“What is this?!” my mom yelled as I was relaxing in the tub. I was in confusion as to what she had just asked, and wondered what she found while snooping around in my room. I leaned up and raised my arm to open to shower door to see what she was going on about. When I saw what she had in her hand, my eyes widened, and I felt a rush of adrenaline. The water felt like an ice bath now, and I was in shock. I thought I had hidden it well enough to not worry about it till I can dispose of the razor. I had stuck it between a couple of old books on the shelf next to my bed. You’d have to know where to look, or be extremely curious to find it. Mom yelled her question again. “What. Is. This.” I had many things going through my mind, but not an answer to the question, or at least one she was looking for. I thought maybe I could tell her I was hiding it for a friend because I cared for their well being, but I knew she wouldn't believe me. I blurted it out anyways in an anxious tone of voice. “A friend needed to stop cutting, so I took their razor. I care enough for their well being that I don't want the-” before I could finish what I was saying she had stomped out of the bathroom and left me shaking of anxiety of the consequences I would face for carrying a razor, even though it wasn't mine. I sat in the tub thinking how this is the first time they had truly been mad at me, even though I was trying to help a friend.

We were sitting in English, she had dropped the book she was reading when she scooted back from the desk and picked up her backpack from under the desk. I thought she went to reach for a pencil to take notes on the book. She searched for a minute with a look of determination on her face when she pulled the razor out of her bag on the desk. At the corner of my eye I saw what she was about to do; I felt my heart drop to my stomach and quickly reached up from the book I’d been staring at blankly to grab the razor from her hand. “You don’t have to do this” I whispered to her. She looked at me with shock and sadness in her eyes. She sighed quietly, then dropped both her hands and I went in to grab the razor when the teacher was walking around to see if everyone had been doing what was assigned. I quickly shoved it under the book I had set down, and lay on the desk with one side of the book perched up, pretending to read. Everyone was absolutely quiet, I could hear my heart beating hard against my chest. I knew if I got caught with a razor, I'd find myself in detention, or even worse, potentially get suspended. As soon as the teacher turned his back to me, I slide the razor in my backpack. I barely noticed I had felt hot, and my cheeks were bright pinkish shades. My breath was short and I had started to feel the ends of my fingers go numb.

“You could be suspended!” My dad yelled while trying to keep his voice down so the neighbors wouldn’t hear. He paced between his bed’s footboard and the dresser just two feet away. He rubbed his face as if trying to take off a mask hiding an even angrier face beneath. “My daughter” he signed. “I’ve done everything to try to raise you right.” He stopped and stood with his weight on one foot, and his hand at his hip, then began angrily pacing again. My mom sat on the opposite side of the bed with a bitter look on her face. My dad had repeatedly opened his mouth as if to say something, but was short of words. All I did was try to help a friend. They needed it and I’m sure it would have felt like no one else cared if I hadn’t of stopped her. Throughout the argument I found myself feeling numb, and almost dumbfounded. How could a simple, kindhearted gesture turn into such a problem?