Nobody Tells the Truth E-Book

Dominik Mikulaschek

• Herausgeber: tredition
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

What if one anonymous message could change everything? In Nobody Tells the Truth, twelve-year-old Mia receives a mysterious message in the middle of the night: “You think you know the truth? Start with your best friend.” From that moment on, nothing is the same. Rumours begin to spread, secrets come to light, and an anonymous profile starts exposing classmates one by one. Together with her friends Noah, Lina and Sam, Mia sets out to uncover who is behind it all—and why. But the deeper they dig, the more dangerous the truth becomes. Hidden fears, broken trust, family secrets and shocking lies force the friends to question everything they thought they knew about each other and the adults around them. In a world where appearances can deceive and rumours can destroy lives, courage and loyalty may be the only way forward. Nobody Tells the Truth is a gripping middle grade mystery novel for readers aged 10 and up. This book offers: • A suspenseful mystery story full of secrets and twists • Strong themes of friendship, courage and trust • Relatable characters facing fear, doubt and loyalty • An exciting adventure about rumours, lies and truth • Emotional depth combined with page-turning tension • A powerful reading experience for children aged 10+ and young teens Perfect for readers who love: • Middle grade mystery books • Children’s adventure stories • Books about friendship and courage • School secrets and suspense • Emotional coming-of-age stories A compelling and thought-provoking story about friendship, bravery and the search for the truth.

Leseprobe

Dominik Mikulaschek, born in Linz in 1983, is known for his sensitive stories about friendship and courage. In his children’s book *Nobody Tells the Truth*, he draws young readers into a gripping mystery story full of suspense and emotional depth. With a keen sense of the fears and hopes of adolescents, he tells the story of twelve-year-old Mia, who one night receives a mysterious message and, together with her friends, sets out to uncover the truth behind an anonymous profile that is spreading false rumours about her classmates. In the process, they stumble upon a web of lies, half-truths and manipulation that puts not only their friendships but their entire trust in the adult world to the test. His book is a compelling plea for solidarity, moral courage and the realisation that truth has many faces – and that sometimes it is precisely what is kept hidden that hurts the most.

Dominik Mikulaschek

Nobody Tells the Truth

Friendship, courage and the search for the truth – an exciting children’s book for ages 10 and up

tredition GmbH

© 2026 Dominik Mikulaschek

Printing and distribution on behalf of the author:

tredition GmbH, Heinz-Beusen-Stieg 5, 22926 Ahrensburg, Germany

This work, including all its parts, is protected by copyright. The author is responsible for the content. Any use without his consent is prohibited. Publication and distribution are carried out on behalf of the author, who can be contacted at: Dominik Mikulaschek, Holzwurmweg 5, 4040 Linz, Austria.

Contact address in accordance with the EU Product Safety Regulation: [email protected]

