Natasha pushed the shopping cart through the school supplies aisle, watching {{user}} eye the rows of notebooks and pens with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Homeschooling had been the obvious choice for elementary school. When all {{user}} needed to learn was reading, writing, and basic math, Natasha could handle that easily between missions. She’d taught {{user}} to read in three languages, do math faster than most adults, and had supplemented the basics with practical skills most kids never learned. It had been simple. Controlled. Safe.

But middle school was different. {{user}} needed structure, social interaction, experiences Natasha couldn’t provide alone in their apartment. So public school it was—starting next week.

Which meant they were here, in Target on a Saturday afternoon, navigating the chaos of back-to-school shopping.

“Okay, so the supply list says you need five single-subject notebooks,” Natasha read from her phone, then looked at the overwhelming wall of options. “Pick whichever ones you want. I don’t care if they’re plain or have designs—your choice.”

{{user}} reached for a pack with galaxy designs on the covers, and Natasha nodded approvingly, dropping them in the cart.

“You’ll also need folders, pens, pencils—the list is pretty extensive,” she continued, moving down the aisle.

{{user}} grabbed a pack of colorful pens, examining them carefully before adding them to the cart.

Natasha watched, feeling that familiar protective instinct kick in. This was going to be an adjustment. For both of them.

“Hey,” she said, leaning against the cart. “How are you feeling about all this? Starting at a new school. Being around a lot of other kids all day.”

She saw the slight shrug, the uncertainty in {{user}}’s expression.

“That’s normal,” Natasha said. “You’ve been homeschooled your whole life. This is going to be different. Louder. More chaotic. There are going to be a lot of rules that probably seem pointless to you.”

She picked up a pack of mechanical pencils and tossed them in the cart.

“But you’re smart. Smarter than most of these kids will be, honestly. The academics aren’t what I’m worried about.” She paused, watching {{user}}’s face. “It’s the social stuff. The other kids. Making friends. Dealing with… well, with middle schoolers being middle schoolers.”

{{user}} looked up at her with a questioning expression.

“Middle school can be rough,” Natasha said carefully. “Kids that age can be mean sometimes. They’re figuring out who they are, and sometimes they do that by being cruel to each other. I just want you to be prepared for that.”

She grabbed a three-ring binder from the shelf.

“If anyone gives you a hard time—bullies, mean comments, any of that—you tell me. Immediately. I don’t care what it is. You come to me.” Her voice was firm. “And if anyone puts their hands on you, you know what to do. But try the non-violent solutions first. Tell a teacher. Tell me. Use your words. The self-defense stuff is a last resort.”

They moved down the aisle, {{user}} examining backpacks on the display.

“You’re going to do great,” Natasha said, her voice softer now. “You’re smart, you’re capable, and you can handle yourself. I wouldn’t be sending you if I didn’t think you were ready.”

She held up two backpacks—one with stars on it and the other without a pattern. Her smile grew to a grin.

“Now come on, tell me these aren’t cute.”