Chapter One: Wild Heart

"You're sixteen today, Iana," Franny grumbles for what must've been the ten-millionth time since I started my shift at Patsy's that morning, just before the breakfast rush. "I mean, I would've thought you'd be over the moon…"

I shrugged, rolling my shoulders and leaning back against my locker, watching as Franny re-applied her lipstick. "Oh, I don't know, Franny," I muttered, the coldness of the metal locker behind me feeling good on my back, due to the heat of the late-May day. "My parents gave me a car this morning, so…"

"Wheels are great," Franny said, smacking her lips slightly obnoxiously as she slammed her locker door shut with a slight sigh. "But seriously, I got mine almost three years ago and look where that got me. "A minimum-wage job in my aunt's diner, a crappy apartment, and not to mention my beautiful son…"

"Ezra's amazing," I said to my best friend, although I was immediately on the defensive for the sake of my first-cousin-once-removed. "What's the problem with having him?"

"Gee, I don't know, Iana. Maybe the notion that I followed in my mother's footsteps and got pregnant as a teenager…"

"It wasn't deliberate, and you know it," I said, smirking over at her, as we both knew that my aunt and her mother, Debbie, had technically gotten pregnant on purpose by lying to Franny's birth father, Derek, about being on the pill.

Franny rolled her eyes, reaching out and flipping me around, tightening my long ponytail, which was secured by a simple hair tie, which did its very best to keep my raven mane in place. "Come on then, you," she said, turning me around then and squeezing my shoulders. "Our break is up in a few and I know you wouldn't want your mom yelling at us."

"It's my birthday," I shot back playfully as we made our way outside, and into the lion's den, also known as the dining area of the restaurant. "I don't think she would…"

"Please, your mom fucks your dad in the office sometimes," Franny said.

I raised my eyebrows dramatically. "My mom fucks my uncle?! Oh, my!"

Franny laughs aloud then. "Okay, okay, point taken," she replies. "Our family is weird, but you're not the first one to think so. Get in line, Gallagher."

"That's Gallagher-Blomqvist to you," I laughed back.

Franny shakes her head. "More like Gallagher-Milkovich," she mutters, retreating to the other side of the restaurant to take some poor soul's order, while I stand behind the counter, adding up my dips since breakfast four hours ago, and know I shouldn't say anything back.

. . .

I get off work around three that afternoon, getting into my car and driving down the road towards home. My mother will be holed up at the office at work for another couple of hours, despite the fact that it was Saturday, while my father was bringing his work home with him more and more to look after my younger siblings. As I pulled up in front of the house and got out of my car, I made my way into the yard and up the stairs, letting myself inside with my key. Placing the set of them into the back of my jeans pocket, I made my way through the living room, hearing no signs of my younger siblings, thirteen-year-olds Clayton and Fionn, seven-year-old Carla, or four-year-old Charlie around.

Stepping into the kitchen, I spotted a note taped to the fridge, informing me that dear old Dad had taken the kids to our grandparents' place for the afternoon. Shrugging it off, I considered heading upstairs to crash for a while, were it not for the great timing of my cell phone, which decided to buzz right then and there. Groaning aloud, I fished it out from my other back pocket and unlocked it, keying in the password quickly before spotting a new text message. I soon realized it was from 'Pops', and smirked to myself, opening it up.

Happy birthday, kid, it read. Come on over. Ian and I have the day off and we miss you.

Shaking my head at my biological father's attempts at being endearing, I trudged over to the front door, letting them know I was heading across the street. Shutting and locking the front door behind me, I quickly crossed the yard and made my way onto the sidewalk and then the street, and finally arrived on the opposite side. I went through the gate and up the stairs, turning the handle of the door, already unlocked, and stepped inside the home which had been mine off and on for a few years during childhood.

"Pops? Uncle Ian?" I called out.

"In here, Iana," Uncle Ian called back.

I shut the front door, stepping into the living room and making my way into the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway for a moment, smiling at the look of love that Uncle Ian and my biological father, Mickey Milkovich, gave to one another as I stepped inside, inadvertently breaking up the moment. "Hey, guys," I said, picking up my hand in an automatic gesture and waving to them both. "What's going on?"

"Well, kid, it's your birthday," Pops replied, getting to his feet and walking over to me, before pulling me in for a hug, which I automatically returned.