Chapter 1 – The message at 02:17

Mia’s mobile vibrated on the bedside table like an angry beetle flying into a window, and she squinted into the darkness, fumbled for the screen and narrowed her eyes as the light burned into her face. The clock read 2.17 am, and for a second she thought it was the alarm, but that wasn’t due to go off until seven, and besides, it was Saturday, and besides, she’d completely forgotten to put her mobile on silent, and now she lay there wide awake, her heart pounding in her throat, because messages in the middle of the night never meant anything good. Her mum had always said that, but her mum wasn’t there anymore, and now Mia had to cope on her own with this fluttering feeling in her chest that felt like panic and curiosity all at once. She swiped across the screen, and a message from a number she didn’t recognise appeared—no name, no profile picture, just that one sentence sitting there, staring at her like a threat: You think you know the truth? Start with your best friend. Mia sat up, and her room was in darkness; only the moon was just peeking out from behind the clouds, casting a pale streak of light onto her bed, onto her hands clutching the mobile as if it might explode at any moment. Her best friend – that could only mean Noah, because Sam was different, Sam was more of a critical observer, and Lina was Lina, but Noah was the one who was always there, who never kept anything from her, or at least that’s what she’d thought; at least she’d relied on the fact that, in all the chaos that the last few months had been, there was at least one person who had no secrets. But now this message, in the middle of the night, and she didn’t know whether she should be angry or scared or just tired, because really she was one thing above all else: confused. She typed a reply: ‘Who are you?’, but the message didn’t go through; ‘Error sending’ it said, ‘Recipient unavailable’, and she tried again, then a third time, but each time the same result, as if the number had never existed, as if someone had sent a ghost message to her mobile just to unsettle her. Mia lay back, staring at the ceiling, where the shadows of the trees outside were moving, and tried to calm down, but her mind was already racing; what was that supposed to mean, ‘start with her best friend’? What did Noah know that she didn’t, and why would someone text her something like that at two in the morning and then vanish into thin air as if nothing had happened? She lay awake for a long time, tossing and turning, pulling the blanket up to her chin and closing her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Again and again she returned to that sentence, to those words that had burned themselves into her brain like a hot iron: ‘Start with your best friend.’ What if there really was something to it? What if Noah was hiding something? she hated the thought immediately, because Noah was Noah, the boy who’d saved her a seat on the bus in Year 5 when everyone else ignored her, who helped her when she didn’t know what to do, who always said what he thought, without beating about the bush, without false politeness. At some point, around half past three, she must have dozed off, because when she woke up next, it was light, and the sun was shining through the window straight onto her face; she squinted, reached for her mobile and immediately checked her messages, but there was nothing, no new message, no trace of the anonymous sender, just the old one that was still there, like a bad omen, and she took a screenshot because she felt she needed evidence, and sent it to the group chat called ‘We’ll find out everything’, a holdover from her last case, when they’d actually found out everything, or at least almost everything. Mia wrote: Did one of you write this?, and she waited; three dots appeared, then disappeared again, then appeared once more, then Sam wrote: Not me, I’m asleep at 2 am, and Lina: Same, besides, I’d never write something like that, what’s the point anyway, and Noah: No idea, looks like spam. Mia stared at Noah’s reply; she saw the words, but they felt wrong. She knew Noah; she knew how he wrote, how he reacted, and this was too smooth, too quick, too keen to brush the whole thing off as nothing— maybe she was just imagining it, because that stupid message had robbed her of her sleep and she was now seeing everything through that lens, but she couldn’t help herself; she zoomed in on his sentence, searching for a clue, for a hidden admission, but there was only that flat reply, which explained nothing and left everything open. Mia wrote: Since when do you write such short sentences at 9 in the morning?, and Noah replied: Since I’ve been tired? No idea what you want from