My name is Marty Brown, and before now I didn't think that the perfect girl existed. That was before Hazel Meringuer shot herself through a cannon into my life.

There is literally no better way to say that. Hazel Meringuer would shoot herself through a cannon even if she wasn't forced to.

Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. But she's still pretty adventurous.

She's got shoulder-length brown hair and bright green eyes, the kind that light up when she comes to a conclusion. She comes to conclusions for about anything; she's that smart.

Again, I may be exaggerating—

The door opens and a police officer walks in.
"Mr. Brown, your mother is here."

I shift in my seat, alone and drowning in my guilt, my fears, my anxiety.

The floor is hard and unwelcoming to my foot, which is tapping hard and fast against it. I've nervously tapped my foot against many floors in my day, and this one was clearly the worst.

The door opens and my mother walks in. My sweet, caring mother, will now see her child in a police station for a crime that should not be forgiven.

I swear, this isn't as bad as it looks.