"Pops, I'm not a kid anymore," I chided him gently, before playfully pushing him out of my arms and we mockingly threw up our fists towards one another, and laughed aloud, while Uncle Ian stood smirking across the kitchen. "I'm sixteen, and proud of it."

"What are your plans for today?" Uncle Ian asked casually.

I shrugged, making my way over to the fridge and getting out a beer; I watched as they mutually hesitated for a moment, but they ultimately said nothing as I popped the cap myself and sipped the Old Style from the bottle. I'd been drinking since I was thirteen, but I'd never managed to overdo it, or in front of my mother, who was an alcoholic. "I don't know," I replied. "I mean, I graduate in a few weeks, and finals start on Monday. I guess it's my last weekend of freedom for a while until college acceptances start rolling in…"

"Carrying on a tradition," Uncle Ian said, smiling at me.

"Yeah?" I ask him, tipping the bottle back into my mouth, the sensation of the booze no longer a constant burn in my throat. "How?" I want to know after I swallowed.

"Your mom, no matter how much we love her, likes to go on and on about how great it is that she graduated at sixteen," Pops replied, smirking to himself as he crossed over to Uncle Ian, and managed to snag his cup of coffee.

I scoffed then, crossing one arm as I leaned back against the fridge, continuing to knock the bottle of beer back almost effortlessly. "I love her, too," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "But, yeah, I guess you're right…"

"She told you the story?" Uncle Ian asked.

I nodded, clearing my throat to prevent the beer from accidentally invading my windpipe. "Yeah, of course she did," I replied. "Told me right before she got the charges against Pop's dropped, and before your wedding."

"Hell of a day," Pops replied, making a face at Uncle Ian, who quickly managed to snag his mug of coffee back from him. "I'll never be able to thank her enough for that. Not to mention Nicholas adopting you like that."

I smirked. "Wish you could take it back?"

Pops shook his head. "No, of course not. It's enough to know that you're mine, and you all acknowledge that enough to let me see you whenever we want."

"Of course you can," I replied. "I'm sixteen, not six. I'd be pretty hard for my mom and dad to just forbid me from seeing you…"

"They might say something if they saw you drinking that," Uncle Ian said, nodding at the half-drunk bottle in my hand.

I scoffed, continuing to drink it, as I gripped the bottle in my hand. "You know as well as I do that I'm half-Gallagher, and Gallagher's drink."

"You're also half-Milkovich, but you would beat someone up for who they were," Pops replied, and my cheeks flushed at the implication.

"Your dad?" I asked, my voice quiet.

Pops sighed. "Yeah, my fucking dad."

"He's a jackass anyway," I muttered, my skin crawling as I took another swig of my beer. "Son of a bitch needs to learn to keep his hands to himself…"

Pop's eyes darkened at my words, his face contorting into an expression of rage. "What the fuck did he do?!" he demanded.

"Mick," Uncle Ian said, his voice firm.

"It's fine, Uncle Ian," I replied, turning back to Pops. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

"What did he do?" Pops said, speaking through his teeth.

"Saw me walking home from work one night a few weeks back," I replied. "He said some things, and when I ignored him, he started following me."

"Jesus," Pops whispered, walking towards me and taking my beer bottle, chugging it for a moment before handing it back to me. "And then what?'

"Asked me for my number, tried to grab me," I said, shrugging it off. "Once we walked under a street light, though, he got ahold of me, and saw my face. Dropped me like I'd burned him or some shit," I said nonchalantly, sipping the rest of my beer.

"Probably figured out who you were," Pops said, shuddering.

"Please, I slammed my forehead into his nose to get him to get out of my face," I said, laughing a little then as I tossed my beer bottle into the bin. "Besides, it's not like I'm completely inexperienced, you guys."

Uncle Ian rolled his eyes. "Who else knows you've hooked up with half your school?"

I scoffed. "It was not half the school, Uncle Ian," I replied. "It was a fair amount of the student body, let's say that. And half implies that I only fucked the guys," I said, fixing them both with a look before I turned around and retrieved another beer from the fridge.

"Wait, what?" Pops asked, confused for a moment.

"What?" I asked back, getting the bottle cap off the beer bottle and sipping it slowly, knowing that I needed to pace myself. "I'm sixteen. I can fuck whoever I want."

"Better not let your mom hear that," Uncle Ian put in.

I shrugged. "What? I don't see a problem with fucking the opposite sex, or the same sex. It's totally consensual."

