With country music–free mornings, I had been getting used to sleeping in, but that morning, slapping, clacking, and crashing sounds jolted me awake. Bryan had confronted his dad bright and early, causing havoc before the birds had even started chirping. Everyone on our street heard the details of their argument, crystal clear. Disturbed by the noise, I ran to my window and caught sight of Bryan dashing out the front door, carrying nothing but his backpack. His usual slick, jet-black hair was disheveled, and his face was red with anger. Catching his breath, he brushed away a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead and looked back at his house before walking away. I watched him until I could no longer see any glimpse of his grey backpack and white sneakers.

My day went on much like it had begun, with my parents arguing. Most of their fight took place inside their heads, but every now and then my dad would shout, “Holy Zeus,” and my mom would slam cupboards and doors. It wasn’t enough to clue me in on the cause of their disagreement, but it was enough to make me want to lock myself in my room with my head hidden underneath my pillow. After I’d listened to them for the majority of the day, Mom called me downstairs to demand I go buy the sour cream that she’d forgotten at the grocery store. Something told me that they weren’t arguing about the forgotten sour cream, but I was happy to have an excuse to get out of the house for some fresh air.

To avoid having to spend more time at home, I took the long route home after shopping and passed the playground. Bryan was sitting on the swing, his backpack flopped on the ground by his feet. He was staring at the ground, deep in thought, a frown wrinkled across his forehead and a yellowish bruise on his tear-stained cheek. It must have been tough to find out about your parent’s infidelity and then, to top it all off, be kicked out for confronting them about it.

I must have said something out loud because suddenly Bryan lifted his face and our gazes met. The way he looked at me, with eyes the deepest shade of the richest earth, made me feel exposed. Neither of us knew what to say after what had happened earlier that day. So, hey, I also happen to think your dad is an asshole. Kudos on standing up to him for your mom, was definitely not a good conversation starter. Instead I squeaked out a lame, “Hi.”

“Hey.” He greeted me. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that. It probably ruined your morning and anyone else’s who heard my fight with”—he paused as he appeared to have a battle in his head over what he should call his father, finally settling on—“Daniel.”