I put on a smile as I approach the table, sliding in on Jessica's side, watching as Scott and Nathan talk to Richard. Jessica turns and smiles at me, telling me that she hasn't had an opportunity to talk to me all evening. Holding up her hand, she flashes a two carat diamond ring, and tells me that she wants to be one of her bridesmaids when her and Scott get married next June. I accept, and pull her into a hug.

"How do Nathan and Scott know Richard?" I whisper to her.

"Scott and Richard went to college together," Jessica replies easily. "And Nate met Richard when he was having some issues with the former property owners. Richard was the one who convinced them to move to Florida." She pulls back and gets a good look at me. "Why? Do you know him?"

"I met him eleven hours ago," I reply, shaking my head. "His nephew is in my class. He was...smarmy," I say, wrinkling my nose.

Jessica giggles. "Yeah, he can get that impression sometimes," she tells me, looking round me to see that Franklin and Caroline are standing at the bar. "Is it finally happening?" she asks, nodding to them.

I nod. "Yes. A little plan Frankie and I cooked up together. I actually convinced your sister that Frankie was hopped up on prescription drugs or something," I tell her, shaking my head while Jessica laughs.

The door of the restaurant comes open, and Nathan looks up to see the Friday night entertainment arriving. He excuses himself from the conversation, and Scott and Richard continue speaking as Nathan goes towards the door. He greets all of the musicians in turn before showing them to the stage, and going behind the microphone himself and switching it on.

"Hello everyone, and welcome to The Electric Violin," Nathan says, grinning at all his loyal patrons. "Tonight, we have the musical stylings of Onyx Nicotine," he says and claps his hands as the rest of the patrons clap along with him. "We have this lovely dance space here, and we're going to get the lights working momentarily, so I'd like to invite you all out to use the space. My sister, Jessica, who is here tonight, is going to marry Scott, her long-term boyfriend, so maybe if the two of them begin, it will encourage you all to partake," he says, a grin forming on his lips as he finds Jessica in the crowd, before nodding to the customers, as well as the band before slipping back to the table.

The band picks up by playing a cover of Don't Stop Believin' by Journey, and Jessica and Scott get up from the table and proceed to dance. I watch as Caroline and Franklin go next, and see Nathan's confused look as the pair of them look so committed to one another. A handful of other couples go up to the floor, and Richard turns to greet his brother and sister-in-law, Paul and Stephanie, frequent visitors to my classroom, who apparently love this place as much as I do. Stephanie sees me and approaches me immediately, throwing her arms around me.

"Sarah, it's great to see you!" she says, pulling back ever so slightly to air-kiss my cheek. "I haven't seen you outside your work clothes before. I must say, you look great!"

I smile at her. "Thank you, Stephanie. How are you?"

"Well, Paul and I got back this afternoon from our business trip to New York," she says. "It was amazing—the client got the deal they wanted... But, I heard there was a small issue with Richard dropping off Harrison. Would you mind filling me in?"

"No, of course I wouldn't mind," I answer her as the band takes up Dream On by Aerosmith, not even caring that it was the weekend. "Your brother-in-law arrived—several minutes late, mind you—with your son, and proceeded to make inappropriate jokes and comments. He even had the nerve to attempt to flirt his way out of it. I explained to him the potential severity to the whole situation, but he didn't seem to want to hear it. I told him that, if this happened a second time, then the dean would warn him personally, but if it happened a third time, then Harrison couldn't be dropped off by him anymore. And it's not my policy, mind you, it's the schools'."

"No, no, I understand completely," Stephanie replies. "And my brother-in-law really tried to flirt with you?" she demands.

I nod. "Yes, although I'm sure it wasn't meaningful. He did so by making inappropriate jokes in an attempt to reason with me, I suspect. If he expects to go on by playing lawyer hardball with me, it simply won't work. I love crime shows, Stephanie. I know every trick in the book, and he's not allowed to lead the witness with me."

Stephanie giggles at my witty banter and nods. "Don't you worry. I'm sure that Paul and I will both have a word with Richard. He can be a bit...presumptuous sometimes, I'm afraid. We'll speak to him at some point this weekend."

I nod. "Thank you. I really appreciate that, Stephanie," I tell her as the band continues on with More Than a Feeling by Boston.

