I took my time walking home. All I'd be coming back to is shouting at Dad, shout at Mum, and once I'd explained myself, shouting at me. But there was no shouting. Instead, mum came up to me and gave me a big hug. Seeing my confused face, she said, "After what we've put you through, I'm not surprised you were late and all that. Plus, that Vanessa Stern is a spoilt brat, but you mustn't hit people. Are we at an agreement?"
"Yes, mum." I replied, relief surging over me. But it was short-lived. As when I reached my bedroom, I heard muttering downstairs. The voices raised themselves until eventually-BAM-they were shouting at one another again. In frustration, I slammed my bedroom door shut, flopped on my bed and slammed my pillow up against the ceiling. I did this by imagining it was Vanessa. Then, I had an idea. Reaching under my bed, I pulled out an old, battered case with the name Kenyatta Wanaka sprawled across the side. Inside, having removed layers of padding, I found myself smiling fondly at my old, worn guitar. Before I had time to think of a song I used to love to play, I was strumming the strings, letting out my emotions the notes.
I was interrupted by raised voices downstairs. Peering down the banister, I saw Mr Stern having a feuded conversation with my parents. At first I thought he had just come to complain about 'poor little Vanessa', but then I remembered what his job was. He was the Landlord. And the Landlord had come for the rent money we didn't have.