"My ears, my ears!" Pops cried out, covering them in a dramatic fashion. "You're my daughter! I really don't need to hear that!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, for the love of…" I muttered, tipping some more beer down my throat.

"Just explain something to me, one thing," Uncle Ian said as Pops lowered his hands slowly from his ears.

I shrugged. "Ask away. I have nothing to hide."

Uncle Ian looked slightly uncomfortable then. "How can you fuck men and woman, and not identify as bisexual?" he asked.

"Because I'm pansexual," I replied patiently. "It all depends on the personality of the individual I'm hanging out with, and then if I enjoy it enough, fucking's on the table."

"You've got such a pleasant way of phrasing things, Iana," Pops muttered.

"Thanks a lot," I replied, taking another swig from my beer bottle, and making a slight noise in my throat then as my phone vibrated from my back pocket. Rolling my eyes, I got it out, seeing that it was a text from Franny. "It's Franny," I replied, unlocking my device and checking the message quickly.

Just wanted to remind you that Mom is still on that welding trip with little Ezra, so I expect you to meet me back at the diner at seven, an hour after closing. Love you!

"I have no idea what she's planning," I muttered, knowing that they would want my opinion on the subject, as I wrote her back, confirming that I'd be there. "She probably just wants to dig into the new shipment of kegs my mom got. Ever since Mom got a liquor license for the diner, the sales are rivaling The Alibi."

Pops smirked. "Well, I doubt it'll beat your last birthday."

I scoffed. "Really? It was the fucking shooting range," I replied, shaking my head as I pocketed my phone again. "Mom wouldn't talk to you for three weeks afterwards."

"Hey, it was your birthday and you had a good time," Pops replied, throwing up his hands in a moment of surrender. "That's all that matters, right?"

"Please," I said. "Mom spent hours on the phone with Aunt Fiona about it, and then she and Uncle Jimmy bought me fucking self-defense courses. And then Aunt Debbie made me take those god-awful karate classes…"

"Yeah, but you passed the course in six weeks, and now you have a black belt in karate," Uncle Ian replied patiently.

I rolled my shoulders. "It's not always a good topic of conversation when my exploits want the blow-by-blow of my belt display, or want to know why I have a fucking punching bag hanging from my ceiling," I replied.

"Why?" Pops asked.

I scoffed. "Because they either think of it as a turn-on, or they think I'm going to fucking kill them. So then they either demand rough sex, or get the hell outta there…"

"They still using that ladder Uncle Kev and Lip set up for you?" Uncle Ian asked, a smirk forming on his mouth again.

I gave a stiff nod. "Yeah. Mom and Dad were pretty pissed about that, but once I started on the pill, and Dad got me a shit ton of condoms, they didn't say much about it…"

"It's after five," Pops said after a few moments of silence. "If you're anything like me, you'll wanna crash before the big night."

I rolled my eyes. "I know my mom's gonna kill me, no matter what happens," I muttered as I finished the last few ounces of my beer and tossing it into the recycling. I crossed the room to Uncle Ian and hugged him. "Love you," I said, turning to Pops then, and laughed aloud when he yanked me into his arms, just like he always did. "Love you, Pops."

"Love you, too, kid," he replied.

I vaguely heard them talking amongst themselves behind me as I made my way to the front door, pulling my leather jacket around me. I ran my hands along the fabric for a moment as I opened the door and headed outside, shutting it behind me. It had once belonged to my mother, but she had given it to me soon after my father had come back to all of us. Now that it fit me, it seemed like I had a little piece of her to carry around, wherever I went…

. . .

"Remember what Mama told you?"

I turned and looked at my mother then, before forcing my neck to nod. "Yeah, Mama. Not to tell who we're going to see."

She smiled. "That's right, sweetheart."

I pursed my lips then, attempting to figure out what I could and couldn't ask. "Who are we going to see, Mama?"

She reached back and squeezed my hand. "That's a surprise, my love."

We drove through the checkpoint soon thereafter, and I did my best to keep smiling and silent as the heavyset woman regarded us from her post. I swallowed slightly as my mother effortlessly handed over our passports, and my attention wandered to a bit of frayed fabric upon my booster seat, and slowly pulled at it, but not too much, knowing that my mother likely wouldn't be happy if I ruined it completely. Once we were clear to drive through, I did my best to look through the window at the sections of barren-looking land all around us, a lump forming in my throat as I attempted to figure out what we were doing there.