Nathan comes towards me, grinning at the fact that he's gotten his crew to get the lights to work, and takes my hand. "Stephanie, you don't mind if I steal her away, do you?"

"Not at all," Stephanie says, although my stomach summersaults in protest. "How's the Pinot Noir tonight?"

"Red, shipped from Melbourne," Nathan calls over his shoulder, but blows her a kiss as we hit the dance floor. He puts one hand on my shoulder, the other on my waist, and we proceed to dance with all the other couples gathered around us. "Tell me what you know about your brother and my sister."

My eyebrows immediately shoot up. "You're not impressed?"

He shrugs. "Frank loves women..."

I nod. "So do you," I reply, allowing him to turn me in unison with the other couples. "I would think that a guy with a restaurant could get more fish tail than a doctor," I say, and note with glee that my old friends' lips twitch upwards in a momentary look of humor. "Frank's a good guy, Nathan, you know that. And, I mean, look at them. They've liked each other forever—and I know that you're not oblivious to that fact, no matter how hard you try to be."

Nathan shrugs. "I don't know. It just feels like we're brothers and sisters..."

I nod. "I know, Nathan. But we're not. That's the main thing to remember here: Not one of us are siblings."

"Do you really feel that way?" Nathan asks.

I nod as the song ends and the band picks up Don't Stop Me Now by Queen, completely unknowing at how he could possibly take my opinion. "I would think you would know that by now, Nate."

Nathan grins then and kisses me. There is no filter like they show you on television, he just grabs me and holds on. I don't feel the world stop like it should; in fact, the sounds around me just get louder. My eyes fly open in shock and I feel nothing, other than I want to get him off me. I manage enough leverage to move him so that I can breathe.

"I guess I just walked right into that one," I say softly, shaking my head, and turning to look up at Nathan. "I'm really sorry, Nate, I..."

"You mean you didn't...?"

"No," I reply. "I need some air..."

"Sarah, please, I think..."

"Please, Nate, I need some time," I say, leaving the dance floor. I go to the back hallway and get a drink from the water fountain. Other than momentarily clearing my mind, the fact that it tastes like it has a metal back turns me off completely. Shaking my head, I turn to see him standing there, walking towards me with purpose, and I cross my fingers that he's there to check the generator, but something in his eyes tip me off that that's not what Nathan's here for. "I thought you understood that I didn't—"

He grabs me then, kissing me again so hard and so fast that he slams me up against the wall. My muffled shouts into his mouth do nothing to dissuade him —in fact, it seems to be turning him on. I taste the alcohol and know, deep down, that he is drunk out of his mind, yet I know that is no excuse for kissing me after I said no.

"Nathan, stop!" I cry out as he moves to my neck. "I said 'no'! What does that mean to you?!" I demand as he captures my mouth again. "You're crushing me," I wheeze into his mouth. "I don't want this..." I begin flailing about pathetically, like a wounded bird without feathers. My mind is going a mile a minute, and I don't even pay attention as his hand slips below my waist and somewhere that no man has ever gone before. I know that, if I can just raise my leg slightly, I could either kick or knee him in the groin. I know it is my only shot, and I must not allow him to suspect it.

Sensing my chance, I promptly knee him, just as footsteps come from around the corner and my skirt manages to fall into place again. Looking up, my hair disheveled and the rest of my dress mauled, I turn to see Richard standing there, looking down at Nate, passed out from his drunkenness. He raises his eyebrows, looking from him to me.

"Hey, for the record, it was assault," I claim, pulling my dress lower, and then covering my top half just as quickly. "And I was merely defending myself."

He nods. "Did you say 'no'?" he asks.

I roll my eyes at the stupid question. "Of course I did!"

Richard sighs. "Okay. Well, I was about to head out myself, to call it a night. I think your brother left with your roommate..."

"House mate," I mutter, my tone testy, as I peek around the corner and look out into the restaurant. "Brilliant... He doesn't drive right now, so they probably took off in her car, and of course she insisted that we carpool tonight..."

"I can take you back to your condo."

I blinked, my shock registering immediately as I turned to look at him. How in the hell did he know I lived in a condo?! "Excuse me?"

He nods. "My apartment is just Downtown, so it's on my way...well, in the opposite direction of my way, but it's not an issue."

I inch a bit to the left, towards the hallway. Stranger danger... "I'll just ask Jessica and Scott for a ride back..."

