Fourteen year old Nikki was sitting in front of her mirror, brushing her long brown hair.
"Nicole Elizabeth Moore, get your lazy butt down here!" shouted her mother.
Nikki called back, "Make me!"
She had never really gotten along with her parents. She had assumed for a long time that she was adopted, but told no one. Nikki should have been the perfect child- perfect grades, not a troublemaker- but she did have a rebellious streak, added to the fact that something weird happened to her at every school she went to. She could usually weasel herself out of it, but her "parents" always found out in the end and blamed their daughter. So, Nikki was very rude to them.
She heard her mom stomping up the stairs and banging on her door. "Get downstairs now! Your father and I have to talk to you!"
"Go away!" Nikki threw a dictionary at her door, which made a satisfying thud.
Her mother made a sound that sounded like, "I give up!" and went downstairs. Twenty minutes later, Nikki went to see what her mom had wanted.
She found her parents standing in front of the kitchen table, looking mad with their arms crossed.
"Sit down," her father said in an even voice.
Nikki sat down.
"Your father and I have had it, Nicole. We are sick of your attitude and disrespect for all authority-"
"What authority? Are you talking about you lousy excuses for parents?" Nikki cut in.
"QUIET! You will not talk to me that way! We are sending you to Behavior Therapy with Doctor Jocelyn McDonald."
All Nikki could do was gape. Her parents were sending her to a shrink? No, worse than that. A Behavior Specialist, like the ones for the troubled, crazy kids. That was way out of line.
"No. I don't want to go. You can't make me."
"We'll make you do anything we want to, young lady."
"You know, maybe I do want to go, because I'll be able to get away from you!"
Nikki stomped up the stairs and to her room. She slammed her door so hard that it threatened to come off the hinges. But she didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.
Four days later, Nikki would be in the front seat of her father's car, on the way to Behavior Therapy. She would be glaring out the window, not really looking at anything in particular.
Her father would command her to get out of the car. She would put up a fight, before getting out of the car. Then she would walk into the Institution-looking building, acting as if she was walking to her own execution. Little did her parents know, she probably would be.
Nikki was in a chair, glaring at Doctor Jocelyn McDonald. Her father had just walked out the door, and she desperately was searching how to get out.
There was the front door behind the chair she was sitting on. But no, the Doctor would be able to get her with her back turned. There was probably a door to one of the sides of her that led to safety. But again, no, because what if they had bodyguards or something? There was the metal-coated door that obviously led to a hallway behind the Doctor. Maybe in the hallway was a door that led outside. That was probably the best possibility, but it would take a lot of guesswork. So Nikki let her mind wander as her gray eyes fixed menacingly on Jocelyn McDonald.
Matching the look in Nikki's eyes, the doctor smiled maliciously.
"Sit down in that chair there," she hissed as she pointed to a wheelchair.
"Whatever, Jocelyn," said Nikki.
"That's Doctor McDonald."
"No, it's Jocelyn. What kind of a first name is Doctor?" Nikki asked brightly. Better to play the stupid, optimistic victim than the genius, pessimistic victim, thought Nikki while she sat down in the chair and crossed her legs. Then she began to wonder what the heck they were going to do to her. It would probably be illegal, so she would definitely file a lawsuit after.
Doctor Jocelyn wheeled Nikki into a room with a big operating table on it. She ponited to the table and Nikki leaped on it, landing on her feet.
"Sit," commanded Jocelyn in her rasping voice.
Nikki sat on the table, gazing at the ceiling. There was a decent sized vent there, so maybe she could sneak out...
That thought was dismissed when a lady with a big cloth over her head came in with a scalpel. "Open your mouth, pretty Nikki," said the lady in a sweet voice.
Nikki kept her mouth clamped shut. Why did that lady have a scalpel?!
"I said to open your mouth." The lady forced Nikki's mouth open and scraped the knife against the inside of Nikki's cheek. Stangely, though, it was not to draw blood but to collect saliva.
Why would they want my spit, mused Nikki in her head. Unless...
Then it clicked. They were collecting her DNA. But why?
"Thank you," said the lady, forcing Nikki's mouth shut. Then she patted Nikki's head and was gone.
In a daze because of what had happened, Nikki did everything she was told for a few minutes without even a snide comment.
She got in the wheelchair and was carted off to a room with cages labeled "Demigods". She even got in one cage, even though the children in the other cages were mouthing at her not to.
Jocelyn was whispering to the lady in the Cage Room in front of all the children.
"Yes, definitely a demigod," said Jocelyn.
"No, I think she is more," said the lady.
"More? You don't mean-"
"Yes, I'm afraid we have a minor goddess on our hands. Good thing she doesn't know it yet."
"She will be very tasty."
"Yes, but we must hold out to see what happens, if she shows anything remarkable."
The ladies departed.
Then it hit Nikki- Did they say that she was a minor goddess?