The end of the term is looming. I'm tired of nagging. But the concert report is due right now. Too late to turn in all the overdue English homework except for the reading log (which she flung herself on the floor and, in despair, announced she couldn't possibly remember how much she read every day for the entire quarter. I focused on my eyes. Do. Not. Roll.) "I don't know what to write about!" she wailed. Every suggestion I made was struck down. Her dad came home. He made similar suggestions and she interrupted him and struck her dramatic roots. She just turned 13 last week, you know. Let's not waste any time torturing her parents with the teenage angst. In frustration, I grabbed a paper and wrote an eloquent paragraph on one of the medleys played at the concert. I was there. I simply asked her out it made her feel. "Dramatic," she announced. Figures. I wrote a lovely snippet about the Phantom of the Ope...