"And they just left," Richard says, smiling.

I roll my eyes. "Fine," I grumble, going back towards our booth to grab my bag and wrap, the music pounding in my ears. I see Paul and Stephanie standing at the bar, and walk over to them before walking out with Richard. "If I don't show up in class on Monday..."

Paul smirks and kisses my cheek good naturedly. "Tell my little brother that I told him he has to behave himself," he tells me. "Stephanie and I fully intend to speak with him on Sunday dinner with our parents."

"My in-laws think very highly of you, Sarah," Stephanie puts in with a kind smile. "They're quite like my own mother and father now. They always tell us how sweet and wonderful they think you are."

I smile at her. "Tell them I appreciate their kind words," I say, turning to see Richard himself standing at the door, likely on the phone with some high-priority client or a supermodel or high society girlfriend. "Goodness knows that they could have taught him a thing or two when it comes to manners..."

Stephanie laughs, giving me a hug. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she whispers in a sisterhood kind of way before releasing me.

I walk towards the door and am shocked when Richard takes my wrap from beneath my arm and drapes it on me himself. He opens the door for me and hands the valet a twenty-dollar bill like its candy. "It's the 2017 black Cadillac," he tells him, before the man disappears into the parking garage.

I roll my eyes in his lame attempt to impress me. "They have halfway-decent security cameras here, I hope?" I ask nonchalantly.

"Want footage of your finest hour?" he asks sarcastically.

I fight the urge to slap him; I wasn't some low-down country hick who had never seen a luxury car before. "You're just disgusting and loathsome, Berkshaw," I reply more than a little heatedly as he smirks beside me.

"I've been called worse," he puts in.

I roll my eyes. "I don't want footage of me in some overpriced car—I could care less about a damned car," I reply, speaking through my teeth. "I want to know if what Nathan did to me will hold up in court."

Immediately, he snaps to attention; I am speaking his language, after all. "Do you want to take him for everything he's got?" Richard asks.

I shake my head at him as the valet returns with Richard's overpriced car in the flesh. I find I am shivering under my wrap at the cold and callous thoughts running through me then. "No, of course I don't want that," I reply as Richard thanks the man and we get in. I make myself comfortable, tugging my skirt farther down so that it reaches my knees. "I don't want any money from him—I don't want to be bought. I make a decent salary teaching."

Richard smirks as we drive off, obviously amused by my chivalry. "You can key in your address into the navigation system."

I lean forward and key in 134 Ashgrove Terrace. Sitting back, I purse my lips at the notion that Richard would think so low of me to think I would demand some ludicrous sum in order to get comeuppance for Nathan. "Please understand, I don't care about the money I would likely get in a lawsuit, honestly," I tell him. "I want Nathan to go to AA for at least a month and a decent, not half-assed apology."

Richard nods to himself, mulling over my statement. "Anything else? Do you want him to register as a sex offender?"

"That's not for me to decide," I easily reply, pulling my cape closer around me. "But, given the opportunity, he should, so as to protect other women out there. We all of us live in a completely internet-dependent age, as I'm sure you know. This could really help other women who become seduced by his kind words and generous gifts..."

Richard looks impressed at my reply as we exit Downtown proper. "More power to you," he says quietly. "If only more women were like you were, Sarah." We continue up a hill through the darkness, passing various streets that I haven't bothered to analyze. "How do you feel about your brother and Caroline?"

I shrug; I'm not even going to begin to question how he knew such a thing, or anything, for that matter, anymore. "It was always a possibility since high school. I love my brother and I love Caroline. I wouldn't not wish them to be together and happy. After years of being caught in the middle of each of them professing their love for the other, but seemingly practicing on me, was beginning to wear on me. I don't know. I guess you could say I'm getting an 'at last' kind of feeling..."

He nods, letting my words die down for a moment before he decides to speak again. "So, tell me, why did you go into teaching?"

I am surprised by the detour of the conversation. "What?"

He smirks a little in amusement at my surprise. "I'm just curious. I mean, you've got a captivating face on a good day, and your vocabulary is by no means minimal," he says, and looks over at me for a moment.

"Give me a moment and sift through there for a compliment of some kind," I say, and catch Richard smirking.

"No, I'm serious, Sarah," he tells me. "Why didn't you become a writer?"

