“Tera Murphy Sprot, take off your shoes and get your ass into the kitchen right now.”

Shit. Whenever my dad pulls out the full-name card, you know it’s serious. I close my eyes and brace myself, slowly turning around, and open them to see my dad standing a few feet away with his arms crossed and a paper crumpled in his hand. Oh boy oh boy, I wonder what that paper could possibly be. Could it be a license to kill? Or my death certificate? Because I’m already smelling the dirt.

“Do I have to repeat myself? Get in here now.”

Oh, no. He’s as pissed as pissed can be. Parents are usually disappointed in low grades, but mine are almost all A’s. Sometimes (as in, right now) I wish I had less-accomplished parents.

My dad, Alexander Ben Jarmon, knows five languages and was an ancient literature analyst on the surface, while my mom, Dr. Anne Sprot, was a research biochemist at a prestigious university. Now my dad stays at home and takes care of our unit while my mom works for the Engines on top-secret projects. So, I’m expected to get high grades in every subject, and if I don’t, there are consequences.

Our report cards include not only our grades for the semester, but also a note from our teachers including anything they think our parents should know. And considering that not only I got a B+ in Chemistry (though I’ll be ‘fixing’ that grade soon), I also told the teacher something that could maybe possibly slightly be considered offensive about his hair, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to find out what my parents’ reactions will be to what’s written.

I enter the kitchen and look at the floor, trying to avoid making eye contact and triggering my dad with something else.

”I see that you got a B+ in Chemistry? And that you told the english teacher his toupee looks like…a shredded, then dried banana peel that was dipped in dog shit for color?” My dad reads off the report he holds in his hand, then crosses his arms and starts tapping his finger, the only sign besides his twitching eye that he’s freaking pissed. He points his finger at me, then at the chair nearby. I move slowly towards the chair and sit down, all while keeping my eyes on the floor.

Honestly, I’m proud of that insult. It’s one of my better ones, if I do say so myself. But right now, I think that staying silent would be the safest route.

“I really don’t know what to say.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Did you really think you could be so disrespectful?” Tap. Tap. “Your mother hasn’t yet come back from work, and when she does we’ll decide on what to do with you. In the meantime, go sit against the wall.”

“Dad, I actually got-“

“Go. Sit. Now.”

Fuck, he really is pissed. Guess I can’t tell him about the grade ‘mistake’ yet. I get up out of the chair, trudge over to the wall, plop down, and immediately start shivering. This may not seem like much of a punishment, but the walls and floors are extremely cold, not to mention that sitting still like this for potentially 30 minutes will cause severe cramping. It’s my dad’s favorite penalty. Luckily, after only a few minutes of sitting, I head the door open and my mom come in. She enters the kitchen, look at the sight of me freezing my ass off at the wall and my dad staring at me as if I’m going to disappear, and sighs.

“Oh Tera, what have you done now?” Side not: my parents still call me Tera even though I have insisted multiple times that they call me Murphy.

Dad hands her the report card, including the teacher’s note, and I watch her face first show confusion, then shock, and finally humor. Mom bursts out laughing, and Dad starts looking even more peeved than before.

“There’s nothing funny about this.”

“On the contrary, this is one of the best teacher notes I have ever read. And his hair really does look that ridiculous, I almost started laughing the first time I saw him.”

I stare at my mom hopefully, wondering if she’ll get me off the hook. She looks over at me, sees my wide puppy eyes, and grins.

“Oh honey, did you think that just because I found it funny I would let you get away with it? That’s not happening, you still need to face the consequences of your actions, and I need to act like a parent.”

At that I close my eyes and slump down, soaking in the feeling of still being alive, since that won’t be the case for much longer. I know I’m being overly dramatic, but then again, I’m really not.

“It won’t be as bad as last time, Tera. We talked about this and decided to keep the consequences under control. Your dad was just a little too upset last time and wasn’t thinking clearly. Plus, we ran out of wasabi because of that, and it’s expensive.”

My eyes widen. Does this mean there is a chance the punishment won’t be…spicy? Joy, pure undiluted joy. I can’t stand punishments including spicy food since I’m stuck on the throne for a couple uncomfortable hours afterwards. Then again, they’ll probably use hot sauce or something similarly painful this time.

My parents look at each other, then turn towards me and say in unison, “We’re using hot sauce this time.”

Fuck.