me, and Sam wrote: Leave him alone, Mia, it’s just some bot, and Lina: Or someone playing a prank, delete the message and that’s that. Mia wrote: And what if it isn’t? What if there really is something to it? and she sent it off and knew immediately that she’d gone too far, that she’d accused Noah in front of the whole group without a shred of evidence, just because of a strange feeling, but she couldn’t shake that feeling; it stuck to her like chewing gum under the sole of her shoe, and the more she tried to ignore it, the stronger it got. Lina wrote: Mia, honestly, you’re seeing ghosts. Is anyone coming into town this afternoon? I need some new pens. And Sam: Later, I’ve got some maths to do. And Noah: Maybe, let me know. Mia put her mobile away, got up, got dressed, washed her face, brushed her teeth, did all the things you do in the morning, but her mind was elsewhere, she went into the kitchen; her father was sitting at the table with his cup of coffee and the newspaper, looked up when she came in, and smiled, but it was the sort of smile that didn’t really reach his eyes, that was there because it had to be, because he was the father and she was the daughter, and because the last few months had left their mark in ways neither of them could quite put into words. He asked, “Good morning, Mia, did you sleep well?” and she lied: “Yes,” because what was she supposed to say? No, Dad, I’ve received an anonymous threat and now I think my best friend is lying to me, and by the way, who is my mother really? The last bit was unfair; she knew that, but sometimes these thoughts just bubbled up without warning, and then they were there, and she couldn’t push them away anymore. She sat down opposite him, took a roll from the basket and spread jam on it , but she didn’t really eat; she just pushed the pieces back and forth on her plate until her father lowered the newspaper and looked at her with that look that meant: I know something’s wrong, but I’m waiting for you to tell me. He asked, “Mia? Is everything okay?” and she said, “Yeah, sure, everything’s fine,” and he nodded, but he didn’t believe her; she could see it in his eyes, and she hated that she was so easy to read, that she couldn’t lie like others without blushing or looking away, but she couldn’t explain to him what was going on now, because that would have meant explaining everything, and she couldn’t explain everything because she didn’t understand what was going on herself. She said, “I’m going back upstairs,” stood up, left the bread roll where it was, half-eaten, and disappeared into her room, where she flopped onto the bed and picked up her mobile again; the message was still there, she read it for the hundredth time, perhaps the thousandth, and every time that sentence jumped out at her: Start with your best friend. She scrolled through her chats with Noah, looking for something, anything, that was odd, that stood out, but there was nothing, just the usual stuff: jokes, pictures of cats he found funny, plans to meet up, once a long exchange about a series they’d both watched—nothing that hinted at a secret, but perhaps that was precisely the point, perhaps the best secrets were the ones you didn’t see because you didn’t know what to look for. She heard footsteps on the stairs, then a knock at her door, and without waiting for a reply, her father came in, sat on the edge of her bed and looked at her, and this time his gaze was more serious, more searching, as if he were looking for something she was hiding from him. He said, “Mia, I don’t want to pressure you, but you’ve seemed so distracted lately. Is there something going on at school, or with your friends?” And she said, “No,” and this time it sounded firmer, because she’d decided not to drag him into this thing she didn’t even know what it was herself. “Really not, Dad, I’m just tired, I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” He looked at her for a long time, then nodded slowly, stood up and walked towards the door, but stopped once more, his hand on the handle, and said: “You know, that you can come to me with anything, whatever it is, I’m here for you.” She said, “I know,” and she meant it, but at the same time she knew she wouldn’t do it, at least not now, because some things you had to sort out on your own, or at least with people who understood what it was really about, and her father wasn’t one of them, however hard he tried. Once he was out, she picked up her mobile again and sent a private message to Sam, because if anyone could think clearly, it was him: Sam, I need your opinion, seriously, not in the group chat, and it took a few minutes before the reply came: Fire away. She wrote: Do you think Noah’s hiding something?, and again those three dots, dancing, and then: Why do you ask?, and she: Because of that message tonight, I’ve got this weird feeling, and he: Feelings aren’t proof, Mia, you know that, and she: I know, but still, something’s not right, and he: Okay, let’s say he is hiding something, what could it be? Mia wondered what Noah could be hiding – that he’d secretly had a crush on someone? That would be embarrassing, but no reason for a message like that. That he’d stolen something? No way. That he knew who was behind the ‘Truth Profile’ everyone at school was talking about? That would be more likely, but the profile didn’t even exist yet, did it? She wrote: ‘Do you know that Truth Profile everyone’s talking about?’ And Sam: ‘Yeah, just rumours so far; no one knows if it really exists.’ And she: ‘And if it does? What if the message is from them?’ And he: ‘Then the question would be, why are they messaging you of all people?’ That was exactly the question: why her? She wasn’t one of those who were the centre of attention, who were popular or stood out in any way; she was simply Mia, who was sometimes too curious and sometimes too direct, but who could actually be invisible if she wanted to, and now this. She didn’t reply to Sam because she didn’t know what to write; instead, she opened the chat with Noah and typed a message, deleted it, typed again, deleted again, until finally only one sentence remained: ‘Can we meet up today? Just the two of us?’ She sent it before she could change her mind, and then she waited, and the waiting was the worst part, because every second that passed felt like an eternity, and in every second she imagined what he would reply, and none of the replies were good. Then, finally, the three dots, then his message: Sure, in the park? At 3? She wrote: “Yeah, see you then,” she put her phone away and took a deep breath. In the park, at three – that gave her a few more hours to get her thoughts in order, to think about what she wanted to ask him, and above all, how she wanted to ask it without it sounding like an interrogation, because if there was one thing she didn’t want, it was to lose Noah, just because of a stupid message from a stranger. The hours until three dragged on like chewing gum; she tried to read, but the letters blurred before her eyes; she tried listening to music, but every song reminded her of something she didn’t want to think about, she went downstairs, helped her father tidy up, answered his questions in monosyllables until he gave up and left her alone, and then, finally, it was quarter to three, and she put on her jacket, called “I’m off to Noah’s” into the flat and set off before her father could ask any more questions. The park was only ten minutes away, but today it seemed longer to her; every step a torment, every thought a new worry, and she could already see Noah sitting on the bench from a distance, next to the old fountain that hadn’t seen water for years, and for a moment she stopped and watched him sitting there, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground, and she wondered if he felt the same as she did, if he too felt this chaos, this sense that something was about to happen, something inevitable. Then he looked up, spotted her and waved, and she walked on, sat down beside him, but not too close, leaving a gap between them that wasn’t there before, and he said: “Hey,” and she: “Hey,” and silence; the wind rustled through the leaves, a dog barked somewhere, children screamed on the playground, but between them it was quiet, so quiet that Mia could hear her heart beating. Noah finally asked, “What did you want to talk about?”, and his voice sounded cautious, as if he already knew it wasn’t about just anything, but about something specific, something he might rather not hear, and Mia took a deep breath and said, “That message tonight, the one from the unknown number.” Noah nodded, but he didn’t look at her, and she said, “She wrote that I should start with my best friend—that’s you, Noah, you’re my best friend.” Now he looked up, and there was something in his eyes she couldn’t interpret, a flash that vanished quickly, but she’d seen it, she was sure of it, and he asked quietly: “And? Do you believe her?” and she: “I don’t know, should I?” He shrugged, a gesture that didn’t suit him at all, because Noah never shrugged when it came to something important; he stated his opinion, clearly and plainly, and this shrug was like an admission that he had no opinion, or that he didn’t want to say it. She said: “Noah, if you know something, anything at all, then tell me, please, we’re friends, aren’t we?”, and he was silent for so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer at all, but then, very quietly, he