I shrug, forcing myself not to look or sound surprised. "Well, after more than a dozen publishers refuse various forms of a manuscript you provide them with, it becomes discouraging," I say quietly.

Richard is silent, his mouth becoming a hard line as he takes in my apparent bitterness at the real-world reality of wanting to become a published author. We make another couple of turns, but he studies me from time to time, letting me know that he's interested in what I have to say. I force myself to look away from him.

"You feel as if you've dug yourself into a hole," he says quietly, "and you don't even begin to consider that you can dig yourself out by writing—even if it's writing about your feelings of complete despair."

I raised my eyebrows, shocked. "Yeah. I mean, you begin to wonder why you even began writing in the first place. I guess you could say that I became so absorbed in discouragement from people that were deemed to be professionals that I didn't even consider doing anything about it, except closing myself off to that world. I don't let anyone—except, of course Caroline and on the rare occasion Franklin—read my work."

"What do you write?"

"Stories about life," I say, feeling like an inferior idiot in front of him. "Historical fiction. I write sometimes about women who could have lived—close friends of important people of the period, also women. I like to show how love hasn't changed over time, but the rights of women truly have."

"When?" he asks.

"The 1500's, usually. In England."

"Ah, so Henry the Eighth and things like that."

"Yes," I reply, pleased to speak to someone who apparently knew their English monarchs; the famous ones, at the very least. "I've been captivated by the man since the age of twelve or thirteen. I would use the five-minute break between classes to dive back in to the world that was so far beyond my reach. I couldn't bring myself to even consider that time travel was impossible. I'd have given anything to leap back and to see it for myself. I always felt inferior to this time period, as far back as I can remember..." I trail off, wondering why on earth Richard would even want to hear about an average person like me.

We get to the foothills without much conversation, as Richard expertly navigates his way through the darkness of the twists and turns of Seattle. "I love meeting people who are passionate about what they love to do," he says softly, getting into my neighborhood now. "I mean, I'm sure you chose the practical thing and got a degree in something you could work with. Yet, it sounds to me as if you didn't truly give up on your dream."

"But I'm not sending anything in right now," I protest as we turn onto Maplewood, the street before mine.

Richard nods. "I know that. But you didn't stop writing, Sarah. That's the horrible drawback about society today, isn't it? Most people, after a dozen rejections from folks deemed to be professionals, would give up writing entirely. They wouldn't even consider writing after the supposed experts who they looked up to said they didn't have what it takes. You're different in that respect, Sarah. Despite what they said, you never truly gave up." He pulls up outside the condo, looking up at it, the kitchen and living room lights still on. "This you?" he wants to know, and turns to look at me.

I nod, almost not wanting to leave the car due to the stimulating and altogether intellectual conversation. "Yes, it's me," I say, going to unbuckle my seatbelt. "I'm sorry we only talked about me. I would have liked to hear about your work." I practically kick myself for sounding so polite and nonchalant as I spoke to the top lawyer in Seattle.

Richard chuckles, and I curse myself for getting goosebumps at that delicious sound coming forth from his alluring lips. "From what I understand, Miss Richardson, was that you weren't very pleased with my demeanor this morning, and for that I apologize. I could say that my girlfriend broke up with me, or that a case was going badly."

"Is that it?" I asked, my voice rising an octave, and his dark eyes become darker still at my curiosity about his personal life. "Did a case go badly, or did... Did your girlfriend break up with you?"

He smiles. "I said I could've said that, but neither was the case, I'm afraid," he continues, regarding every inch of my face before he says his next sentence with a degree of finality that doesn't sit well with me, and the very fact that I find myself hanging on his every word doesn't altogether help the direct circumstances either. "I don't date, Sarah, and my cases always end well."

"Coincidences always crop up in the oddest places," I say softly to myself, gripping my bag close to me.

"How's that?" Richard asks.

I sigh, not wanting to answer him but not wanting to be rude either. "In case you haven't noticed, Richard, I don't date either. Although I suppose my outer appearance would judge that I wasn't good enough." I lower my eyes, feeling like an idiot for opening up to him, as well as lowering my eyes like that, for he could think I was vulnerable.

Richard laughs softly, almost as if he is willing to communicate to me that he doesn't necessarily pity me, yet he understands my meaning, or, rather, my insecurity with the outside world, as well as the opposite sex, neither of which I'd had particularly good luck in over the years. "I work too much," he says simply. "I've had a total of four girlfriends in my life, Sarah, and they all ended badly. I like winning, Sarah, so when I'm ready to win—and I find the girl who's the winner, she's mine, no matter what."

