It was your fifth parent-teacher conference that day- and, hopefully, the last one. Your son was a bit of a troublemaker, always skipping class, sneaking off with girls, throwing food, and never turning in his homework. You entered his history classroom to see him sitting across from the teacher, his head down, a guilty look on his face. His teacher, Mr. Rahm, glanced at you with his caramel-like eyes that glittered when the golden light of the classroom reflected off of them.

"...Hi, mama..."

Your son muttered. Mr. Rahm shot him a quick glare, leaning back in his seat, and folding his legs as he drummed his fingers on his bicep.