said: “I can’t, not yet, it’s... complicated.” Mia’s heart skipped a beat, and she said: “So it’s true? You’re hiding something?” and he: “I told you, it’s complicated, it’s got nothing to do with you, okay, it’s something else, something… I just can’t talk about it yet.” She asked: “But when then? When the profile posts it? When everyone knows, except me?” and Noah spun round, and now there was anger on his face, but also something else, something that looked like fear, and he said: “Which profile? What are you talking about?”, and she: “The Truth Profile, the one everyone at school is talking about, the anonymous account that posts leaks, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” He stared at her, and slowly it seemed to dawn on him what she meant, and his anger turned into something else, a mixture of relief and new worry, and he said: “You think I’m behind it?” She said: “I don’t think anything, I just know that someone texts me at two in the morning telling me to start with you, and you tell me you’re hiding something – what am I supposed to think?” Noah slapped the bench with the flat of his hand, once, twice, then he let his head drop and took a deep breath, and he said: “It’s not about that profile, okay? I swear to you, I’ve got nothing to do with it. I don’t even know if ‘ ’ really exists. It’s something else—something to do with me, with my family—but I can’t right now… I just can’t.” Mia wanted to say something, but then she saw that he was crying—not properly, not with sobs, but tears were running down his face, and he quickly wiped them away as if he were ashamed of them, and she’d never seen Noah cry before, not even at his hamster’s funeral when they were ten, and now he was sitting here, in the park, crying because she’d pressed him, because she wouldn’t let it go, because she always had to know everything. She said quietly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”, and he said, “It’s all right,” but it didn’t sound like ‘it’s all right’, it sounded like ‘leave me alone’, and she didn’t know what to do, whether she should stay or go, whether she should comfort him or just sit there until it was over. She decided to just sit there; they sat side by side, watching the clouds drift across the sky, and neither of them said a word until Noah finally sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, and then, so quietly she could barely make it out, said: “It’s my brother, my brother’s done something, something really stupid, and I’m trying to cover for him, but it’s not working, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.” Mia looked at him and asked, “What has he done?”, and Noah shook his head and said: “I can’t say any more, really, not now, but it’s got nothing to do with school, nothing to do with the course, nothing to do with you lot, it’s just… mine, mine and his.” She nodded slowly; there were some things you didn’t need to know, she’d learnt that, even if it was hard, and she said: “Okay, I won’t ask any more, but if you want to talk, I’m here.” He looked at her, and this time there was gratitude in his eyes, and a little relief, and he said: “Thanks, and I’m sorry I was acting so weird; I didn’t want to lie to you, but I didn’t know what to say.” She said: “You didn’t lie to me, you just didn’t tell me everything; that’s different,” and he nodded, and then, quite suddenly, they both had to laugh, because the whole situation was so absurd, so over-the-top and dramatic, and because laughter was sometimes the only thing that helped when you didn’t know what to do. They stayed sitting there for a while longer, talking about trivial things, about school, about films, about everything that had nothing to do with , brothers or anonymous messages, and when they finally said goodbye, it almost felt normal again, almost like it used to, but deep down inside her, there was that little tug, that quiet voice saying: That wasn’t the whole truth, and she knew she would accept Noah’s secret, but she also knew that tonight’s message spoke of something else, of something bigger, and that this was only the beginning. When she got home, she flung herself onto the bed and grabbed her mobile; no new messages, no profile had got in touch, but when she checked her notifications, she saw that someone had posted something in the clique group. She opened the chat and froze; Sam had shared a link, and underneath it said: Guys, the profile really does exist, the first post just went up, and guess who it’s about. Mia clicked on the link, and as the page loaded, she held her breath; then she saw it: a screenshot, a face she recognised, and a headline she couldn’t believe: ‘Lina S. – How the top of the class lies to her friends.’

