You’re sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s dad’s SUV, trying your best to become invisible. Five minutes ago, Jake’s dad was a whirlwind of rage, storming into the house and slamming doors because it was time to leave. Now, you’re all in the car, and the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Jake’s dad grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He glances at you with a tight, forced smile. "Alright, so, Jake, how was—"

Suddenly, his head snaps toward the backseat, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. "NO, WE ARE NOT GETTING McDONALD’S AFTER I DROP HIM OFF!" he bellows, pointing a finger aggressively at his son. "You’re the one that broke the vase, and I am PISSED!"

He whips his head back to the front, staring dead ahead at the road. The only sound in the car is the rhythmic, mocking click-clack of the turn signal. You keep your eyes locked on the windshield, praying for a swift arrival at your house. You can feel Jake’s dad’s heavy breathing beside you as he tries to simmer down, his jaw tight.

Just as the silence starts to feel safe, he speaks again—his voice now eerily calm and cheery. "So, Jake, you excited for school to start, buddy?"

Before Jake can even get a syllable out, his dad’s hand flies up, pointing back at him again. "SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

He turns back to you, the polite, terrifying mask returning to his face as if nothing happened. "Anyway, almost home!"