Once we arrived, Mama pulled off the highway and into a parking lot and found a space with ease, and got out of the car. Immediately, she opened the back door and unstrapped me from my car seat, holding me tightly in her arms for a moment as she shut and locked her car. Putting her keys into her pocket, she wandered over to the edge of the lot, almost as if she was searching for something around the back bend of the building. A trial of smoke and the scent of cigarettes wafted into my nose, reminding me of most of my family, and then I saw the figure, slightly slouched, against the surface of the building, wondering if it was him we came to see.

"Mickey," Mama said, carefully, watching as this man seemed to stiffen automatically, before he turned around and looked shocked to see my mother. "Been a long time," she went on, as he looked from her, to me, and back again. "Sorry about that."

The strange man looked shocked then as he looked down at his hand and immediately moved to put out his cigarette. "Hey, Murphy."

"Hey, there," she said softly, as I looked from my mother to Mickey and back again, a spark of recognition igniting within me.

"Who's this, Mama?" I whispered.

Mickey looked shocked. "She's your kid?"

"This is my daughter," she replied. "Sweetheart, this is Mama's good friend, Mickey. Why don't you introduce yourself, okay?"

"Hi, Mickey," I said, and waved to him, and her looked shocked at my interaction towards him as I found myself immediately moving to get out of my mother's arms, and, reluctantly, she seemed to let me. "Nice to meet you," I went on, walking promptly up to him and putting out my small hand.

Mickey did his best to smile down at me. "And what's your name?"

"Iana Phillipa Gallagher-Blomqvist," I replied, and noticed that Mickey's eyes looked pained for half a moment before looking up at my mother.

"Blomqvist?"

"My husband's name," my mother replied from behind me.

"My daddy adopted me," I said, and I bit my lip, unknowing how Mickey would take this information, as it seemed terribly personal.

Mickey lowered his eyes back down to me. "Adopted you? Why?"

"Because my real daddy is far away," I replied, wondering for a moment if I was giving away too much to this perfect stranger. "Mama says that maybe I'll meet him someday, but I don't know where he is..."

"How old are you, Iana?" he asked.

"I turned four a month ago," I replied. "My birthday is May twentieth."

"Four?" Mickey whispered, dragging a hand across his mouth then before his gaze slowly rose upwards and found my mother's gaze again. "Murph?"

"Yeah?" she asked him.

"Is... Is Iana... M-I-N-E?" he asked her then.

I swallowed again, saying nothing, despite the notion that I could spell.

Mama sighed from behind me. "Yeah, Mickey," she said. "She is."

It was then that I looked from my mother, to Mickey, and back again, before I turned around completely to face her. "Mama?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?" she asked, looking down at me.

I felt my fingers tangling amongst themselves, something my mother often did when she was really nervous about something. "Why does Mickey have black hair like me?"

She sighed, turning to look at Mickey. "Do you want to...?"

Mickey thought it over for a moment before he nodded. "Sure," he replied, reaching out and gently touching my arm, and it was then that I turned around and looked at him. "Iana, I'm your father," he said quietly to me.

My eyes became wide then. "What?"

"Me and your mama made you a few years back, before she was married to your daddy," he explained, obviously treading carefully.

I thought it over for a moment. "You live far away from us..."

Mickey nodded. "I know I do, Iana. And I'm sorry. But my life is complicated..."

I felt my brow puckering. "Do you miss me?"

"Yeah, of course I miss you," Mickey said, smiling at me for the first time. "I'm sure you're a great kid, Iana. Really."

I hesitated for a moment before putting my arms up and Mickey, albeit hesitantly, picked me up and held me. "Nice to meet you, Mickey," I said softly.

. . .

"Tell me why I let you talk me into shit like this," I muttered on the phone to Franny, as I did my best to pick an outfit for that evening.

"Wear that mini-skirt and a crop top!" Franny ordered from the other end of the call.

"Jesus," I muttered. "You're such a bad influence…"

"You know you love me."

"Yeah, maybe so," I replied, dragging a hand through my hair, which I'd brushed out before securing in my typical ponytail. "I'm throwing something on now. I'll meet you there in twenty, okay? Does that work for you?"

"Fine," Franny grumbled sarcastically. "Hurry up."

"See you soon," I said, cutting the call.

