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Your mother smiles at you as you come down the stairs. Your hair is well-combed today and she notices.

"Who are you trying to impress?" she asks.

You, of course, being the teenager you are, don't answer her. She doesn't need to know about your love life (or lack thereof). She makes you toast with your favorite spread for breakfast and packs you a lunch. You trudge out the door and head to class without thanking her.

When you reach your final block of the day, you realize you have not finished your homework. Your psychotic 4th block teacher is going to murder you. Literally murder you and hang your head up on a metal spike for all who think they can get a good grade in his class.

Down the hall, you cower in fear at attending his class and go over your options in your little head.