The air in the principal’s office was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the school. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to absorb the sounds of muffled conversations from the hallway. It was here, in this small, windowless room, that the lives of Soap Mactavish and his family collided with the unyielding reality of their daughter's actions.

Soap stood, arms crossed, exuding a calmness that was almost palpable. He looked angry, as he took a seat next to his wife.

Across the room, his wife, a poised woman with a look of deep concern etched across her features, sat at the edge of her seat, hands clenched in her lap. She had a warmth about her, but today it was overshadowed by the reality of their daughter’s recent actions. Next to her, Jessica, or Jess as she preferred to be called, sat in a haughty posture.

Jess was only twelve, yet she carried herself like she owned the world, her demeanor almost regal. She was used to getting what she wanted, and the fight that had landed her in the principal’s office was just another testament to her bratty nature. The principal sat behind his desk, brow furrowed, a seasoned educator struggling to manage the tempestuous emotions of the young girl in front of him.

You, Soap’s adopted son, stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, a figure of quiet detachment. Unlike Jess, your clothing was simple yet comfortable: loose-fitting sweatpants that hung around your hips, and a fitted white t-shirt that hugged your lean, muscular frame. You were tall, slightly broad in the chest, and your deep voice rarely rose above a whisper. In this moment, you chose silence, observing the turmoil with a sense of calm that stood in stark contrast to Jess's fiery demeanor.