It Ain't The Speakers |-/ JOSHLER

18.1: cause if yøu stick arøund

JØSH'S PØV

I had my best clothes put on, and it sucks to say that the "best clothes" were usually the most stiff and suffocating things you could put on your body.

It was Good Friday, not a very good one, but Fridays will always be better than Sundays, right? WRONG. This is the only exception. I'm absolutely looking forward to this Sunday, when this would finally be over.

Mom was pacing back and forth, making me extra nervous. I wish she'd stop. It's not like the doorbell is gonna make the house explode.

There were three knocks on the front door, which sounded like a really rusty closed hi-hat going rat-a-tat.

Oh right, we don't even have a functional doorbell anymore.

Ready to meet Satan? 

Um, let's not assume he hasn't changed. Maybe he's here to say something nice for once, like "Hey son, I heard you didn't fail biology" or "I heard you've finally made some nice friends" or "I heard it's too sunny here, why don't you come back to Ohio with us, Josh?"

Wait, no, scrap the last one. I'm not leaving my b–

"JOSH!" Jordan ran and pounced at me and I almost fell over, while tiny Ashley came to hug me from the back. I couldn't help but laugh at these two.

A larger shadow approached from the door and I immediately wiped the smile off my face. Tall figure, broad shoulders, the typical scary and unyielding boss you'd see on TV. "Hi Dad."

"Mhm."

Whoa, he actually responded!

But he still won't even
call you "son"

He sat down at the dining table and Mom gestured to me from the kitchen to help serve lunch. It was all stuff that Jordan liked, and none of the stuff that Ash hated (she's a picky eater), but for me? I wish I was at Taco Bell right now.

Mom kept trying to start conversations for the first few minutes, but my brother and sister were the only ones answering. Most of the stuff were about school, because that's what parents care about most when in comes to children, right?

"So, Josh..." Dad finally spoke, causing my head to shoot up. "How's school?"

See what I mean? You can't expect "how was your weekend?" or "just forget about homework for one day and go enjoy yourself!"

"Um, not bad I suppose?"

"I heard you failed your math and chemistry, do you consider that 'not bad', Josh?"

He's right.
You actually call that 'not bad'?

I swallowed a bit too much juice at once and it hurt, not holding it against Mom for telling him, because Dad always gets what he wants anyway. I slowly put my glass down, searching for a good reply.

There's are no 'good replies'. 
Not any that your brain is capable
of coming up with, at least.

"Ashley, tell you brother how you did for your last math test."

She looked at me hesitantly and reduced her voice to almost a whisper. "Ninety-two."

Heard that?
It's not just an A, it's an A+
And the most you've got is a D.

My brain started to tune out whatever he was saying. It was always the same things anyway; how I'm not good enough, or how I should be more like him and my siblings, or how I'm insane, or how I'm never gonna make it.