"Well, that's a good outlook on it," I say, knowing that I really should get out of the car soon, as the tension between us both was becoming palpable, and I knew I'd never live it down if it began and ended, which it was likely to do. It is after eleven, and while I haven't had a curfew since the age of seventeen, I knew that I should be up by nine the next morning to grade a few papers. "I guess I haven't found the right person. I mean, I'm sure the whole city will know of the last action I got..."

"Being mauled in the back of The Electric Violin doesn't constitute action," he replies in a heated voice, and my eyes snap to his hands, which are gripping the steering wheel before him; his knuckles are completely white. "What Nathan was doing was wrong, illegal, immoral, and just plain disgusting. It was sick, Sarah, sick. I always knew he had a problem holding his liquor, but that's no excuse. You told him 'no', and he didn't listen to you. That's enough for a judge."

I turn and look at him, shocked, my mouth flapping open like some kind of undersea creature stranded up on land "And why would someone like you want to help someone like me?" I ask him, shocked. "I'm just an average teacher..."

He looks away. "You're far better than average," he says under his breath before turning back to me. "Because, I think we really could be friends. I know that your first impression of me—about twelve hours ago—wasn't very good. I apologize for that. Harrison had been all hyped up because he never gets to stay with me and he accidentally ruined something my grandfather specifically left for me, and I suppose I took it out on him. I know that sounds pathetic, but it meant a lot to me."

I nod at him. "I understand." I lean forward slightly, so as the street lamp above us catches me in its trail of light. "This locket is the only thing left to me by my grandmother. My father's parents are deceased and my mother's mother is as well. My mother's father doesn't give a hoot about me—all he cares about is Frank. He comes from a generation where girls weren't really wanted, I suppose."

Richard smiles. "Some people don't see the goodness in others."

I nod at him, feeling strange that I could find any amount of common ground with this beautiful man. "I guess you're right." I turn to his dashboard, where his clock states that it is getting close to midnight. "Oh, no. I've got to get up at a certain time tomorrow to grade papers..."

"You're lucky I know you're a teacher," Richard tells me, getting out of the car himself before I can stop him, rounds it, and letting me out. He holds out his hand, and I offer it to him. He gently pulls me to my feet, and our eyes meet for a moment.

I quickly break the gaze; how I wanted to have the courage to invite him in, but I knew I wasn't nearly that brave. "Well, I'll just go upstairs now..."

Richard nods, dropping my hand. "All right."

"Thanks for the ride, and for the talk," I say, stepping away from him and walking up the street. I turn left and go up the stairs, waiving to him as I slip into the darkness. I go to unlock the main door, and it is then that I hear his engine revving behind me, before he goes up the street and turns the corner, going out of sight.

Sighing to myself, I step into the main hallway, locking the door behind me as I go towards the elevator. I press the button and it opens for me. Thankfully it is empty as I step inside, and I ride all the way up to the third floor without incident. Stepping out into the hallway, I go to our condo door, unlock it, and step inside. Ginger ambushes me for attention at once, and I pick her up, bringing her into my bedroom.

I set her down on the bed as I proceed to undress, not bothering to get a look at myself in the mirror, as I didn't think I could handle it. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, I give a cursory glance at the mirror, but one look at a bruised thumbprint on the back of my shoulder quickly causes me to turn around and grit my teeth. In an effort to distract myself completely, I quickly plug my phone into the wall and breathe a sigh of relief as my heels come off, for they'd already become a second layer of skin. I fumble ever so slightly for a moment as I attempt to re-learn how to stand properly without them.

Just as I slip into a pair of plaid, flannel pants and a tank top, my phone suddenly decides to vibrate, disturbing my momentary solace. Perplexed, I lift it, gazing at the screen until I see a picture of my parents' living room. Raising my eyebrows, words follow the picture message, stating, quite clearly, to me: It's finally happening! It is then that I see that the name attached to it is Caroline's, and I roll my eyes.

I set my alarm for ten a.m. before allowing Ginger into the crook of my arm before drifting off to sleep.

. . .