Chapter 2 – The Profile Nobody Knows

The link led nowhere, at least not directly. Mia clicked once, twice, a third time, but each time only a blank page opened, with a grey box that read: Post removed, and she cursed under her breath, because this simply couldn’t be true, and at the same time she knew that was exactly the trick: you posted something, left it up for a few minutes, and once enough people had seen it, it vanished again, without a trace, like a mirage, but screenshots were faster than deletions, and Sam had sent one along, a single one that showed everything you needed to know, Lina’s face, the photo from the school portal, that official smile she always put on when adults were around, and above it, in bold letters, the headline that cut into Mia’s memory like a knife: Lina S. – How the top of the class lies to her friends. Mia stared at the screen as if she could change the words through sheer concentration, as if she could make them unbelievable just by looking hard enough, but they didn’t change; they stayed there, black on white, and there was nothing beneath them, no explanation, no details, just that one line that said everything and nothing, dragging Lina’s name through the mud without providing a single shred of evidence. She rang Sam, and he picked up on the first ring, and he asked, “Have you seen it?”, and his voice sounded tense, just as it always did when he didn’t understand something and desperately wanted to, and she said, “Yes, but the link’s dead. What exactly did it say?” He said, “Nothing, just the picture and the headline, no text, no explanation, nothing at all, but it was online long enough that at least fifty people saw it; the rumours are already flying.” She asked, “What rumours?”, and Sam sighed, and the fact that he sighed was never a good sign; Sam only sighed when he had to say something he’d rather not say, and then he said, “That Lina cheats in tests, that she gets hold of the answers, that her marks aren’t real at all.” Mia felt anger rising within her, hot and uncontrollable, and she said, “That’s ridiculous, Lina doesn’t cheat— , she crams her brains out every evening; everyone knows that.” Sam asked, “Do people know that? Do they really know, or do they believe it because she says so?” and Mia shouted: “Sam!”, but he said: “I’m just saying, I don’t think she’s cheating, but I’m saying what the others think, and the others think there might be something to it, because otherwise the profile wouldn’t have posted that at all, would it?” Mia stood up and paced up and down her room, her mobile pressed tightly to her ear, and she said: “That’s exactly what they want you to think – where there’s smoke, there’s fire – but there’s no smoke, Sam, there’s just this one post that proves nothing.” Sam said: “Nobody cares about proof, it’s all about the impression, about what sticks in people’s minds, you know how it goes,” and she knew it; she’d experienced it herself a few months ago, when rumours about her were doing the rounds and nobody asked what had really happened, and it had nearly destroyed her back then, and now it was happening to Lina, and she couldn’t do anything, absolutely nothing, except stand there and watch as the poison spread. She asked, “Have you spoken to Lina?” and Sam said, “No, she’s not getting in touch. I’ve texted her, but she just reads it, doesn’t reply.” She asked, “Where is she?”, and he said, “No idea, probably at home, or she’s hiding away somewhere. What would you do?” Mia thought about what she would do; probably the same thing, hide until the storm had passed, until everyone had forgotten she existed, but that didn’t help, it only made things worse, and she said resolutely: “I’m going to see her.” Sam asked, “Now?” and she said, “Yes, now. Do you want to come?” and he hesitated, just for a second, but she heard it, and then he said, “Sure, shall we meet at the corner? In ten?” and she said, “Fifteen, I need to get dressed first.” She hung up, threw on her jacket, this time without thinking, and ran off, down the stairs, past her father, who was just coming out of the kitchen and shouting something she didn’t understand because she was already out the door and leaping down the steps in front of the house, two at a time, three at a time, until she landed on the pavement and kept running as fast as she could. Lina lived five streets away, in one of those old houses with tall windows and a front garden where everything was always perfectly trimmed , as if someone had used a ruler and scissors, and Mia hated that garden because it looked as though you weren’t allowed to make any mistakes there, as though every blade of grass that grew crooked would be punished immediately, and she had often asked Lina if she wouldn’t rather live somewhere else, but Lina had just shrugged and said: “It doesn’t matter where you live, as long as you have a home.” Back then, Mia hadn’t understood what she meant; now, standing at the front door and pressing the bell, perhaps she understood it a little better. It took a long time for someone to open the door, so long that Mia began to think no one was home, but then she heard footsteps, quiet and hesitant, and the door opened a crack, and Lina’s face appeared in the dim light of the hallway, pale and with puffy eyes, and she asked: “What do you want?” and her voice sounded hoarse, as if she’d been shouting or crying or both. Mia said: “To see you, to talk; Sam’ll be here in a minute,” and Lina shook her head and said: “I don’t want to talk.” Mia said, “I realise that, but you don’t have to. We can just sit there, or we can go somewhere, or we can ignore each other—I don’t mind, as long as you’re not alone.” Lina looked at her, long and searching, as if looking for an ulterior motive, for a catch that would prove that Mia, too, had only come to ask questions, to pry, to demand the truth she couldn’t reveal, but then, very slowly, she opened the door a little wider, stepped aside