I slipped on a pair of black denim shorts, plus a black tank top, along with a pair of black ankle boots to top it all off. The finishing touch was the rhinestone-studded I necklace that I secured around my neck, my signature piece of jewelry, before I put black mascara and eyeliner on, followed by my standard red lipstick, and then grabbed my phone and slipped it into my pocket, where my set of keys also were occupying. I trudged towards my bedroom window, opening it quickly and climbing down the ladder, leaving it open a crack so that I could easily get back inside later.

I trudged through the yard and towards the gate, letting myself out and making my way towards my car, getting inside and turning on some tunes. U2's With or Without You pumped onto my radio, and I smiled at this loveliness of the song as I drove out into the setting sun. As I drove to Patsy's, I was relieved at the lack of traffic that Saturday night, and when I finally arrived, I saw that, somehow, Franny had managed to get some dark fabric to cover the long windows around the place, and knew that she must've cooked up something. Shaking my head, I parked and got out of my car, crossing towards the main door and letting myself in.

"Franny?" I called out, stepping inside and looking around the darkness. "Look, this isn't very funny. We get drunk every weekend, anyway. It's not like a different location would make much of a difference…"

Suddenly, the lights came on, momentarily blinding me for a moment or two, and suddenly I saw a bunch of people from school surrounding me, Franny front and center. It was then that a mighty shout of, "Surprise!" filled my ears, and I found myself screaming with joy at the notion of what Franny had done. Trouble be damned; it was my sixteenth birthday, and I was going to make the most of it.

"Franny!" I cried out, and gave her a hug, before I was passed around, hugging various members of the senior class, in a moment of glee. I came to a stop in front of the football captain, Andy Parker, then, one of the few guys in the senior class who hadn't managed to get his athletic hands on me. "Hey, Andy. Glad you could make it."

Andy looked me over. "Sixteen looks good on you, Iana."

I smiled at him. "Thanks," I said, before turning to the next person.

Franny secured her cell phone into the stereo system the diner had to offer, and soon her playlist was pumping throughout the joint. There were several kegs littered around the dining room, plus numerous bottles of Old Style covered the front counter. I made my way over, making a grab to one and popping off the cap, chugging it. I wanted to get good and blitzed that night, knowing that I was within my rights to do so.

It wasn't that I was a failure, but when you fail the eighth grade six times in one lifetime, the notion that you may not be the child prodigy your parents thought you were has the capability of weighing heavily on your mind. If I hadn't been so uppity towards authority, calling the subpar curriculum pure bullshit, then maybe, just maybe, I would've managed to get through the whole high school experience much sooner. But no; the damned principal had it out for me since day one, and it was all because I wouldn't suck his hairy, wrinkled dick.

"Great party, Iana," came a familiar voice about three hours into it.

Turning around, I saw Andy standing there, and I grinned at him. "I know what can make it a whole lot better," I replied. I wasn't even slurring my speech, or wobbling on my normally two left feet; no, I could hold my booze.

"Yeah?" Andy asked. "Like how?"

I mulled it over for a minute; Andy was dressed in his football uniform, probably for brownie points, and yet the notion that he had a cigarette behind wedged behind his perfect his ear was, at the time, sexy as hell. I scanned the party for a moment then, noticing that everyone else seemed to be occupied, and suddenly lowered my half-finished bottle of Old Style, my fourth since arriving at the diner, and gently pulled him by the collar towards me. "Come with me," I whispered into his ear, grinning up at him.

"Don't have to ask me twice!" he said, following me willingly to the back.

I took him to the locker room, always deserted this time of night; the back door was always locked, and if we were hidden behind one of the sets of lockers, we wouldn't be seen. Once we got there, I turned towards him and yanked his football jersey over his head; Andy chuckled at my eager behavior, and his hands descended to my jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them as quickly as he dared, while my hands worked on his football pants. Then, just as I managed to lower them, I yanked down his boxers, while he pulled down my panties effortlessly. I let out a yelp then as he lifted me up with his perfectly toned arms, and I wrapped my legs around his torso, allowing him easy access inside me.

"So glad you're not eighteen yet," I whispered.

"Still seventeen for six months," he replied, adjusting himself slightly. "I… I'm not hurting you, am I, Iana?"

Wow, a football player with a heart of gold, I thought with a slight smirk. "No, I… You're not hurting me, Andy. I… I've done this… I mean, I'm not a…"

"It's okay," Andy said, his tone considerate. "I'm not either. I mean, I…"

"You don't have to tell me," I told him with a smile as I dug my heels into his perfect ass. "Just go harder, if you don't mind."

