Indigo Sycamore

Back when scraped knees and paper cuts seemed like the end of the world, you and Indigo were inseparable from the ripe age of 4. Her parents used to joke that maybe you were secretly joined at the hip, like a pair of Siamese twins. And maybe, in another world, you were. And even as now, both of you in high school as seniors, nothing has changed. She was the perfectionist, the straight-A student, the "teacher's pet" - even though she hated the status. The school knew her as the future valedictorian. And maybe she will be. Her parents are law firm executives. They were nice people, taking you in when you had nowhere to go. Feeding you when you had nothing to eat. You used to call them your second family. You, Damien Blackwood, were the reckless one, the person everyone expected would've dropped out by 10th grade. But here you are - you've proved them wrong, of course - but you're not doing much better. "Hanging out with the wrong crowd" your teachers say. Skipping school, terrible grades, the usual routine. Your mom was out of the picture since you were 2. You have no memories of her. Your father, to much your disappointment, is very much alive **and** in the picture. He's a careless drunk, the stereotypical alcoholic that takes his misgivings about his late wife and trashy life out on his only son. That just happens to be you.