Chapter 6
Mia looked frightened.
Not guilty.
Frightened.
“Where did you get that?” Dad asked.
“It was in Mom’s car.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I found it under the passenger seat.”
She looked at me.
“The school said it might help.”
Dad let her inside.
She placed the drive on the kitchen table but kept one hand on it.
“I didn’t take your essay,” she said. “But I found something on here.”
“What?” I asked.
“Mom’s documents. Work files. My school records.”
“Did you open them?”
“Only because I thought it was my application. Then I saw a folder called ‘Aaliyah Final.’”
My stomach clenched.
Mia slid the drive toward me.
“There are copies of your essay. There are also messages.”
Dad plugged the drive into an old laptop that wasn’t connected to the internet.
A folder appeared.
Inside were several screenshots, one document, and a set of emails.
The document had been created on Vanessa’s office computer. It contained a copy of my essay with a date stamp two months before Mia’s online post.
My hands went cold.
“She copied it,” I whispered.
Mia shook her head.
“Look at the email.”
The first email was from Vanessa to Mia.
Your essay needs a stronger personal story. Use the one Aaliyah wrote about her mother. It will sound more natural coming from you.
Mia had replied:
I don’t want to use hers. She worked hard on it.
Vanessa’s answer:
It’s just a family story. She won’t mind. Besides, you need something good on your application.
The next email was from Mia.
I posted my own version. I didn’t copy her whole essay. Please don’t tell her.
Vanessa wrote back:
I won’t. But if anyone asks, say you wrote it first.
I stared at the screen.
Mia lowered her eyes.
“I did use parts of it,” she said. “I changed some words. I shouldn’t have. I knew it was wrong.”
“Did you report me?”
“No.”
“Did Mom?”
Mia nodded.
“Why?”
“She said if the school investigated you, they might remove your scholarship and look more closely at my portfolio. She thought she could make them believe you copied me first.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
Mia’s face tightened.
“She said you were leaving anyway. She said Dad was going to give you all the money for college and I’d be stuck at home.”
“That isn’t true.”
“She thought it was.”
“Did she tell you to cut my dress?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you to send those messages?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you to make me look bad at school?”
Mia looked at me.
“She told me to stop letting you act like the victim.”
My mouth went dry.
“She said that?”
“She said Dad was changing everything because he felt guilty about your mother.”
I looked at Dad.
He seemed to be trying to hold himself together by standing very still.
He turned the laptop around and copied the emails to a new drive.
“This goes to the school,” he said.
Mia nodded.
“I’ll tell them I used Aaliyah’s essay.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I asked.
“Because I was ashamed.”
“You were ashamed, so you let me be accused?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt, but at least it was honest.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that doesn’t fix it.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I know.”
We sent the evidence to the school the next morning. Vanessa was asked to attend a meeting.
She arrived with a lawyer.
Dad looked at the lawyer, then at her.
“You brought an attorney?”
“I need someone to protect me.”
“From what?”
“From all of you turning this into a criminal case.”
“No one said criminal.”
“Then why did you collect emails?”
“Because someone accused Aaliyah of plagiarism.”
Vanessa sat down.
Mia sat beside her.
For once, she did not reach for Vanessa’s hand.
The school administrator began with the scholarship review. She showed Vanessa the email records and asked whether the account belonged to her.
Vanessa’s lawyer advised her not to answer.
The administrator shifted to the false report.
“Did you submit the complaint about Aaliyah?”
“I asked the school to review a concern.”
“Did you provide a screenshot from her personal essay?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know the screenshot came from a draft that belonged to her?”
“I believed Mia had written the material first.”
“You had an email telling Mia to use Aaliyah’s essay.”
Vanessa glanced at the lawyer.
“I meant she could use the family story, not copy the writing.”
“Did you tell Mia to say she wrote it first?”
“I told her to be honest.”
The email was on the screen.
Mia’s hands trembled.
“You told me to lie,” she said.
Vanessa turned toward her. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From making a mistake.”
“I already made one.”
“You were trying to help me.”
“No,” Mia said. “You were.”
For the first time, Vanessa had no answer.
The school cleared my essay that day. The scholarship was reinstated. Mia’s portfolio was placed under review.
Outside the school office, she walked beside me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Do you think Dad still loves me?”
I stopped.
“Yes.”
“How can you know?”
“Because he keeps trying to hold you responsible instead of giving up on you.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I thought he didn’t care because you were the one he defended.”
“He should have defended me sooner.”
“Yes.”
“But him caring about me doesn’t mean he can’t care about you.”
Mia nodded.
We walked to the car without speaking.
At home, Dad returned to the envelope in the garage.
The seal was old and yellowed. He opened it carefully.
Inside was a letter and a folded legal document.
He read the letter first.
His eyes filled.
“What does it say?” I asked.
He handed it to me.
David,
If you are opening this after I’m gone, I hope you are not carrying everything alone. I know you will try to protect Aaliyah by keeping the difficult parts from her. Please remember she deserves the truth, even when it hurts.
There is one thing I never had the courage to tell you in person.
Aaliyah’s biological father contacted me before we married. He asked to meet her. I said no because I was afraid he would take her away.
I have regretted that choice every day.
The document was a court filing from years earlier. A man named Marcus Reed had petitioned for parental contact.
The filing had been withdrawn.
Dad looked at me.
“I never knew.”
“Why would Mom hide this?”
“I don’t know.”
At the bottom of the petition was a handwritten note.
May you like
I don’t want money. I only want to know my daughter.
The signature was Marcus Reed.