and let Mia in. The house smelled of lemons and floor wax, that typical scent found in all houses where everything always had to be spotless, and they walked down the hall, past a coat rack where the jackets hung neatly side by side like soldiers in formation, and then up the stairs, into Lina’s room, which was just as tidy as the rest of the house, except that today everything seemed a bit more chaotic because there were cushions on the bed that weren’t in their proper places, and on the desk stood a glass, half-full of water that already looked stale. Lina sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them as if she needed to hold herself steady, and Mia sat down on the desk chair, spun it round a bit, said nothing, and downstairs the doorbell rang , Lina flinched, but Mia stood up and said, “I’ll get it, it’s Sam.” She ran down the stairs, flung the door open, and there stood Sam, slightly out of breath, as if he’d been running too, which he never usually did because running was uncool or tiring or both, and he asked quietly, “Is she okay?”, and she said, “No idea, she’s not talking.” He said, “Then let’s not talk, sounds good,” and they went upstairs together, and when Sam entered the room, he just gave Lina a brief nod and then sat down on the floor, leaning against the shelf where Lina’s folders stood, all labelled, all sorted by rainbow colours, because that was Lina—she sorted, categorised, kept track of everything until someone came along and threw it all into disarray. Silence, three people in a room, all of whom knew what it was about, and none of whom knew what to say; outside a car drove past, somewhere a child was crying, and in Lina’s room the clock ticked quietly away, second by second, as if counting how long they’d been sitting there like that. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Lina said, “I didn’t do anything,” her voice was quiet but firm, no question, no justification, just a statement, and Mia said, “I know,” and Sam said, “I know too.” Lina looked up, and in her eyes was something Mia hadn’t often seen in her: uncertainty, genuine, raw uncertainty, as if she didn’t know whether they believed her, as if she wasn’t even sure anymore whether she believed herself, and she said: “But everyone now thinks I’ve done something, and even if it turns out not to be true, the doubts will remain; that’s always the way it is, once accused, guilty forever.” Sam shifted restlessly from side to side and said, “Not forever, just until we find the one who posted it, and then we’ll force him to tell the truth.” Lina repeated: “The truth,” and it sounded bitter, “what is the truth, really? That I study until I drop, that I don’t get top marks because I’m clever, but because I’m wearing myself out, that I sometimes wake up at night in a panic because I think I might fail – is that the truth, or the one everyone wants to see?” Mia didn’t know what to say; she’d known Lina since primary school, but she’d never known that Lina felt this way, that beneath that perfect surface there was so much fear . Perhaps she’d never asked; perhaps she’d simply assumed that Lina was just as she appeared: strong, organised, unshakeable. And she asked quietly, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Lina shrugged and said: “What was I supposed to say? That sometimes I can’t take it anymore, that I wish, just once, to get a D, just to know what it’s like not to have to be perfect? You’ve all got enough to deal with yourselves – Noah with his brother, Sam with his scepticism, you with your mother. I didn’t want to be anything more; I just wanted to be the one who works.” Sam looked at her, and there was something in his gaze that looked like respect, or perhaps sympathy, or perhaps simply the realisation that sometimes you knew nothing about the people you thought you knew best, and he asked: “And now? Now everyone knows, at least those who’ve seen the post.” Lina nodded slowly and said, “Now they know I’m a lie, or that I lied, or that I’m cheating, depending on which rumour catches on.” Mia said, “You’re not a lie,” and it came out more firmly than she’d intended, “you just didn’t tell the whole story; that’s different. I’ve learnt that today too.” Lina looked at her questioningly, but Mia shook her head and said, “Later. First, it’s about you. We need to find out who’s running the profile and why, and then we need to provide proof that the post is a lie.” Lina said quietly, “But it isn’t a lie, not entirely,” and Mia froze, Sam too; both looked at Lina, who lowered her gaze and fiddled with the hem of her jumper, a thread she kept winding round her finger until the tip turned completely red. Sam asked, “What do you mean by that?” His voice was completely calm, but Mia knew him well enough to hear that, inside, he’d long since been running through every possible conclusion, and Lina was silent for a long time, so long that Mia thought she wouldn’t answer at all, but then, very quietly, she said: “In the maths test last week, there was a question I couldn’t do; I just didn’t understand it, even though I’d studied, even though I’d done everything I always do, and I started to panic, a real panic where you think, you’re about to suffocate, and then I glanced over at Emil, who sits next to me, just briefly, just for a second, but I saw what he’d written down, and then I knew the answer again, and I wrote it down, and it was right.” She paused, took a deep breath, and when she continued speaking, her voice trembled, “I didn’t copy, I just looked, but if I’m honest, it was still wrong, because I wouldn’t have known it without that glance, and because afterwards I felt so guilty that I couldn’t even be happy about the A.” Mia didn’t know what to think; part of her wanted to say that it was no big deal, that everyone had a peek now and then, that it was by no means cheating, but another part—the smaller, quieter one—wondered whether Lina was just saying that to absolve