It was a little past seven in the evening when I got the phone call. I had just gotten home from work and kicked my feet up on the couch, half-supervising my daughter as she sat quietly in the corner of the living room, coloring intensely with the brand new set of colored pencils she'd just received for her birthday. 

"Hello, is this the parent of Sofia Lancaster?"

I recognized the number as coming from Sofia's school, but it still took a colossal effort to keep the phone pressed to my ear. The voice on the other end of the line was so dry that I almost mistook it for an automated message. 

"Yes, this is her mom. How can I help you?" 

"Good evening, Mrs. Lancaster. This is Sofia's teacher- Ms. Kelley. I was just grading my students' pre-Benchmark assessments from earlier today, and I'm afraid I have a few concerns about your daughter's performance. I was wondering if you and Sofia would be available for a short conference before school tomorrow morning." 

"Oh, Ms. Kelley, I..." I trailed off, my heart pounding in my chest as I glanced over at Sofia who was still naively filling in the yellow petals of a laughing paper sunflower. Perhaps I had made a mistake not telling her just how important the pre-Benchmark was. 

I'd received plenty of criticism from other parents for deciding not to reveal to her the details of the assessment, parents who had their children enrolled in Benchmark prep programs ever since they learned to walk, but I had always been firmly against that approach. After all, the stress and depression levels of adolescents nationwide had been on the rise ever since my own high school years, and the implementation of worldwide Benchmark assessments to rank and classify and compare the sanity out of young people had only made things worse. I wasn't about to throw my Sofia off that academic cliff- no, I would do everything in my power to give her some semblance of a childhood. 

But her teacher's voice on the phone talking about her 'concerns' brought a new question to my mind. What was the cost of my daughter's innocence? 

"Hello?" 

"Yes, Ms. Kelley, I'm sorry. I can come in tomorrow." 

"Wonderful, thank you. Have a great night."