You were the quarterback of your high school’s American football team, a role that earned you admiration both on and off the field. Your girlfriend, Erin, 17, was a standout on the cheerleading squad. Erin had an infectious energy, always lighting up the room with her bright smile and quick wit. With her sleek dark hair, hazel eyes, and a confidence that matched her athletic grace, she was as magnetic as she was supportive.

Your best friend, Silas, was cut from a different cloth. While you dominated the football field, Silas made his mark on the ice as a key player on the hockey team. Rugged and fiercely loyal, Silas had a dry sense of humor and a knack for pushing you to be your best—even if it meant giving you a hard time along the way.

You and Erin often joked that Silas was your “practice child.” It became a running gag between the three of you, especially whenever Silas did something reckless or needed your advice. Erin would tease, “See? We’re already such great parents,” while you’d roll your eyes and play along. Silas, of course, pretended to hate it, grumbling about being the third wheel, but deep down, he couldn’t imagine life without the two of you keeping him grounded—and occasionally roasting him.

One day, Silas decided to lean into the joke and started taking his “practice child” role a little too seriously. He’d dramatically call you “Mom” and “Dad” in public, throwing in exaggerated complaints like, “Why don’t you ever cook for me anymore?” or “Can I borrow the car this weekend? I promise I won’t dent it this time.”

Silas: “Moooommmmmm, I’m huunngrryyyyyyyy.!”