herself, or whether it was really true, and whether it made any difference. Sam asked, “Did anyone see? That you looked over?” and Lina said, “I don’t know, maybe, maybe Emil noticed, but he wouldn’t say anything, or someone else—I wasn’t the only one who panicked; maybe there was someone who was watching closely, watching everyone who might have cheated.” Sam asked, “And what if that someone runs the profile?” and Lina looked up and said, “Then he’d have evidence, then my name wouldn’t just be out there for no reason, but for a reason, and then the question would be, how much does he want, or does he just want everyone to know?” Mia stood up and went to the window; outside, the world was completely normal, people were out walking, a dog was sniffing a lamppost, and inside, everything was just falling apart; she turned round and said, “We have to find out who it is before the next post comes, and before the adults get involved and make everything even worse.” Sam repeated, “The adults—what about them? Do you think they know anything?” And Mia thought of the message from last night, of the sentence that had brought them here: ‘Start with your best friend.’ Did that have something to do with Lina, or with something completely different? She didn’t know, but she knew she mustn’t think about it now; Lina was important right now, Lina and that post that could destroy her life if they didn’t act fast enough. She said: “We need a plan, just like back then. Everyone takes on a task. Sam, you find out who saw the post first, who shared it, who reacted strangely. Lina, you think about who might have a grudge against you, no matter how small, no matter how long ago, and I...” Lina asked, “What are you doing?”, and Mia thought about what she was doing; she had no idea where to start, but then she remembered the message again, and the thought that had been gnawing at her mind for hours, like a burdock you couldn’t get rid of, and she said, “I’ll talk to Noah, we need to know if his secret has anything to do with the profile, and if not, then we at least need to know what it is so we can rule out it being used against us.” Sam raised an eyebrow and said, “Only yesterday you didn’t want to press him,” and she said, “Yesterday was yesterday; today the profile attacked Lina; tomorrow it’ll be our turn; we have to be prepared.” Lina nodded slowly; she still looked pale, still vulnerable, but in her eyes was that sparkle again, that determination not to give up, which Mia admired so much in her, and she said, “Okay, let’s do that, but one more thing.” Mia asked, “What?” and Lina said, “When we find the person doing this, what then? Do we report them, go to the headteacher, or do we do what we did last time and let them off if they promise to stop?” Mia didn’t know the answer; she only knew that she had to find the culprit before anything else got broken, and that the truth sometimes hurt, but that lies always hurt, always, and that she would never let herself be lied to again, never, no matter by whom, and she said, “We’ll decide that when the time comes; for now, let’s find out who it is, everything else later.” Sam stood up, stretched, and for a moment it was almost as it always was, almost normal, but then he looked at Lina, and there was something in his gaze that Mia had never seen before, a tenderness that he usually hid behind sarcasm, and he said quietly: “You can do this, we can do this, together.” Lina smiled, a tiny smile that barely reached the corners of her mouth, but it was a start, and that was all they needed for now. Mia said a quick goodbye, leaving the two of them alone because she sensed they still had something to discuss in private, something that was none of her business, and she ran home, slower this time, because she had to think, because her head was spinning and she was trying to make sense of the chaos—the profile, Lina’s secret, Noah’s brother, and that message, which was still on her mobile, like a sign on the wall. When she got home, her father wasn’t there, just a note on the kitchen table: Out shopping, be back later, love you, and she folded it up and put it in her pocket, because she suddenly felt the need to have something that was real, that proved there were people who loved her without asking for anything in return. Up in her room, she picked up her mobile and texted Noah: Can we meet up again? Tomorrow? It’s important, and this time the reply came straight away: Sure, same place? At 11? And she wrote: Yes, and Noah? And he: What? And she: Thanks. She put her mobile down and stared at the ceiling, where the shadows of the trees were still dancing; somewhere in the city, Lina was sitting in her perfect room, trying not to fall apart, somewhere Sam was sitting and making lists of suspects, somewhere Noah was sitting and thinking about his brother, and somewhere, very near or very far away, someone was sitting in front of a screen and typing the next message, the next half-truth, the next destruction. Mia closed her eyes; she was tired, so incredibly tired, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep, not tonight, perhaps never again, until this was over, and her mobile vibrated—a message. She snapped her eyes open and reached for it; her heart was pounding against her ribs, but it was only Sam, who wrote: ‘Got the first clue, I’ll be in touch tomorrow.’ She took a deep breath. A clue. Good, that was good. She wrote back: ‘Which one?’, but Sam didn’t reply. He was probably already on his way, or asleep, or he didn’t want to feed her half-truths, and she put her mobile away, for good this time, and pulled the blanket up to her chin. It was getting dark outside, and in the darkness you could hide all sorts of things: secrets, lies, the truth, but Mia would find them, all of them, one by one, and if it was the last thing she did, she just didn’t know yet that the truth sometimes hurt, and that some things would have been better left in the dark.