I moaned at the taste of my mom's signature oatmeal banana bread, savoring every mouthful of caramely-soft banana which was sprinkled with toasted nuts on top and whatever else she puts in my breakfast. It was so tasty that after eating it I could feel the explosion of flavors on my tongue.

Just then my sister showed up, waltzing into the kitchen, and gave me a perfect eye roll. I ignored her and took one last bite of my bread and reached out for a gallon milk jug on the table. Before I could pour myself a glass of milk, she came up behind me and casually smacked me on the side of my head.

"What the fuck, Olivia?" I groaned in annoyance.

"Andrew, watch your language," my dad spoke in his serious tone.

I glanced at him who was sitting from across the table, his face hidden behind a newspaper while his coffee remained untouched. Dad had been really quiet throughout the period of my sitting here and eating with him in the same place but now that I decided to voice out some colorful words towards his daughter, he decides to speak up?

Of course, he would defend his favorite child.

"Stop having sex with the food." Olivia deadpanned as she settled into a kitchen chair beside me and pulled her hair into a high ponytail.

I repeated her exact words in the Sponge Bob mocking meme voice and she delivered another well-executed eye roll.

Her last night kimono nightdress captured my attention. "It's Monday. Aren't you supposed to dress up for school?"

As if on cue our mom came to the table bringing two bowls of Greek yogurt topped with various sliced, fresh fruits and chopped nuts -- one in each hand and handed a bowl to my sister since she only preferred yogurt for breakfast. Mom spooned some of her own yogurt into her mouth after she sat down next to Olivia.

Then, she centered her attention on me. "Liv's been suspended for punching a girl in the," she paused, thinking up the right word, then proceeded. "Chest."

"Boob," Olivia corrected my mom. "Why are you so afraid to say boobs?"

That raised my eyebrows. At this point, even a blind could see that my sister had anger issues -- which she'd just discovered now, which was very opposite to her old self. To this day, I still have no idea what changed her. As I became the quieter and studios child, she turned out to be the skeptical sibling with a harsher attitude.

I didn't even realize she was on suspension. Maybe because I no longer had any interest in poking my nose into her affair. Though I missed the way we used to sit in bed together, talking about random things and asking about each other's day. Sadly, it was just constant bickering now.

Mom rubbed her temples dramatically at her daughter's blatant demeanor. It appeared that her obsession over the Spanish novela had also contributed to her whole exaggerated behavior this morning.

"You hit someone? That's so not you," I said sarcastically with a scoff.

"On her right tit to be accurate," Olivia replied smugly and loaded some chilled yogurt on the spoon.

Before I knew it, a thick glob of yogurt flew in my direction, and luckily I was quick enough to dodge. "You're such an ass, Liv!" I glared at my snickering sister.

"Miles, you have something to say about the kids fighting in front of the food?" Our mom called out to her husband for help.

Dad lowered his newspaper and had his icy stare travel to his children's faces. We both froze in our chairs and waited for his next words. "I'm good," he replied shortly and went on with his reading.

"Gee, thanks for even trying, Miles." I stifled a laugh at Mom's sarcasm.

Olivia frowned, peering at our dad. "You're such an ancient man, Dad. Nobody reads newspapers anymore. They're irrelevant."

"Irrelevant like the One Direction posters hanging in your bedroom?" Dad shot back.

"Whatever," she mumbled, plunging her spoon into the bowl.

"You want some more, Andy?" Mom pointed at the crumbs filled plate in front of me making me hold forth my hand and shake my head.

"Eat more, honey. You don't look like your age." She spoke in her usual patronizing tone and yes, I do admit, her honesty hurt me a little.

Mom wasn't wrong. For a seventeen years old, I had a small amount of muscle mass on my body, my shoulders were bony, evidently visible ribs and I looked scrawny with a shirt on.

To tell the truth, I didn't get upset with how I look neither would I deny that I have body insecurities. Yet, as a boy, I rather chose to cover them instead of addressing them because boys were taught to refrain from showing any signs of weakness.

The sound of a horn blaring in our driveway pulled me out from my thoughts. Olivia's lips curled up into a mischievous grin prompting my mom to shoot her a stern stare.

"Andrew's boyfriend is here," my sister announced and my mom nudged her in the ribs with her elbow.

An 'ow' escaped from her mouth and her face contorted in pain. It was what she deserved.

"I gotta go." I stood up and grabbed my yellow backpack laying on the tiles floor before I swung it onto my left shoulder.

I bid my parents goodbye and took a couple of big steps towards the living room when my phone started ringing. I assumed the caller was probably the awaiting person in the vehicle which had me rushing to the front door, hoping he wouldn't leave without me, although he never did.

Why was it that when you're in a hurry something irritating always has to happen?

In this particular situation, I tripped over my own untied shoelace. Yep, you got that right-- fell forward, and skidded into the hardwood floor. I cursed myself as the pain began to resonate through my body. Surely everyone was aware of the fall -- the thud could be heard over the house, besides, our kitchen could be seen from the living room.

"Is that a frog you're trying to catch?" I heard Olivia yell from the kitchen.

I felt really tempted to punch my sister now. While still lying on my stomach, I just put my middle finger up.

"Dad! Andrew's showing me the finger," my annoying sister whined in response to my action.

The sound of a screeching chair alone -- which I assumed to be my father's -- was enough to make me pull myself up from the floor, pull the laces in my shoes, and run to the door. I was already late and the only lecture I could tolerate this early was only from my teachers.

I hurriedly walked out of the house and let out a relieved sigh when I saw the blue Jeep Wrangler still parked in our driveway. Putting on my biggest smile while fixing up my hair, I made my way over to the vehicle and stood beside its driver's window.

He was looking down, tapping into the screen of his phone, jaw set tightly as his dark brown hair hung over his tensed green eyes. The boy was so immersed in texting somebody he didn't take the time to look up. My smile gradually wore off.

In our previous mornings together, I had never seen him in this state before, which made me feel quite intimidated by him but I went to throw myself in his Jeep anyway.

He huffed and pushed the phone into his jeans pocket. The boy rubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath before placing his palms on the steering wheel and soon enough, the Jeep jerked forward leaving a thin cloud of smoke behind.

The rest of the ride was quiet as he kept his eyes straight ahead. He even chose to leave his radio off. I sat silently in the passenger seat, hugging my backpack, staring out of the window, and wondering if I should try initiating a conversation with him to lift this awkward tension.

To say I was worried about him would be an understatement.

My head snapped at him when his hand abruptly landed on my thigh just above the knee. His face had taken on a new expression -- cheerful and approachable. Seeing him flashing his white-teeth smile just like our previous days had eased my worries about him.

"Sorry I've been so quiet. I wasn't in my right mind for a second," he said in an apologetic tone.

"It's fine." I patted his hand and brought back the smile that I was saving for Ethan Cushing.