For Money or Mayhem

{6} Dealing with Teens

Wednesday morning, I had an appointment to keep. It almost felt normal to get up, shave, and head to the office by eight. This time, though, it was my own office up on 15th Avenue. I have a room and a half in a war-era house rezoned for commercial use. My upstairs co-tenants include two children’s counselors and an accountant. One of the counselors specialized in testing and study habits for ADD and learning disabilities. From what I understand, most of the kids he sees are bright but can’t focus in school. The other counselor works with kids who just need help coping with life. I was amazed at the age range of the kids that came through the front doors—some with parents and some just dropped off out front and sent in alone. My office is on the main floor, so I have a clear view of the entry when my door is open.

Bernie, the accountant in the third upstairs office, helped with my incorporation, does my taxes, and generally keeps me honest in my bookkeeping. Whether he has any clients other than the three he shares the house with, I don’t know.

I have direct access to the kitchen from my office. It’s a nice setup, but we’re all waiting for our landlord to announce that the building will be torn down to make way for a real office building.

I like the space. I need an office where I can actually meet with potential clients, even though I do as much real work in my darkened apartment at night.

Monday night I’d received a referral from the counselor upstairs and he was waiting on the front porch when I got there at eight-thirty. Actually, they. A boy about fourteen and his father. I motioned them into my office and asked if they would like coffee or chocolate or tea or a soft drink. The dad took coffee with sugar and his son, after getting approval from his father, opted for the hot chocolate. Once we had our drinks, we settled in and I asked how I could help them. They fidgeted a bit, the boy looking at his father.

“Son, it’s okay. He won’t judge. You just have to tell him what’s happening or he can’t help.” The boy nodded, took another sip of chocolate then looked up at me.

“I… I’m being harassed. Online.” It was apparent that there was more than he was saying. After a minute I decided on a way to help him.

“Can you show me an example?” He pulled out his tablet and in a few gestures had a popular social network on the screen. He handed it to me. There were a few of the normal messages between friends, but not as many as I expected kids his age would have. Two out of every three posts, however, were derogatory. There were links posted to everything from “Save the Faggot” to “Gay porn.” There were a couple of messages that were subtly threatening—warnings about where not to walk and where fairies weren’t welcome. It was vile and I couldn’t believe the network had allowed this kind of behavior.

“We’ve tried everything,” the father said. “We reported it to the network, flagged the posts, blocked various users. Every time one goes away, another pops up. Now it’s spreading on video sites and other networks.”

“My friends aren’t posting anymore because they’re afraid they’ll get harassed too.”

“Is it all online, or are you getting real life harassment, too?” I asked. I could deal with taming a cyberbully, but if he was getting pushed around after school, it was a matter for the police.

“No,” the boy said quietly. “I’m just always afraid. I just came out a few weeks ago.” He looked down.

“Is that going to be a problem for you?” his father asked me.

“Not at all,” I said.

“Good. Daniel didn’t want us to interfere, but how can we say ‘it gets better,’ if we don’t do something to make it better?” I nodded and smiled at Daniel.

“What would you like me to do, Daniel?” I asked. “If I can get results, what would you like them to be?”

“I’d just like the flaming to stop so my friends will come around again,” he said. “I’ve been talking to Cora, upstairs, about this for a while now. She said I should talk to you and see if you could make it stop.”

I thought about it a few minutes as I scanned through more of the messages. It was sick. If there is anything I dislike as much as a thief, it’s a bully. I was relieved to see a few messages that I took to be signs of support for Daniel. I was ready to take on the case pro bono, just to get a crack at the bastard behind the cyberattack. At the same time, I couldn’t help but think how lucky this kid was. His father was sitting beside him, ready to fight for him. A strong family could keep a kid from becoming a statistic. I got out a contract, filled out the necessary blanks, and then handed it to the father to fill in name and contact information.

“Daniel, I’m giving this to your dad to fill out because legally you can’t sign a contract,” I said. “But I’m working for you.”

Daniel watched as I used his account to friend one of my own aliases on that network.

