My dad was a high school dropout with a rap sheet. My mom was a wild child with a temper. They had me when they were barely legal. They didn't care much about my upbringing, until one day, they realized something was wrong. Very wrong. Dad: "She’s in sixth grade and hasn't cut class once. Do you think she’s sick?" Mom: "Look what I found under her bed! A Principal's Honor Roll certificate! It’s disgusting. What are we going to do?" That day, they dragged me out of the house for a "corruption tour"—hair dye, tattoos, and internet cafes. They were determined to set me on the "right" path: the path of delinquency. 1. Jax saw me putting on my backpack and stopped me. "Where are you going this early?" "School," I said. "It's Saturday, kid." "Finals are coming up. My study group is meeting at the library." Jax, who was nursing a hangover on the couch, rubbed his eyes. "Wait. Just... wait." He sat up, looking at me like I was a stranger. Then he craned his neck and yelled, "Roxy! Roxy, get your ass out here!" Roxy stumbled out of the bedroom. She’d been out all night; her smoky eyeliner was smeared halfway down her cheek. "Stop screaming, my head is splitting," she groaned, kicking a beer can out of the way. "Your daughter," Jax pointed a shaking finger at me. "She’s going to school. On a Saturday. Voluntarily." Roxy pulled off a false eyelash. "You handle it." "I'm serious!" I sighed. "Can I go now?" Roxy waved a hand. "Whatever. Go be a nerd." When I got home that afternoon, they were both sitting in the living room. Awake. This was rare. Usually, our schedules were like ships passing in the night. I went to school while they slept; they went out to party when I did my homework. Seeing them both sober and staring at me was unsettling. I walked past them, head down, and went straight to my room. My stuff had been tossed. Books on the floor, drawers open. Outside, I heard Jax’s voice, surprisingly serious. "I called the school. She was actually there. It’s freaky." "I thought she was sneaking out to see a boy," Roxy sounded disappointed. "I tore her room apart looking for love letters. When I was her age, my diary was full of names..." "Which names?" Jax asked. "Focus, idiot. The point is, I found this instead." Paper rustled. "Is that... what I think it is?" Jax’s voice trembled. "Yeah," Roxy sighed. "A certificate. Not for 'Most Improved' or 'Perfect Attendance.' It’s for 'Academic Excellence.' Straight A's. She’s hiding this filth in our house." Silence. "We failed her," Roxy sniffled. "I expected her to be rebellious, but... rebelling by being a model citizen? I didn't see that coming." 2. I wasn't listening anymore. I was looking around my trashed room with a weird sense of satisfaction. My friend Sarah always complained that her parents took her door off the hinges so they could watch her. I used to be jealous. My parents never came in here. I could have built a bomb in here and they wouldn't have noticed. But today? They raided my room. They cared. I walked out, trying to hide a smile. "You guys went through my stuff?" They exchanged a guilty look. Jax pointed at Roxy. "Her idea." Smack. Roxy hit his arm. "You liar!" "It's okay," I said. "Just... try not to mess up my filing system next time." "There won't be a next time," Roxy said quickly. "No, please," I said. "Feel free to invade my privacy." They looked at me like I had grown a second head. "Go change," Roxy commanded, recovering her composure. "We're going out. You need fixing." 3. And so began the strangest family outing in history. First stop: The Hair Salon. The owner knew Roxy. "Back again, Rox? Want to go purple this time?" "Not me," she pushed me forward. "Her. Fix this." The guy looked at my natural, un-styled hair. "She's just a kid." "Exactly. Give her some color." I sat in the chair. "I want to choose." Roxy hesitated. "Fine. But pick something edgy. Orange? Neon green?" I looked at the color chart. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. "I want... Midnight Black." "That's just black," Jax said. "No," I said solemnly. "It represents the darkness of my soul. It’s the color of the void. It’s misunderstood. It’s... deep." Jax’s eyes widened. He nudged Roxy. "Whoa. She’s got the emo poetry down. That’s my girl." Half an hour later, I walked out with a trim and slightly shinier black hair. "Is it rebellious?" they asked the stylist while paying. "Uh, sure," the stylist shrugged. "Very goth." 4. Next stop: The Tattoo Parlor. The walls were covered in flash art—skulls, snakes, daggers. "Old Mike, new client," Roxy announced. Mike looked up from his sketchpad. "She's twelve." "She's mature for her age," Jax said. He rolled up his sleeve to show a faded dragon. "Show her the good stuff." Roxy showed off her wrist—a string of numbers. "My parents' death dates. Don't copy that." Then she showed her bicep. The characters for 'New Beginning.' "My ex's name was Newman. When we broke up, I added 'Beginning' to cover it." I tried not to laugh. "I know what I want," I said. "Yeah? Something fierce?" Jax grinned. "I want a quote." "Nice," Old Mike prepped his gun. " What is it? 'Born to Die'? 'Only God Can Judge Me'?" "No," I said. "'I Love Mom and Dad'." Jax and Roxy froze. Old Mike put the gun down. "I'm not tattooing a kid, and I'm definitely not tattooing that." Roxy grabbed my arm. "Let's go. You're embarrassing me. You're too soft." "Wait," I said. "If I can't get a tattoo, take me to the arcade." 5. We ended up at a gaming center. Jax and Roxy were in their element. They flanked me, booting up League of Legends and Overwatch. "Okay, kid, pick your poison. Which one is cooler?" I sat at the middle computer. I opened Microsoft Word. "Look at this," I said, typing rapidly. "See how fast I can type the essay I memorized? And look at the formatting options! The gradient text effects! It's thrilling!" They stared at my screen. "Is this... a simulator?" Jax asked. "It's a productivity tool," I beamed. They watched me format a document for twenty minutes in silence. "I think she's broken," Roxy whispered to Jax.
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