Mom yanked at my dress as she scolded me, as if wearing it were something shameful, something indecent.

The sting on my cheek spread all the way to my chest, burning deep. "Mom, they're my best friends," I pleaded. "Please stop."

Her anger flared. "You used to listen to me. You did whatever I said without question. However, ever since you started hanging around with them, you've learned to argue and lie to me.

"Tell me, how can a bunch of useless nobodies like them be called friends?"

I closed my eyes, my breath trembling as anger and humiliation clawed at my chest. The pressure caved in on me with such force that it almost suffocated me. Just as I was about to fight back, my body froze.

Maybe my emotions had spiked too high and triggered the microchip. Suddenly, all my sadness and anger vanished, leaving only a crushing emptiness. For a moment, it felt like resisting no longer had any meaning.

I couldn't remember how I got home that night.

…

After the party came finals week, and Mr. Thorne announced a parent-teacher conference.

Chris Sawyer, another classmate, and Myra called out to me mysteriously after class. "Elsa, come here. We got you something. You've seemed down lately."

He smiled as he pulled a hair clip from his pocket. "Let me put it on for you."

However, before he could reach me, Mom suddenly appeared out of nowhere. She shoved him hard. "What do you think you're doing? It's you, isn't it? You're the one corrupting my daughter! Haven't you ever been taught about proper boundaries between boys and girls? This is disgraceful!"

Then, she began hitting him repeatedly.

Mr. Thorne quickly stepped in, seizing her arm. "Mrs. White, please! This is a school. Don't humiliate Elsa in front of everyone."

"Humiliate her? She's already doing that herself!" Mom snapped, waving the hair clip wildly. "She's practically dating him. Can't you see?"

She then pulled out my diary and shoved it at Mr. Thorne, even beginning to read aloud in front of the entire class. "Read this! 'He stood up for me today, and he even spoke to me first.'"

A wave of shame washed over me, and my hands trembled. "Mom, that's my diary. It's my privacy."

Mom glared at me. "I'm your mother. I gave birth to you, raised you, and you're talking to me about privacy?"

"Mrs. White," Mr. Thorne insisted. "Education requires understanding. Children need their space and privacy too."

Mom snapped, "If that's your idea of teaching, then we need to have a serious talk. Elsa's been lying, dating behind my back, and her grades are slipping. Is this what you call good education?"

She grabbed at Mr. Thorne's sleeve, shouting, "You're not fit to be a teacher! Come with me to the principal's office right now. You should be suspended before you ruin any more students!"

The commotion drew the attention of our year's assistant principal, Anna Whitaker, who hurried over to see what was happening.

Mom yanked me forward. "Elsa, tell Ms. Whitaker what kind of teacher Mr. Thorne is. Tell her he lets you mess around with boys and doesn't even care that your grades are slipping."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mom pressed something on her phone.

Suddenly, the world went white. My vision blurred, and pain exploded behind my eyes.

I stared blankly at the people surrounding me, unable to grasp what was happening.

Suddenly, fragments of memories flooded my mind—Mr. Thorne's cold stares when my grades slipped, and the mocking I faced whenever I got close to the boys in our class.

Thinking of all this, the words slipped out before I could stop them. "Yes, Mom."

She raised a brow. "See? A teacher like this should be suspended. I expect you to explain this today."