“This is me. I won’t be using our connection to post on your page or anything like that. As much as possible, I’m going to lurk rather than take control of your account, which I might have to do later if I find something that I can work with. You can contact me with a direct message if you think of anything else I should know, like a list of any other sites that you are a member of—even if they are embarrassing. I’ll need your aliases and passwords. And if your friends start getting messages, I need to know. Got it?”

He looked at me a little quizzically and then nodded his head. If the kid was registered on a gay chat room or even had a login for gay porn, it could be where his information was leaking out. He understood.

“Yes sir,” he said. “Will you be able to make it stop?”

“Worst case, we’ll have to set up clean accounts for you and only invite your trusted friends. I’ll put some software into place that will block specific kinds of content. If I can’t make a positive ID on the person and turn the information over to the police, I might still be able to make contact and… uh… negotiate a stop.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes,” said the father. “Thank you very much.” They left. I was already angry with this scum.

I was finishing up several projects and had to wait for Daniel to send me the rest of the information I needed, so I couldn’t accomplish much for him that morning. I really wanted to wait until I had all the information he could give me before I launched my investigation. There was no sense in strong-arming information out of the net if the boy could just tell me.

I grabbed a bite of Indian food across the street from my office and was stewing over how I was going to dig through the EFC data reserves when Andi called me.

“Dag, I’m sorry to bother you but I’m in a pinch.”

“What is it Andi?”

“I’m over at the University and I’m completely tied up and can’t get back to pick up Cali for her rehearsal. Could you swing by the high school and take her to the theater? I know you have your new job and all, so if it’s a problem, just say so and I’ll have the girls catch the bus. It just takes them so long to get there on the bus.”

“Andi, it’s fine. In fact, it’s just what I need,” I said. It was really a beautiful day out—one of those April days of sunshine that makes you forget how miserable you’ve been all winter. “I’m working from home and I’d love to get the car out of the garage on a day like today.”

“You’re a dear, Dag.”

“What are you doing over at the U?”

“Marcie gave me a lead on a possible opening over here. I just happened to check in at the right time and I’m going to meet with the department chair in a few minutes.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Oh. Dag, you’ll have both Cali and Melissa. Mel needs to be dropped at the softball field, but that’s on the way to the theater. Okay?”

“Sure. I won’t need to say anything with both of them in the car.”

“Do what I do. Keep quiet and listen. You’ll be amazed at what you can learn. Pick them up at three.”

“Will do. Good luck with the interview.”

I was waiting out front at 3:00 when Cali and her best friend Melissa came down the steps. Cali hesitated a moment looking for her mom’s van, then squealed when she saw my yellow Mustang with the top down. She and Melissa came running toward the car with Cali yelling, “Shotgun!” as she tagged the door first. Melissa piled into the back seat and sat sideways since there was so little leg room, even for a high school girl. It would have been fairer for Cali to sit in back since she was so much smaller, but I wasn’t going to interfere.

It was five-plus years ago that I moved into the apartment on The Hill. Even before I’d painted the room, I remember standing at the window with my suitcase and box of books, one chair and a mattress, watching two twelve-year-old girls playing an elaborate game in the postage-stamp yard of the duplex next door. The game somehow involved a tennis ball, a Frisbee, two croquet wickets, and capes. Then I saw the door open and a perfectly lovely young woman came out with lemonade for the girls. From the angle high up where I was watching, it took me a minute to realize that I was looking at my friend Andi Marx from the faculty lounge. I’d had no idea I was moving next door to her.

It wasn’t long before the carefree childhood games were put aside by the girls as they started playing real sports, acting in plays, and—let’s not forget—being interested in boys. Now they were juniors in high school. Cali was playing Lady Macbeth, opening in two weeks, and Melissa was pitching for a city league softball team. Still the two girls were almost inseparable and I listened to their nonstop banter as I pulled away from the curb.

“Oh, he’ll never go out with you,” Mel said. “He’s totally gaga over Barbara. He can’t even see another bitch.”

“Nobody loves me,” Cali moaned dramatically.

“I fuckin’ love you baby!”