I awake to the alarm the next morning, as well as Ginger yowling for her breakfast quickly following suit. Rolling my eyes, I switch off the alarm and get out of bed, a momentary moan of protest at the cooler temperature around me escaping from my lips. Quickly, I run a brush through my hair, I open my bedroom door and Ginger bolts out towards the kitchen. Stepping into the kitchen myself, I fill our kettle with water and set it to boil for my morning cup of tea. With Ginger still feline screeching in my ear, I quickly give her some duck tuna for breakfast before logging into my email to check any updates.

There are several catalog ads which I promptly delete, rolling my eyes at some of the ridiculous fashion choices certain companies choose to make. There is a backlog of several emails from my parents, with various pictures of their vacation, and I quickly type a reply to each of them, informing them that I can't wait to see them the following week, and commenting on their hotel, the sights, and the museums my mother has successfully managed to drag my father to. I leave out what happened with Nathan, because that's just not something you put into an email.

My kettle boils and I pour myself a cup of black tea. Adding three spoonsful of sugar to it, and adding a generous amount of my lactose-free milk, I return to my computer. I perch on my seat for a moment, going over schedules for the following week, and consider what would happen if I were to take some time off. Given what had happened to me, if I chose to pursue a legal route, it would likely eat into my teaching time, and I would likely need a breather in between...

Going back to my email, I am very perplexed to see one from the following address, which just so happens to be . Feeling my lips twitch up at the seemingly informality of it all, I click on it.

From: Richard Berkshaw ()

To: Seraphina Richardson ()

Subject: Last Night

Dear Sarah,

I very much enjoyed our conversation last night...erm, almost early this morning, I suppose one could say.

I've spoken to my good friend, Judge Donohue, and she's adamant that we get your situation with Nathan taken care of. She says that what Nathan did to you constitutes as sexual assault and that it falls under the umbrella term of "Indecent Liberties". This is what is called a Class A Felony and it means that Nathan could face up to life in prison or and/or a $50,000 dollar fine.

I know that you said that you didn't want Nathan to pay out the nose—which he will do anyway attempting to defend himself—but physical evidence is a must. I called the company that Nathan bought the restaurant from, and there are indeed cameras on the premises. Nathan is a dead duck, to put it lightly, and if he remembers the situation clearly enough, he will attempt to make sure that the security company never releases, or erases the footage entirely.

Please get back to me on what action you would like to take. At the very least, Nathan should be arrested.

Please, Sarah, this is important.

Sincerely,

Richard Berkshaw

Attorney at Law

I shake my head, putting it into my hands, wanting to ignore the throbbing ebbing just beneath my temples. Looking at the time it was sent, I see it was done around eight-thirty that morning. Knowing that Richard needs a quick answer, I hit "reply".

From: Sarah Richardson ()

To: Richard Berkshaw ()

Subject: The Case (if there is one)

Dear Richard,

Yes, I enjoyed our conversation as well, thank you. Never fear, you had me home around eleven-thirty, so it didn't break my curfew or anything like that. I graduated high school at seventeen, so by the time I turned eighteen, I was out of school and into college...not that I was ever into partying or breaking curfew or anything like that...

Judge Martha Donahue? Yes, I've seen her interviewed. She comes off very well, very approachable, and very intelligent. I've never even heard of the term "Indecent Liberties", to be honest with you. I mean, I've heard of sexual assault and rape, but most people have. I guess you could say that specifics when it comes to this sort of thing, meaning negotiations, aren't my strong suit.

No. I don't want Nathan to get life in prison or get saddled with a $50,000 fine; I just can't do it. Caroline would never forgive me for putting her family through all that. I'm sure you know of their situation, and I can't have her relying on Jessica and Scott forever for family things, because she certainly wouldn't come to me anymore.

I think I would like to talk to Judge Donahue about "physical evidence". I don't really feel comfortable discussing it with you at this time. I know you think that you must be privy to this information, but I haven't asked you to be my lawyer, nor have you agreed to take me on yet.

So, in a sense, if Nathan calls the security company and demands the access to the footage of him assaulting me, then he's a dead man? Will you be keeping tabs on his phone records as well? I know we depend so much on electronics that you could be able to find some evidence down that road, surely. I know you want to help, but this is scary to me. To be honest, I barely remember anything happening. I blocked it out...

Sincerely,

Seraphina Richardson,

Fourth Grade Teacher,

Ivy Door Academy