Mrs. Bennett, please sit,” Ms. Alvarez urged. “Your son has brought us something remarkable.”
“I was scared.”
I gazed at the folders arranged on the table. screenshots. logs with dates. pictures of bruises. Everything
was identical to what I had just discovered on his laptop.
Promotion
I said, “What is this?”
“Proof,” Lucas remarked. Concerning Tyler. About what he did to half of the students at this school, Ava, and me.
“I mocked him last year because I was scared,” she replied. “Tyler and his friends had already spent months doing the same thing to me. That day, when they started on Lucas, I knew if I didn’t laugh with them, they’d
turn back on me.”
“We want to start a peer group.”
She gave Lucas a look.
“He noticed they treated me differently when nobody else was around. He figured it out before I ever had the courage to tell him. He reached out over the summer.”
“The text,” I said. “Tomorrow. I thought…”
Lucas said in a firm voice, “I know what you thought, Mom.” “Today was the day we presented everything.
We want to start a peer group. So nobody sits with it alone.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
Ms. Alvarez put her hand on the pile of documents.
“The principal has everything now. Tyler won’t be back in class while the school investigates.”
Ava’s hands continued to tremble. She finally gave up and tucked them behind her thighs after pressing them flat on the table. There was silence.
I was losing my composure. With my hands shaking on the edge of the table, I turned to Lucas.
I didn’t break the quiet.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
He took a while to respond. It was worse than anything he could have said when he simply nodded once.
We didn’t have the radio on while we were driving. I clutched the steering wheel till my knuckles hurt.
“Lucas,” I murmured at last. “Will you tell me what this year was actually like? Really.”
I held out. I didn’t break the quiet. I didn’t follow up with another query.
I didn’t realize that I had stopped paying attention to him.
He began to speak. First slowly, then more.
Since it was the only moment his head was silent, he informed me that the running had begun. He had used the meal and haircut as a means of regaining the little things Tyler had made him despise about himself.
“I wasn’t trying to become somebody else,” he replied. “I just wanted to feel like myself again.”
I didn’t realize I had stopped listening to my son because I was so scared he would stop talking to me.
I listened as a result. all the way to the house.
