You find your shoes. They are badly scuffed, which you oddly see as some sort of badge of honor. You cannot seem to find any clean socks. You pick up two mis-matching dirty ones off of the cluttered floor. You trudge up the stairs and out into the dimly lit kitchen.
Today, the usual smell of coffee and toast is missing. Before your father even did anything else, he checked the mail for your report card, which was sitting on the kitchen counter. He knew it was going to be bad, but not this bad. You are failing every single subject except one. Your father walks in shortly after you emerge from the basement and glares at you. He is unshaven, has bloodshot eyes, and is still in his robe.
"Have a seat", he says. Hesitantly, you sit down. You have only lived with him for a month. He was your only choice of guardian besides foster care after your mother was incarcerated. You have noticed he can be caring, but he is mostly strict yet lacking basic structure in his own personality. You have no idea whether to respect him or not care. Either way, respecting him for now could not hurt.
"Why haven't you fixed this? I can't have an incompetent son." He leans in towards you, possibly in an attempt to be at your level so he can relate to you better, but it seems he is still just intimidating you.
You finally speak up, your voice breaks and crackles in the early hour, it is the first thing you have uttered in twelve hours. "I'm unhappy in school, I am unable to learn."
"Oh." he blurts. "What the fuck are you doing there then?! You didn't join the baseball team like I told you. You can't make a single god damn friend that's not a freak. Worst of all, you can't even impress one girl."
You cannot hear anymore of it. Your rage has built up too long