“Buy one more and you get a free one,” said the clerk, who wore a top so sheer that some shoppers wondered why she bothered to wear it at all.

“Drew,” Brianna said, “go fetch another apricot one.”

Drew scampered off like a puppy and came running back.

“Here you go,” he said.

Brianna put a hand on her hip and shifted impatiently. “That’s not apricot,” she said. “That’s peach. I said apricot.”

“Sorry,” Drew said, “I guess I got my fruits mixed up.”

Brianna turned to the clerk. “Thank goodness he’s cute, because he sure is dumb. Meet Drew-without-a-Clue.”

“Umm,” the girl said, “you want to skip the freebie? I can give you a sample of this season’s signature fragrance, Hot and Juicy, instead.”

Brianna laughed and shook her glossy dark hair in a can’t-be-bothered manner.

“Gross! It sounds like a hamburger,” she said.

The clerk laughed. “I don’t name ‘em. But, yeah, it is gross.”

Brianna took out a credit card to pay, then turned to Drew and gave him a kiss.

“I know you’re trying your best, Babe,” she said. “I guess I have to teach you everything.”

They walked to the front of the store, where Brianna stopped to check out a rack she had missed.

“Are you still staying at the Silverdale Beach Hotel?” Drew asked.

“Of course I am. My mom always stays there, and she took care of everything,” she said.

THE SILVERDALE BEACH HOTEL had undergone a recent remodel, with a cadre of designers and carpenters coming together to yank the venerable hotel out of its mauve and taupe cloud and forest of oak and ferns and into a more modern vibe—the dark wood, cool glass accents, and the tasteful carpets of a modern hotel. Even so, the Silverdale Beach Hotel wasn’t the W, not by a long shot.

Brianna sent a Platinum American Express card sliding over the black granite counter like a silver streak.

The clerk, a chinless man, looked over his round-frame glasses.

“I need to extend my stay. I’m an authorized user. Call if you have to,” she said.

“Um, how long will you be staying?” the clerk asked.

Brianna slammed her purse on the counter. “How the hell should I know? Indefinitely.”

The clerk blinked. “That might be a problem. I don’t know how to put that in the system,” he said, scratching his head while pecking at the keyboard in front of him.

Drew looked at the card. It had Bree’s father’s name on it.

“Your mom didn’t set up the room for you, did she?” he asked.

Brianna shot him a sideways glance, one that he’d seen plenty of times since they’d started dating last year. It meant back off. Now. She punctuated the look with a few words this time—in case Drew-without-a-Clue didn’t quite get it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

“Figured it out!” the chinless clerk said. “You need help with your luggage?” He looked over at her purse and the little pink bag from Victoria’s Secret.

“I can manage,” Brianna said.

“Oh, okay then. Enjoy your indefinite stay.”

As they walked to the elevator, Drew nudged her, snapping her out of whatever was preoccupying her mind.

“What’s the deal with your mom anyway? First she missed the ferry and then said she’d come over later. Didn’t happen. Then she said she’d take care of your room? No mom. No room.”

“Look, Drew. I might have the perfect life. But I have the worst mom ever. I know that. She left me when I was a kid. She didn’t have time for me back then. She doesn’t have time now. But don’t ever get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade her in for step-monster Shelley any day of the week. Don’t dog her. Don’t put her down. That’s my job. Because when I do it, I know that it doesn’t really mean anything. She’s my mom.”

They got off the elevator, and Brianna inserted the key card to unlock the room.

“What happened to your hand?” Drew asked, eyeing her cut palm.

Brianna slipped her key card into the front pocket of her jeans, dark-dyed from the Gap of all places, because that was all the Kitsap Mall had that was halfway decent. Being booted out of her house without a complete wardrobe and no time to order anything decent online had cramped her style.

Big-time.

“Nothing,” she said, pulling away. “I slipped when I found Olivia. I’m okay.”

Drew followed her into the room, pulled off his fleece and flopped down on the bed. He tucked his hand inside the waistband of his jeans.

“Want to fool around?” he asked, arching a brow in a way that he was sure was sexy.

Brianna barely looked at him. “Okay,” she said. “After I post on Facebook.”

She typed on her wall:

BEEN THINKING ABOUT OLIVIA. ALL THE TIME.

DON’T KNOW HOW I’LL GET THROUGH THE REST OF THE DAY.

HEARTBROKEN.

MINDEE LARSEN DID NOT HAVE a blue ribbon or a trophy for completing her community service, and frankly, it ticked her off a little that Kitsap County authorities didn’t give her one. She did more than was required. She talked to two extra classes about the dangers of cyberbullying and about the warning signs that kids and parents should look for if they suspect someone is being victimized online.

While she easily could have, Mindee never told her audience the number-one tip for saving someone from being cyberbullied: “Be mindful of all jealous, overprotective, stage-mother wannabes. If her stunning daughter—the one who will bring her riches, fame, and a place in Palm Springs—is threatened and might lose everything, there’s no telling how far the mother will go to protect her future assets.”

That would have been good advice, the kind that only personal experience can bring. Compelling stuff in front of a group, indeed.

Finally at home, Mindee looked at the clock. It was 5:30 p.m. She kicked off her vintage Wild Pair heels, poured a glass of box sangria, and guzzled it like she was a camel heading into the Gobi. Doing five heads at Shear Elegance salon, talking to a group of smelly kids in Bremerton, and visiting her son, Teagan, at the detention center made for a very hard day.

She poured a second glass—the one she usually let sit half-consumed, a prop to indicate she wasn’t drinking too much. Not today. Mindee played back her conversation with her son as she sipped:

TEAGAN: Mom, I still don’t know why I’m the only one who’s in big trouble.

MINDEE: Honey, maybe you’ll think twice next time before climbing into a girl’s bedroom and scaring her to death.

TEAGAN: Sometimes I kind of hate you.

MINDEE: That’s all right. That means you’re getting better. You’re getting in touch with your feelings.

As Mindee sucked down the last pinkish drops in her wine glass, her daughter flounced into the house. She barely gave Starla, in full Buccaneers’ cheerleader uniform, a second to put down her book bag and drop her pom-poms before jumping in with, to her mind, earth-shattering news. Mindee was one hundred percent certain the latest turn of events at the mall would help her get back into the good graces of those who judged her.

“On my way to Port Orchard to see your brother,” she said, “I stopped at Victoria’s Secret. Guess who I saw there?”

Starla brightened a little. She didn’t care who her mother saw, but the fact that she went to the mall always put her in good cheer.

“Mommy, what did you get me?” Starla asked, lapsing into I-love-you-so-much-because-you-buy-me-stuff mode.

Mindee set down her glass. “God, Starla, however did you become so selfish? It isn’t all about you, twenty-four-seven.”

Starla appeared a little confused. She thought it was. She flipped her long blond hair. “You’re so harsh! But get to your point.”

“This is good. Pay attention. I saw Brianna and Drew, and believe you me they weren’t acting like they were sad about their friend being butchered in Brianna’s bedroom. They were practically making out by the Angel Wing thongs. It was really, really inappropriate. It was like they were celebrating or something.”