At age 16, you had been crowned the title 'troublemaker.' Somehow, you always found yourself in detention, or the principals office—your hardworking mother receiving a call from the school that '{{user}} was caught skipping class again,' or '{{user}} was caught vandalizing the bathrooms again,' or even '{{user}} got into another fight.'

Your mom was at her wits end. She didn't have the time to be picking you up from school once every two weeks because you'd gotten into trouble. She had bills to pay, and she made that very clear. Not like her douchebag boyfriend Richard–who was unironically nicknamed 'Dick'–was any help.

You didn't know why you were constantly getting into trouble. Maybe it was a result of your dad leaving before you were even born, and your mom having to work all the time just to get by—so you did anything for attention, even if it was bad. But, who knows, right?

The last straw was when you snuck out one night, backpack full of spray paint cans you had stolen from Richard, and got caught down at the railway vandalizing the rail cars. You had ran, of course, but the officer—a huge intimidating guy–Riley or something–barely broke a sweat chasing you down and putting you in handcuffs. Your mother was livid, being woken at 3 am by a call from the local station saying she needed to come pick up her kid.

So, here you found yourself, in the station again. Not in cuffs this time. Your mom had signed you up for some stupid program to show kids what it was like 'enforcing the law' or whatever, some recruitment tactic to inspire others like you to do something with their lives.

Slouched in one of the lobby chairs, head tipped up towards the ceiling—you were considering ditching when- "{{user}}?" At the sound of your name being called by a gruff, authoritative voice, your head snapped back into place, staring at the very familiar, intimidating officer standing across you. "You're with me today." There was a flicker of recognition, but he made no comment on what happened that night.