“Yeah, but you’re a slut so you don’t count!” The girls howled and I kept my own counsel about not acting like an adult and chastising the language. I didn’t see Melissa often, but I’d noticed that her language had been getting riper each year. Cali listened and laughed, but I seldom heard her swear.

“I’m not a slut. I’m lubricious,” Mel said haughtily. They laughed.

“Look! There he is,” Cali said pointing at a car in the next lane. “What do I do?”

“Ignore him!” Mel snapped. Cali twisted in her seat to turn on my radio. “Woohoo!” Mel screamed as she waved her hands in the air. The boy in the next car over turned to look at her. He was stuck behind a guy waiting for a pedestrian so he could make a right turn. I pressed down on the accelerator and was half a block away before he cleared the intersection.

“Why did you do that?” Cali screamed. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Now he knows you’re out with a cool guy in a convertible and too busy to notice him,” Mel answered. “He’ll ask you out this week.”

“That’s insane!” Cali continued to fiddle with the radio. “Thanks for picking me up, Dag. Sorry I brought her with me.”

“No problem,” I answered. “Just the price of seeing your mom.” I regretted that statement instantly. What was I thinking?

“Oh? You’re dating now?”

“No, no. You know what I mean. We all go out with our friends. We’re friends. We’re not involved.”

“Yeah, right!” Mel scoffed. “You’re dating.”

“He can’t be dating mom,” Cali answered. “He’s gay.”

“I’m what?” Cali’s eyes got big and she covered her mouth with her hands.

“I’m sorry, Dag. Aren’t you out?” she whispered.

“What makes you think I’m gay?” This was a real revelation to me. I couldn’t imagine why she’d think that.

“Well, you live on Capitol Hill—with Eric and Jared.”

“Since when can only gays live on Capitol Hill? And I don’t live with Eric or Jared. They’re neighbors.”

“Yeah but, you’re like my mom’s best friend in the world. Straight men can’t be best friends with women.” She really thought I was gay? Hmm. There was a bit of fun to be had here.

“Well,” I said, sounding almost like I was going to confess. “Did you ever think that maybe she’s gay? I might just be her beard.” We pulled up in the parking lot at the softball field and I noticed that both girls were staring at each other with their mouths open. I smirked a little. “This is your stop, Mel.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks. Uh… and uh… sorry about the language thing. I get carried away.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“You’re cool,” she said and jumped out over the top of the door with her duffle in tow. “Thanks for meeting me at school. See you tomorrow, Sweetie!” she said kissing Cali on the cheek. Then she was off. Cali punched a button on the radio. Electronica came blasting over the speakers.

“Dubstep? You listen to dubstep?”

“I listen to all kinds of music,” I said. “Is that what you call this?” I’m a lousy dancer, but when I’m driving around in the Mustang, sometimes that heavy electronic dance beat is just what I need. She fiddled with the dial until she found the local jazz station.

“There. Real detectives listen to jazz. It’s in all the books.” I chuckled, but let it slide. She was quiet for a few minutes.

I thought back to those early days in the apartment and why Cali could be confused. I was good friends with Eric and Jared. They’d both, in their way, helped me through those first months after Hope left. “She really did a number on you,” I remember Eric saying. He was a little tipsy from all the wine we’d been drinking and he’d brought a CD up to play on my new stereo.

“So, Eric, why are you here on a Saturday night? Are you between boyfriends?”

“Oh honey, don’t I wish. I don’t even have one right now.” It took a second before he started laughing at my open mouth. “I don’t suppose you’re just a little gay curious are you?” he smiled.

“No,” I answered truthfully. “I can’t say it’s ever even crossed my mind.” He shrugged it off and had never mentioned it again. He was just a good, if sometimes flaky, friend.

“It’s okay, you know,” Cali said just above the sound of the wind and the radio. I was pulled out of my reverie, trying to think what she was talking about.

“What’s okay? If I’m gay?”

“Yeah, sure, but… I mean… It’s okay if you date my mom, I guess.”

“Cali, your mom is really just my friend,” I said smiling at her.

“Okay. But still—” She left it hanging. It was quiet the rest of the way to the theater. I dropped her off and drove back to the apartment.

Yeah. But still…

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