14 Years Old

"An inmate from Livesay Correctional Institute in South Carolina is trying to reach you. Please press 1 to take the call, or hang up."

The words that fourteen year old Kylee had memorized, along with the calling phone number that the prison had, ever since her father's sentence three years ago.

She glanced behind her, seeing that her mother was nowhere in sight. After her piano lesson and her dance competition, her mother had finished pointing out Kylee's mistakes, pressuring the young teenager to work harder to win a trophy "for the team", and then leaving Kylee alone to stew while she went to break out the newly bought, yet half-empty wine.

Her mother would be too tired after Kylee's competition and too alcohol-hungry to pick up the phone. This is why Kylee worked with her father to find a perfect schedule for calls. It was six PM, an hour before inmate dinner call, which was perfect.

Kylee pulled the phone from her ear and pressed 1, then returned the phone to her ear, heart racing in her chest. "Daddy?"

"Snug-Bug," her father responded, a hint of relief in his voice. Sometimes, his ex-wife would answer. Sometimes, when that happened, it never ended well. Mostly because she sounded very drunk when answering. "Hey." Then, immediately, "Tell me all about the competition. I know how important it was to you."

"We got fourth place, which was good since the number Miss Hanna gave us was hard and we were in Nationals," she expressed, a smile splitting her lips. "We never made Nationals. I was excited!"

"That's great!" He exclaimed. "Hey, Rodriguez, hear that? My baby girl made nationals!"

Kylee heard whooping in the background and Kylee blushed. "Dad. Could you be anymore embarrassing? Honestly."

"I'm sorry, hon, but you've got a team here. The officers wear "We Love Kylee" shirts every time I talk about your competitions!"

"Oh my God. Stop. Please."

"Fine, fine I'll stop the bragging." There was a pause. "Maybe."

"Dad."

"Kylee?" The teenager jumped, fumbling with the phone as she whipped around and saw her mother standing at the kitchen sink with a glass of wine in her hand, jaw set. "Who are you talking to this late?"

"Mom, it's six," Kylee murmured, stepping back.

Her mother's eyes flashed. "I don't care," she spat, setting the glass down and crossing her arms. "Get off the phone, give it to me, and go upstairs and do your homework. If you get another C-"

"I won't," Kylee interrupted.

"Kylee, don't interrupt. Now." Her mother held her hand out. Kylee swallowed back her rebellious words, and she shakily hung up and handed the phone to her mother. The woman nodded and pointed to the stairs. "Go. Don't make me tell you again. You've disappointed me enough tonight."

Just as Kylee began climbing the stairs, she saw her mother throw the empty bottle away and pull out another one.