"I'm good with that," Andy replied.

It wasn't filled with passion; not in the slightest. I could tell from the get-go that I had more experience than Andy did. However, it wasn't an altogether unpleasant moment for me; at the same time, the notion that Andy seemed like the type to want to take me home to meet his parents afterwards was an automatic turn-off, for me, at least. When it was all over, I unhooked my legs from his torso quickly and effortlessly, yanking up my panties and shorts, and tugged down my shirt, as Andy had wanted to get better-acquainted with my breasts.

"So, can I call you sometime?"

Call me sometime?! What was this?! I hesitated for a moment, knowing that I should've let him know before we hooked up that this wasn't a gateway into dating me. However, before I could open my mouth and explain it to him, the all-too-familiar wail of police sirens outside the restaurant stopped me, causing my blood to run cold. Before I could even get a word in, Andy had yanked his clothes into place and had taken off out of the back door, without urging me to follow him, or looking back.

"Fucking pussy," I muttered to myself with disgust, before peeking out into the restaurant area, knowing that I shouldn't leave Franny behind. At eighteen, she was libel to be tried as an adult, and I knew that Aunt Debbie would kill me for leaving her there, even though this entire party had been her idea. As I inched towards the doorway leading out into the restaurant, I didn't see Franny anywhere, and knew then that she had likely escaped from a back window somewhere. I knew I'd better make a run for it, and would've, had a cop not tackled me. "Fucking hell!" I cried out then, as the man pinned me down, and, even though I struggled, I knew that I should remain calm, but it was pretty difficult to do. "Let me the fuck go!" I yelled at him. "That fucking hurts!"

"Not on your life, missy," the officer replied, hauling me to my feet and bringing me towards the front door of Patsy's. "You reek of booze. How old are you, anyway?"

I crossed my arms, thus allowing my breasts to become even more exposed by the dangerously low neckline of my tank top. "I'm sixteen," I replied.

He rolled his eyes. "Underage drinking, trespassing…"

"I wasn't trespassing!" I shot back. "My mom owns this place!"

"Oh, yeah?" the officer said, dragging me towards his police car. "What's your name then, little girl?" he asked.

"Iana," I replied. "Iana Gallagher-Blomqvist."

"Got any proof of that?"

I scoffed. "If you would let me go, my ID is in my pocket."

"Frieda!" the officer called, and I turned to see a female officer writing up a report. "Come over here and pat down this girl, please."

Frieda scoffed. "Jesus, Rudy, you're probably bruising here—go easy on the kid, will ya?" she said, her voice impatient. She crossed over to us, shoving her paperwork into Rudy's arms, and patted me down quickly. "Cell phone, keys, and a wallet," she said. "Do you have any weapons on you?"

I scoffed. "No. They're at home, where they belong."

Frieda didn't ask if I was kidding or not—I wasn't, but she didn't have to know that. She went into my wallet then and found my ID, and nodded to herself. "It's not counterfeit," she assured Rudy, and handed it over before taking her paperwork back and stepping away.

"It's your sixteenth birthday?"

I looked up at Rudy, giving him a loathsome stare. "Yeah."

"So, your mom owns this place?"

"Yeah, she's Murphy Gallagher-Blomqvist," I replied, hating the sensation of his hand gripping my shoulder, effectively holding me there.

"Where does the 'Blomqvist' come from?"

"My dad, Nicholas Blomqvist," I replied in a huff.

"Nicholas Blomqvist, one of the top lawyers in the Chicago area, is your dad?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering if this had to do with the undercover assignment that my dad had been involved in, where he took down a good half-dozen crooked cops. "Yeah. So?" I demanded, my tone defiant.

"No, it's just…"

"What?" I demanded, my voice angry.

"You don't look a thing like him, that's all…"

"Fucking Christ," I muttered to myself, crossing my arms. "Didn't know we were playing Twenty Questions tonight… That's because he's not my biological father."

"Oh. Well, then, who is?"

I gritted my teeth. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Look, kid, it'd go a whole lot better for you if you were just honest with me."

"Fine," I said, looking away from him. "Mickey Milkovich is my biological father. You happy now, Officer Asshat?!"

"That's it—you just earned yourself a trip Downtown," he said, shoving my head downwards and hauling me into the back of his car.

. . .

