My dad had said something.
I pulled my earphones out, one by one. “Huh?”
“I asked, ‘how was school?’”
“Fine.” My answer was short and final. I put my earphones back in. I peer at him from the corner of my eye. He’s annoyed. His frustration stems from a parent whose child never talks to them anymore.
This implies that we’ve ever had a real conversation. He doesn’t know how to talk to me. I consider, like everyday, telling him about how my day really went. But I don’t.
I turn up the music. It’s Nujabes.