"Katie, how was school, sweetie?" Lisa passed the broccoli casserole to her almost fifteen-year-old daughter.

"Fine," Katie replied simply, chewing her food.

"Geez, Kat, care to elaborate?" her father, Lucas, chuckled.

"Um...no, actually," Katie giggled.

She wasn't the average teen. For one, she got along great with her parents. They never pushed her to do anything she didn't want to do, but by no means was she spoiled. She worked for everything, not that she needed to. Her parents were fairly economically sound, her father being a lawyer and her mother manager of the Lux Atlantic Resort.

Kat got decent grades in school, had a large group of close friends, and was first chair flutist in band. She liked acting and often heard the whispers coming her way from adults, mostly along the lines of, "perfect girl".

But they didn't know...everything. What she felt, most of the time. She played a fantastic facade, but inside what she felt was pain. Emotional, loneliness. She often felt that people didn't like her for her, just liked her...for what she was capable of.

She often got the feeling that her mother knew how she felt. Kat had heard the story of the Red Eye flight several times. It was, after all, how Lisa's marriage had been formed. Lucas had been Lisa's attorney and they'd fallen for each other. Fallen hard. They married two months after they met and soon after Katie was born.

But Kat also sensed that something else had happened to her mother. She didn't know what, but she knew it was bad from the solemn looks she often exchanged with her husband.

"Kat? Hellooo?" Lisa waved her hand in front of her daughter's face. Kat jumped, startled. "Dad just asked you a question?" That was something that annoyed Kat about her mother. She also called her own husband, "Dad."

"Sorry," Kat smiled weakly. "I kind of zoned out. What?"

"I have to make a business trip. Again," he sighed. "I'm leaving first thing tomorrow, so I'm afraid I won't be here after school."

"Wait," Kat paused. "How long..."

"A week," he said apologetically. "Which means..."

"Dad," Kat cried. "You promised!"

"I'm sorry sweetie, I'll make the next recital, I swear-"

"You don't understand," she argued. "I won't have the solo next time."

Lisa cut in. "Honey, I'll be there."

'You're always there!" Kat stood up. "He's not! He's never there! He's never here when I need him!"

"Katherine," her father said sternly. "Watch your tone."

Kat just threw her fork down and watched her tone all the way to her room, slamming the door behind her.

She knew it was childish, but this seemed to be her breaking point. She was sick of being the good girl. She was sick of being sweet little Katherine Marie Reisert Michaels.

And it was the final straw.