"Look, Iana… I don't mind, really. But why'd you call me?"

I sighed, leaning back against my passenger seat. "Look, Pops, if you want me to pay you back for bailing me out…"

"No, kid, it's all good," he replied, shaking his head.

I swallowed. "Thanks for picking up my car from the diner."

"No problem."

I bit my lip, hunching my shoulders. "You tell Mom and Dad?"

He drummed his hands on the steering wheel for a moment as we waited for a red light to finally make up its mind to change. "I did."

"Jesus, Pops! They'll never let me leave the house again—"

"Iana, they're fucking worried about you!" he thundered back.

I scoffed. "Worried? About me?"

"Yeah. Your mom says you've barely talked to her in the last four years…"

I shrugged. "She wouldn't understand…"

"Maybe if you talked to her, she would."

"Yeah?" I asked. "You think so?"

Pops nodded. "Worth a shot."

We drove the rest of the way in silence, and Pops handed me my set of keys back as we got out of the car. I locked it automatically, and hesitated for a moment before I stepped towards him and allowed myself to hug him. "Hopefully, if I'm not given twenty-to-life in there, I'll see you tomorrow."

"You'll see me tomorrow, don't worry," he replied. "Love you, kid."

"Yeah, love you, too, Pops," I replied. I turned around then and headed inside, hesitating for a moment in the doorway of the living room as I shut the door behind me. "Hey, guys," I said, and, for a moment, I remembered being a small child again.

"Hey, Iana," Dad replied, getting to his feet. He briefly kissed me on the forehead and squeezed my shoulders. "You talk to your mom. I'll see you in the morning. Love you."

"Love you, too, Dad," I said, hesitating until he headed up the stairs, before I turned and looked at my mother. "Pops said we should talk…"

Mom nodded. "We should."

I stepped inside the living room and sat beside her on the couch, kicking off my ankle boots. "I don't really know what to say right now."

She sighed. "You're just… I don't know, Iana. So different than I ever was…"

I nodded. "I know. I failed the eighth grade six times. Probably where my troubles all started, huh?" I joked.

"You suddenly passed on the sixth try, and I never got why."

I bit my lip. "New principal."

She blinked. "What?"

I dragged my hand over my face as I leaned back on the couch. "Mom, the fucking old principal told me that he'd keep failing me unless I sucked his dick."

Mom was suddenly rigid next to me. "What the fuck, Iana?" she whispered. "Why didn't you ever say anything to me?"

"Because I wanted to handle it on my own, and I did. I sent the tapes anonymously to the authorities, with Franny's help to obliterate my face, and that's why the principal was fired and we got a new one."

"Jesus," she whispered. "Is that all?"

I shook my head. "No, that's not all."

"Try me."

"I drink, smoke, and will pretty much have sex with anyone," I replied.

She raised an eyebrow. "Anyone?"

"If I like their personalities enough," I replied, shrugging. "I don't know."

She smiled. "Sounds like me."

I made a noise of surprise. "Wait. You've had sex with a…?"

"One," she replied. "Her name was Jessica."

"Did you love her?"

She nodded. "I did, yeah."

"Wow," I replied, shaking my head. "That's just...wow."

"When did you…?"

"Lose my virginity?" I asked, and laughed aloud at her question. "Two years ago. I was fourteen when it happened. How old were you?"

"Sixteen," she replied. "But I didn't have sex with a guy until...Mickey," she said, and I could tell she was leaving something out, but I didn't want to press her. "But sweetie, just tell me something… You're set to graduate next month, right?"

I laughed. "Yeah, Mom. My mental illnesses, promiscuity, and social smoking and drinking haven't hindered that."

Suddenly, my mother looked shocked again. "Mental illness?"

"Yeah, I've been seeing a therapist since I was thirteen," I replied, "after we got that douchebag principal fired."

"Have you been diagnosed?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"Is it...a formal diagnosis?"

"Yeah, Mom, it's a formal diagnosis."

"Are you on medication?"

"Yeah, I'm on medication."

"You always take it?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I take the damn pills, Mom."

"What are you on?"

I sighed, knowing I had to tell her. "Lithium," I replied.

Her eyes widened. "But, Iana…"

"What?" I asked.

"Lithium is usually prescribed for bipolar disorder…"

I swallowed then, knowing that the time was now. "I know, Mom," I replied, my breath catching in my throat as I struggled to continue. "I'm bipolar."