In my room, I throw on some clean clothes, and then I head back downstairs, grabbing my wallet off the front hall table as I pass by. As I approach the kitchen, I hear a bark of laughter. I walk in, expecting to find Gwen and Conor giving each other a hard time, but instead what I see is my dad perched on the stool next to Conor’s, sharing the stale pretzels—which Conor is still eating, for some ungodly reason. My heart almost stops.

“There he is!” My dad’s smiling, and dressed in a real, grown-up, appropriate-for-the-daytime outfit instead of the pajamas he’s normally still wearing when we get home from school. He must be having one of his good days, when he gets out of bed, speaks to people, leaves the house. Amazing that even on a good day he can’t do what any other parent would—remove the goddamn graffiti from the garage. I mean, who cares what the neighbors think, right?

Moreover, wouldn’t a normal parent have called the cops to try to figure out who keeps doing something so shitty to their property? This incident isn’t the first by a long shot. I tried my best to stop the vandalism; I called the cops. They told me to have one of my parents go down to the station to file a report, but shockingly, that never happened. So I dragged Conor over here a few months ago and we figured out how to rig a light to the garage. It goes on when it detects motion. Big help that’s been. I’ve been asking my dad to set up cameras for months now, but has he done it? No, of course he hasn’t. Of course.

I realize I’m squeezing my wallet so tight that it’s cutting off the circulation to my fingers.

“Come join us, kid.” My dad motions for me to take the seat next to him at the counter. “We were just discussing Conor’s band….”

“Nah, I’m good.” I stand in the doorway to the kitchen and cross my arms. “We gotta go anyway. We’re running late because we had to paint the entire garage. Not that you care.”

His face falls, and because I’m a dumb fuck of a pushover I feel bad for a second, but I quickly come to my senses.

“Ready to go?” I sound impatient. I am impatient.

“All right, well, next time.” My dad’s voice is all woe-is-me-ish. Fuck that noise.